Ratione

When I regained consciousness, Victoria suggested that I come to her room at midnight. In the meantime, I could feel free to use the pool and treadmills, or pilfer yogurt and biscuits from the lounge.

But when I knocked on the door to her room at the stroke of twelve, Victoria did not answer the door. It swung open--slowly, of course--to reveal a weather-worn, stately figure.

I stepped into the dark room. The man was six feet tall, with hair greying at the fringes; he was clad in a dusty old business suit, held a fedora in his left hand, and wore a rugged visage bearing a crop of three-day grizzle. A vague, almost ethereal, air clung about him.

'Hello, Alfie,' said he.

'Uh. . .hello,' said I.

'You may be wondering who I am.'

I nodded. It had been a bit of a letdown to be greeted by this grizzled apparition, rather than by the comparatively comely young Victoria. I was wondering when she'd burst into the room in scanty lingerie.

'You should also have been wondering how I knew your name,' continued he. 'You were, however, much too busy picturing a certain "Victoria" prancing around the room in scanty lingerie.'

'How in God's name would you know, you intrusive septuagenarian?'

'It is really quite simple,' he said calmly. 'I am Ratione.'