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‘Leave it. I mustn’t talk to you about it. You put it nicely. André T., unproven dealer in pleasure and oblivion. That’s how it is. That’s how it was, I should say. I’m going to do other things. Important things. For myself, that is.’

I looked at him and saw that he did not want to go into details about his new activities. Not now, at any rate.

‘Bart, you old wanker. It’s as if you were here yesterday, with that slow Puch moped of yours. Haha.’

‘I was never the Kreidler type. I’m still not, as a matter of fact.’

He looked at me seriously. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘for all those years of silence. I should have responded, at least to the announcement of your daughter’s birth.’

‘I expect you were busy.’

‘Pretty.’

‘No excuse, bastard.’

‘No.’

‘She’ll be 21 soon.’

‘Yes, well anyway, congratulations on your daughter’s birth.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Do you have a photo with you? I’m interested to see what you’ve produced.’

It happened by itself, he said a little later. ‘People always want to know how it could have reached that point, how you wind up in the wrong world. The answer is simple: step by step. You scarcely realize that you’re going irrevocably in a certain direction. Just like people who have the same office jobs all their lives. How did it happen to them?’