SPACESHIPS AND LIQUOR

I go back to St. David’s every other month, and wander in old haunts. The shadows chasing me are always there, but so far I have managed to keep them at a decent distance. Somewhat after the first of the year I shall be flying down to Rio, Buenos Aires, and on the river to Montevideo. I shall be traveling under another name, Baron Nikolas Korff, my step-grandfather. But, of course, I am going to do no such thing. Obviously, it would not be possible, and even if it were it is not advisable to travel around South American countries under an assumed name. Best to keep that sort of game to a limited level, as I did not long ago with a pretentious New York restaurant. Making the reservation for “Baron Nikolai Korff,” with a “French” accent, Meredith said, “Monsieur Le Baron requires a good table where he can see who comes into the restaurant. He is superstitious, since his grandfather was assassinated in a restaurant in Paris in 1922.” After a pause, the young French woman who took the reservation said, “Ah, oui, Madame. D’accord, d’accord.” We did have such a table, and the Baron paid in cash, of course. With $100 bills. Dream on… And now, like the spaceship on the cover of this book, let us open the pages and “plunge into the sea of dreams…”