I’d slept a black, deep, dreamless sleep. As soon as I woke up, I remembered that something had happened during the night, but for the first few moments, I couldn’t recall quite what it was. Somebody had come, but not the room service waiter, as I had initially thought. It was somebody who had talked to me, and the instant that recollection came to mind, I felt the most poignant sense of elation. Something marvelous had happened. As I rose from the bed, I saw my yellow notepad on the floor, covered with scrawls. It had been in my briefcase when I went to bed, so I must have pulled it out and taken notes. I grabbed it and looked at them. They were pretty much just squiggles. They didn’t seem to relate to any sort of a conversation. Had he been real, or a dream? If you took notes in your sleep, they might look like this. Then I also remembered that, as he left, he’d asked me to drink a white liquid that he’d had in one of the glasses from the bathroom. But hadn’t I refused? Surely I had.
