response 39 of 104:

Jul 10 04:40 UTC 2001

I knocked and waited.  I knocked again.  My heart was imitating my fist. 
 What if my father answered the door?  After a while I heard footsteps 
and the sound of a peephole opening.  A tall white-haired man, with a 
huge white moustache that curled up at the ends, opened the door.

"Hello," he boomed Swissly.

"Hi," I said. "I'm looking for somebody."

"Who are you looking for?"  He twirled the end of his moustache around 
his finger and glowered at me.

"Irving Rose," I said.

The man's blue eyes looked like they were doing a jig and the rest of 
his body seemed like it would follow any second.  His cheeks turned 
pinker.  "You know Irving Rose!  The genius!  I haven't seen him in 
years."

"He used to live here?"  I asked.

"Yes he did.  In this very apartment.  I moved in when he left."

"Who are you?"  I asked.

"The landlord, Uncle Hansel," the man said.  He bowed so low that I was 
afraid his moustache would tickle me.  Instead all that happened was I 
got a little dizzy from his cologne.  Then he put out his big hand and I 
shook it.  I tried to see behind him, into the apartment where my father 
used to live.

"Could I come in?"  I asked.

"Didn't anyone tell you that children shouldn't go into the apartments 
of strange men!"  Uncle Hansel scolded.

"You're not strange," I reassured him, still trying to see.

"Well, all right, but we'll leave the door wide open and you must run 
out if you feel in the least uncomfortable, dear," Uncle Hansel 
insisted.

I followed him to a small, dim room that smelled of rye bread and 
strawberry jam.  It was filled with wooden furniture carved and painted 
with hearts and flowers.  There were jars of roses, ferns in birdcages, 
a collection of mechanical windup toys and as many cuckoo clocks as 
could fit on the walls.  As I looked at them, they all started chiming, 
and a flock of wooden cuckoos scooted in and out.  I wondered if that 
drove Uncle Hansel crazy, but he seemed to be enjoying it.  He smiled 
proudly at the birds and twirled his moustache.

"Would you like something to eat?"  Uncle Hansel asked.  "Although, come 
to think of it, little girls aren't supposed to accept food from 
strangers."

"You knew my father, though," I said.  I was hungry, and I had a pretty 
good sense of smell -- I bet there really would be rye bread and jam.

"Your father!"  Uncle Hansel exclaimed.  "Why of course!  The genius!  
You look just like him!"

"So could I maybe have a snack?" I asked.

"Of course.  Come with me."