I was a David McCallum-like spy or professor, and my assignment was to train or teach a young woman — something. I didn’t know what.

When she arrived, I told her that my sense of geography was not good, but that somewhere in eastern Europe, perhaps Romania, “we” had lobbied to install an experimental pig farm and finally had won our way.

In case she had missed the obvious point, I said, “Of course, we don’t need a pig farm there when we have the entire Midwest.” I did not know if she would be able to complete the thought. “The pig farm is really an opportunity to keep an eye on the Russian missile program.”

She left, and I stood in the window on the second floor, watching the evening rain, wondering what I had been talking about, and thinking, “Why Romania?”