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to go outside, I was sure of that. He lit a cigar, looked at the smoke for a while, then said, “That Hoyer, what kind of a guy is he really?” Hoyer and Japi didn’t get along. I’d already realized that. Hoyer was a penny-pincher and spoke his mind too. “He’s useless,” Japi said, “he should stick to smearing his paints around, he’s no good for anything else.”
    Bavink had left town for the day, “on business” Japi said, and he (Japi) had run into van Houten on the way home from the office. Van Houten, a friend of Bavink’s, worked in an office and thought he could write. He had already published a brick of a novel, which had cost the publisher a pretty penny. Japi let himself be invited out to dinner. Hoyer was there too, he was the first one to say, “Hey, freeloader!” Japi thought that was excellent. After all, who among us is not a freeloader? “The bourgeoisie are there to pay our expenses.” That same night he had asked Hoyer to loan him a rijksdollar, just to needle him. He knew perfectly well that Hoyer wouldn’t happen to have any money on him at the moment. But even big ol’ Hoyer got taken eventually, he couldn’t help it. Japi borrowed Hoyer’s ridiculous salmon-colored coat and never brought it back. Japi didn’t get much enjoyment out of it, though. He was always getting into fights about it, and eventually some roughnecks tore a sleeve off, on the bridge in Ouderkerk.
    â€œLook at that,” Japi said, “quarter past nine. Time to get going. Listen to that rain.” He went and stood by the window. “Pitch black,” he said. “Can’t see anything through this rain. Phew, I’m shivering, my pants legs are still wet. Too bad you don’t have anything to drink in the house.” I fetched his jacket. It was still water-logged.
    â€œDo you have a long way to go in this weather?” I asked. “I could go by the old man’s,” Japi said, “but that’s half an hour away too. That’s your nest, is it?” Japi shoved the curtain aside and sat down on my bed and yawned. “I think I’m coming down with something,” he said. “You know what you should do, go get a half dram of old jen-ever, it’s on me. I’ll pay you back when I get the chance.” I was still standing there with his jacket over my arm. “Wear my jacket,” he said. I stumbled out to the attic—my sweater was more or less dry. The liquor store wasn’t far. I draped Japi’s wet jacket over my sweater. The thing felt cold and unpleasant. And I went down the stairs like that and across the street. There was no line and I was back within ten minutes. When I came upstairs I found Japi lying there snoring, in his clothes, with his shoes on. “Hello!” I shouted and shook him by the shoulder. He mumbled something. “Hello, jenever’s here.” He looked drowsily up at me and sat up slowly. “Oh,” he said, “so I see.” He drank a sip. “That’ll fix me right up. Say,” he said, “can’t I spend the night here? I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night or today either.” What was I supposed to say? He could sleep on the floor, he said, if he could just have something to put under his head. “Thank God,” he said, throwing both his shoes across the room at the same time, “Thank God I’m out of those dripping wet monsters!” Then he hung his pants over the back of a chair, “to dry out.” He pushed my little burner aside, put Appi’s books down in the corner, put his jacket on top, and kept his sweater on. Then he took my best blanket, rolled himself up in it, took another sip of jenever, and lay down with his head on the little pile and said, “Sleep tight.”
    And I went back to the table and sat down, looked at my money, and dozed off. When I woke up the lamp was