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out of oil and sputtering. I crept into my bed and slept badly because of the cold. Japi didn’t notice a thing.
    When day broke and I woke up, for the umpteenth time, I heard him rummaging around. He was busy making tea, had gone downstairs on his own to get water and told my startled neighbor that he was a cousin of mine. He had slept great, was just a bit stiff. He hoped he hadn’t woken me up. “I already ate,” he said. “I think you’re pretty much out of bread.” He had to go. He wanted to talk to Bavink who in those days usually went to sleep around ten in the morning. He brought me a mixing bowl of tea in bed and stood by the window slurping his own bowl. He held it tight in both hands and looked out. “Times are tough all over,” he said. “Well then, ciao, I can get my jacket from the clothesline myself.” At the door he turned around again. “A place like this looks a lot nicer at night.”
    I thought so too. I stumbled out of bed, cold and miserable. My money was still lying on the table. He had said he didn’t need his old man’s money, I thought, or the bourgeoisie’s money either. You try saying that.
V
    â€œKoekebakker,” Japi said, “I feel so strange inside.” It was one afternoon at Bavink’s. I’d stopped by to talk to Bavink but he was out. Japi was sitting at the table with a little dime bottle of ink and a pile of newspapers in front of him. “Koekebakker, I feel so strange inside.”
    â€œWell you certainly smell like jenever,” I said.
    â€œNo,” Japi said, “it’s not the jenever. I think my soul is too big.” Can you believe it? That sponger! “What are the newspapers for, Japi?” I asked. Japi slapped the pile. “ Daily News , Koekebakker, Daily News . Some of them are a month old.” “Have to apply for a job again, Japi?” “You guessed it. Can’t go on like this. Grab a chair. Look: KH14684, Daily News. Dear Sirs:”—“How many have you done so far?” I asked.—“First one. It’s slow going. You people who’ve never worked in an office, you don’t know what it’s like. What’ll you have to drink, man? You don’t mind if I keep going, do you?” and he dipped his pen in the ink and then stared at the blank page. “Koekebakker,” Japi said, looking helplessly around and putting down his pen. “It’s no good. I’m not the man for this. I worked in an office once, and I’m not cut out for it. I know from experience. I don’t understand anything about it. What’s the point of it all? I’m perfectly satisfied as I am. Let’s just put that all away.” And he picked up the stack of newspapers and carefully placed them out of sight beneath the table.
    â€œThere, now I can’t see them. You don’t know what an office job is like, Koekebakker, or you wouldn’t laugh. First you go to school till you’re eighteen. Do you know how many sheep there are in Australia or how deep the Suez Canal is? My point exactly. But I knew all that. Do you know what polarization is? Me neither, but I used to. I had to learn the strangest things: ‘Credited to the inventory account,’ translate that into French. Have a go at that. You have no idea, Koekebakker. And it goes on for years. Then your old man sticks you in an office. And you realize that the reason you learned all those things was so that you could wet slips of paper with a little brush. And it’s always the same old routine, be there nine o’clock sharp, sit there quietly for hours and hours. I realized I couldn’t do it. I was always late, I really tried to get there on time but it never happened, it had been going on too long. And so boring. They said I did everything wrong and I’m sure they were right about that. I wanted to but I couldn’t do it, I’m not the kind of person