His fingertips rebounded cheerily off each other like rubber bladders. I could hear his cheeks creaking as his smile winched itself up his face. His smile would handle me; now that it had put in its appearance, he could abscond from behind it. The smile shook at me, as though this were an excellently thorough explanation. And then it was the train, smiling at me through clouds of steam and grunts of smoke. No family there, not much family to speak of, and Spiena had already said goodbye to me the night before. I hear a voice call my name, turn to see a reed-thin old man in a sort of cassock advancing on me with an envelope in his hand. The letter:

My Dear Loulle!

How foolish of you, you know it was foolish, not to register with the Documents Registrar! They have, at this moment, three excellent positions open for persons fluid in Lashlache, and you, with the sole exception of professor Tmendo himself, would have been the only candidate locally available. There naturally is nothing now to be done, poor thing, about it, because your draught notice establishes prior government service in the military which obviously invalidates a Documents Registry exemption.

Don’t imagine, however, that the question of your military service is in any way settled, however. I have composed a letter to the regional advocate etc., explaining your case in detail, and we believe a response is pending. I have also informed a friend of mine in the military administration of your predicament, and he has seen to it you will be given an interpreter’s assignment, which official recognition of yourself as an interpreter will represent a distinct advantage in putting forward your case for transfer to the Documentary Board, which case I am taking personally in hand.

Uz Leimme

My name is Low, not “Loulle,” he wrote “fluid” for “fluent” “draught” for “draft” and repeated “however” inappropriately at the end of the first sentence of the second paragraph. Furthermore, I had registered with Documents Registry through professor Tmendo, who was my Lashlache instructor, two years ago. Had he forgotten to file it?

The messenger stood waiting with his hand out. I dropped a coin in it, and he angrily dashed it to the ground and reopened his palm. I looked at him interrogatively.

“What did you do that for?”

“I need your original draft notice,” he snapped, and pointed violently to the new pink lot that remained in the envelope. I pulled from my pocket my original, yellow, lot and gave it to him, whereupon he whipped around on his heel and stormed off the platform. I picked up my coin and then looked at the new lot. I looked a long time without understanding.