Ulrich Haarbürste's Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm by Ulrich Haarbürste

Author:Ulrich Haarbürste
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2019-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Unsuspecting of our imminent peril, Roy and Jetta and I have driven off in the taxi.

As we pull away I cannot help glancing back guiltily toward the Rolling Stone reporter, thwarted in his attempt to ask Roy various importunate questions about plectrums and wah-wah pedals, and am in time to see the three villains reach the corner and hop up and down in frustration as they see us drive off. My breath catches as I glimpse the chief villain’s headgear and I frown thoughtfully.

“You know,” I say, “I could have sworn I just saw a man wearing the sort of sombrero favored by Mexican bandits.”

“So?” says Roy.

“I confess to having a fear of Mexican bandits,” I admit.

“Who does not?” says Roy. “If they have extended their activities to Düsseldorf none of us will be able to sleep safely in our beds at night.”

Presently we arrive at the street in which we live.

“At last,” says Roy, “home and hearth, made more sweet than ever by our sundry travails and annoyances. Who would ever leave if not for the joy of coming back?”

Courteously Jetta and I escort Roy to his gate.

However, it turns out that Roy is not to reach home and hearth so soon after all.

“Ach,” he says suddenly, “I find I have left my door key on my dressing table at the concert venue. I will not soon be able to gain admittance. How ironic, to be locked out of my own home!”

“So?” I say. “Naturally I would offer you my hospitality for the night, but on reflection I seem to remember that the spare room happens to be piled to the ceiling with boxes of . . . various substances . . . And Jetta’s bedroom is being redecorated and she is temporarily bunking with me.”

“I can of course walk to the phone box on the corner and order a flunkey to fetch my door key,” says Roy. “But it is starting to rain and moreover if I do not soon gain admittance I will miss the beginning of Schlaf Gut, Düsseldorf. I am keen to see if Herman Umschlag mentions my concert in his topical monologue.”

I clear my throat and say, “There is one thing we might try. If I was to hurl you headfirst through your front window you would be able to gain entrance without resort to the door.”

“You have a gift for cutting through the Gordian knots of everyday existence,” says Roy. “The plan is irregular on many different levels and yet admirably dynamic. The way is plain. You will hurl me headfirst through the front window at once.”

“But hold,” I say, “it strikes me that if I do so you risk being injured by shards of glass.”

“Ach,” says Roy, “that is a drawback.”

“And yet,” I say, “I am confident we can overcome it. If there was some way we could first provide a sort of cushion or protective covering for you, that you may be hurled through the window with impunity. . .If there was something, perhaps, we could wrap you in.

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