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‘Bart, you’ll never guess. Who suddenly walked into my place last week? Well?’

‘No idea.’

‘Marga Sap. Marga Sap! An American lady comes into the office, you know, heavy make-up, Botox, and I’m thinking: now what? And suddenly I see it. Marga Sap. Guess what she’s called now?’

‘Haven’t got a clue. Marga Juice?’

‘Marge Armstrong. I swear. Marge Armstrong. Haha!’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘True!’

‘And?’

‘We went for a meal. Here.’

‘Original.’

‘Before that we walked through the town for two hours. She hadn’t been back for at least twenty-five years. She was all eyes.’

‘And then?’

‘After dinner I took her back to her hotel, and she told me what she thought when I came into your class for the first time.’

‘Well?’

‘She’d heard that all black guys have an enormous dong and she thought: there’s one.’

‘Cut it out, David.’

‘So, yes…’

‘No!’

‘Yes. Marga Sap. Finally.’

‘And now?’

‘Now she’s gone back to Jack in Lansing, Michigan. She sends you her best wishes.’

-

VII

The day Hinke and I got married was also the day when my friendship with Joost and André was put on ice. In the preceding years the contact had already become much less intensive, and now came the separation.