After I hung up, I stood, shocked, at the window, staring out through the dusk thickening over Central Park, and when a hunched, darkened form broke rank with the surrounding branches and glided forth—a giant bird with outstretched wings—I saw it as a farewell message from Harold, proof of a levity that had come to him now: a final mark of distinction in the heavens, or whatever realm he had advanced into.