So I told him, and he damn near-I mean damn near-fell off his chair. "Hagen Kriemhild?" he said. Boy, he must've had cabbages in his ears or something, even if I was still kind of talking with my mouth full. " Hagen Kriemhild?"
"No," I said, and told him again, this time after I'd swallowed and everything, so he couldn't foul it up even if he tried.
"Ah," he said. "Ach so," which I guess is like "okay" in German. "Never mind. It is close enough."
"Close enough for what?" I said, but he didn't answer me right away. He just sat there looking at me. He looked very intense, if you know what I mean, like he was thinking a mile a minute. I couldn't very well ask him what the hell he was thinking about, either, because people always lie to you when you do that, or else they get mad. So instead I said, "What's your name?" You can't go wrong with that, hardly.
He blinked. He really did-his eyes went blink, blink. It was like he'd forgotten I was there, he'd been thinking so goddam hard. He'd been thinking like a madman, I swear to God he had. Blink, blink-he did it again. It was crumby to watch, honest. I didn't think he was going to tell me his lousy old name, but he did. He said, "I am called Regin Fafnirsbruder."
Well, Jesus Christ, if you think I even tried to say that like he said it, you're crazy. I just said "Pleased to meetcha" and I stuck out my hand. I'm too polite for my own good sometimes, I really am.
Old Regin Fafnirsbruder shook hands with me. He didn't shake hands like a flit, I have to admit it. He said, "Come with me. I will you things in Isenstein show that no American has ever seen."
"Can't I finish my sandwich first?" I said-and I didn't even want that crumby old sandwich any more. Isn't that a hell of a thing?
He shook his head like he would drop dead if I took one more bite. So I went bottoms-up with my beer-they make good beer in Germany, and I wasn't about to let that go to waste-and out of there we went.
"Whaddaya got?" I said. "Is it-a girl?" Could you be a pimp and a flit at the same time? Would you have any fun if you were? I always wonder about crazy stuff like that. If you're gonna wonder about crazy stuff, you might as well wonder about sexy crazy stuff, you know what I mean?
"A girl, ja. Like none you have ever met." Old Regin Fafnirsbruder's head went up and down like it was on a spring. "And also other things." He looked back over his shoulder at me, to make sure I was still following him, I guess. His eyes were big and round as silver dollars. I'm not making things up, they honest to God were. So help me.
"Listen," I said, "it's been nice knowing you and everything, but I think I ought to get back to my boat now."
He didn't listen to a word I said. He just kept going, out of Isenstein-which wasn't very hard, because it's not a real big town or anything-and toward that tumbledown castle on the crag I already told you about. And I kept walking along after him. To tell you the truth, I didn't want to go back to the boat, or to the smelly old Rhine. The farther away from there I got the better, you bet.
All of a sudden, these really thick gray clouds started rolling in, just covering up the whole goddam sky. It hadn't been any too gorgeous out before, but these clouds looked like they meant business, no kidding. "Hey," I said, kind of loud so old Regin Fafnirsbruder would be sure to hear me. "You got an umbrella? It looks like it's gonna pour."
"Ja," he said over his shoulder. Yeah it was gonna pour or yeah he had an umbrella? It wasn't like he told me, for crying out loud, the stupid moron. I'll tell you, I didn't have any umbrella. Jesus Christ, I didn't even have a crumby hat. And my crew cut is so short, it's like I don't have any hair at all up there, and when it rains the water that hits on top of my head all runs down right into my face, and that's very annoying, it really is. It's annoying as hell.
But old Regin Fafnirsbruder started up this crag toward the tumbledown old crumby ruin of a castle, and I kept on following him. By then I was feeling kind of like a goddam moron myself. I was also panting like anything. I haven't got any wind at all, on account of I smoke like a madman. I smoke like a goddam chimney, if you want to know the truth.
Sure as hell, it started to rain. I knew it would. I told old Regin Fafnirsbruder it would, but did he listen to me? Nobody listens to you, I swear to God it's the truth. This big old raindrop hit me right square in the eye, so I couldn't see anything for a second or two, and I almost fell off this lousy little path we were walking on, and I would've broken my damn neck if I had, too, because it was a crag, remember, and steeper than hell every which way.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Slow down!"
That's when the biggest goddam lightning bolt you ever imagined smashed into me and everything went black, like they say in the movies.
When I woke up, there was old Regin Fafnirsbruder leaning over me, almost close enough to give me a kiss. "You are all right, Hagen Kriemhild?" he asked, all anxious like I was his son or something. I think I'd kill myself if I was, I really do.
"I told you, that's not my name." I was pretty mad that he'd taken me all this way and he couldn't even bother to remember my crumby old name. It's not like it's Joe Doakes or John Smith so you'd forget it in a hurry. I sat up. I didn't want to keep laying there on account of he might try something flitty if he thought I couldn't do anything about it or anything. "What the hell happened?"
Right then was when I noticed things had started turning crazy. Old Regin Fafnirsbruder had asked me how I was in this language that wasn't English, and I hadn't just understood him, I'd answered him in it, for Chrissake. Isn't that gorgeous? I figured the lightning had fried my brains but good or something.
Then I realized it wasn't raining any more. There wasn't a cloud in the goddam sky, as a matter of fact. Not even one. It was about as sunny a day as old Isenstein ever gets, I bet.
I took a deep breath. I was gonna say "What the hell happened?" again-old Regin Fafnirsbruder hadn't told me or anything-but I didn't. And the reason I didn't is that the breath I took didn't stink. With the nasty old Rhine running right by it, the air in Isenstein always smelled like somebody just laid the biggest fart in the world right under your nose.
But it didn't, not any more. It smelled like grass and water-clean water-and pine trees, almost like one of those little air freshener things, if you know what I mean. Too good to be true. It wasn't one of those, though, on account of I could smell cows and pigs and horses, too, somewhere way the hell off in the distance. It was like I wasn't by a town any more, like I'd gone off into the country. But I was still sitting right where that old lightning bolt had clobbered me.
Old Regin Fafnirsbruder started dancing around. I'm not kidding, he really did. He had this grin on his face like he was drunk, and he was kind of halfway between doing an Indian war dance and jitterbugging. Watching the old sonuvabitch shake his can like that was pretty damn funny, it really was.