“Now, tell me. Is it true that the young man has definitely, irrevocably withdrawn from school?” His voice was deep but soft.

“Yes.”

“And this is the same fellow who keeps changing his name?”

I nodded.

“What possible good does it do him? I was just sitting on the review committee. Of course, his name was still on the list. His names. Can you imagine—thirty-three blurry, blue, mimeographed copies, and on each one, ‘Rosen, comma, Samuel, semicolon, Sterling, comma, Lance, semicolon, Omar, semicolon, Rommel, comma, Aram’? I tell you, it broke the committee. I saw men laugh today who haven’t shown their teeth since Hiroshima. But can you tell me why he does it?”

“For fun, I guess.”

“Oh, yes, definitely! But why is he dropping out? Though I must say the philosophy department seems ecstatic about it.” His broad shoulders had practically been photographed into his tailored jacket. His shoes shone discreetly. A walk-on diplomat plucking his nose.

“His girlfriend is going to have a baby.”

“Ah-ha! So now he must go and get the little job. How charming.”

He faded down the hall, chuckling, and I went to the end of the line.

It was noon when I finished. I took the bus downtown. The fat little cook from the college cafeteria read Turgenev in the seat behind me. I thought I would treat myself to a sight of Sam at work. I walked fast and swung open the door of the tobacco shop so hard that it hit a display case. The man at the counter said the repair shop was around the corner.

It was a cubbyhole. No window. The door was left open for light. A workbench littered with little knives and pieces of pipes. Cardboard boxes piled under the wall shelves. The old man was big. A very large belly. He was tall. His pants were as wide and dirty at the bottom as they were at the waist. Stiff cuffs folded up to the elbow. His long, black hair fell in waves to the wrists.

“Need something?”

He pulled at the hairs bushing out from his ears. He looked at me and then went back to filling a pipe with what looked like dried worms.

“Does Aram Rommel work here?”

“Never heard of him. Nobody works here but me.”

I flushed.

The old man tapped his pipe lightly on his palm and said, “There was a kid, Sam, who worked here for a while.”

“Yes. That’s him. A little guy?”