And perhaps the story of Douglas Zadig’s life and death will be there someday, too. For Douglas Zadig was also a man from nowhere, a man who came out of the mists and died in the snow—just as Kaspar Hauser had over one hundred years ago. This is the story of Douglas Zadig’s last day on earth, and of the people who were with him when he died … It was a cold, bleak Friday afternoon in early November when Simon Ark called me at my office. I was in the midst of checking some final galley proofs for our January books, but I tossed them aside when I recognized his voice on the line. “Simon! How’ve you been?” “Busy,” he replied. “How would you like to go up to Maine for the weekend?” “Maine? In November? Nobody goes up there except hunters this time of year.” “Hunters and publishers,” Simon Ark corrected; “I want to see a man, and since he’s a writer of sorts, I thought it might be good to take you along. That is, if you’re free …” I’d learned long ago that an invitation from Simon Ark was never as casual as it sounded.
