House of Glass

  “So, please, begin, the two of you. Excuse me,” and so he left, after nodding to both of us.

  We sat opposite each other. I studied him even more closely. Meneer Gr— brushed off some cigar ash that had fallen on his trousers, put his right hand on the back of mine, which I was resting on the table, as if I was his favorite child, then spoke in a soft voice: “Are you happy to get a French boss?”

  “I only met him this morning, Meneer,” I answered.

  “He is very clever, quite smart. It’s a bit of a pity though that he vacillates whenever the time comes to make an important decision,” he went on. “You received a good French education. We all know that. He is very conservative whenever it comes to anything French. It won’t take you long to get to know him.” Suddenly he moved on to the main subject, which he no doubt had already prepared in his mind: “Have you been following what has been happening among the Chinese subjects of the Indies?”

  “I should be, of course, Meneer.”

  “You are too modest, Meneer Pangemanann. I am not trying to test you, Meneer. I would like to get your reaction to one question though, even if it is outside your area of responsibility. Is there anything that has caught your attention since China became a republic under Sun Yat-sen?” He waited silently for my answer, but added: “I mean here in the Indies.”

  For anyone who studied the newspapers and magazines from front to back, including the advertisements, it was natural that they would have at least a few words to say.

  “Many Chinese have taken to writing lately, Meneer,” I answered, “and translating Chinese poetry into Malay as well, and publishing European-style fiction.”

  “European-style fiction! Are you sure you haven’t made a rather hasty conclusion?” he asked suddenly.

  “You are right, no doubt,” I answered quickly.

  “Have you ever studied Chinese affairs, in the Indies or China?”

  “Never, Meneer, especially not in depth.”

  “Do you understand Chinese or one of the dialects?”

  “No, Meneer. I have only read what they have written in Malay and Dutch.”

  “That’s quite adequate.”

  “If you think my conclusions were a bit too hasty, Meneer, what are your own opinions then?”

  Meneer Gr— examined me with his eyes, then: “In my opinion the Chinese do not need to copy Europeans. They were writing at least fifteen centuries before Europeans. They are a people who love the truth even though they have been influenced by Hinduism and Buddhism. What I mean is that they don’t need to learn from Europe when it comes to writing. Perhaps it is the opposite that should be happening.”

  “They have never had a victory over Europe,” I said, and what Meneer L— had said about the Javanese suddenly flashed through my mind.

  “That’s true. In politics and in our lifetime. But in the past, Meneer, they trampled over Europe on their horses. The kings of Europe bowed down in obeisance to the narrowed-eyed victors, who left behind Mongol birthmarks on the behinds of European babies, even until today.”

  “But that wasn’t China. That was the great Genghis Khan.”

  “The same, Meneer. The same race with the same abilities.” He stopped again, and then, like a teacher, resumed his examination of me: “Do you remember the names of the Chinese who are writing in Malay?”

  “It’s hard to remember Chinese names. I’m sorry, Meneer. If I am not mistaken some of them are Lie K— H—, Kwee T— H—, Tan B— K—. Perhaps I haven’t pronounced them properly.”

  “That’s good enough. You pronounced the three of them correctly, Meneer. What do you think of their writings?”

  “You mean are there any special traits?”

  “Yes, what is of the most interest in their writings?”

  “I haven’t given this matter any in-depth study yet, Meneer.”

  “I think we will be able to work together, Meneer. Excuse me, I should get on with my work.” He nodded. Before he left, he spoke once more: “We will meet again later today.”

  I was left by myself in Room A.

  The whole room was surrounded by polished brown timber walls. There were pictures of the Queen’s family hanging in several places. The tricolor flag was on display. There were silver ashtrays on the table, most already containing ash. The windows looked as if they had not been opened since the palace had been built. I could see through the windowpanes the palace gardens and lawns outside. The kaleidoscope of color of the flowers gave the view some gaiety.

  The door was still open. Meneer Gr— forgot to close it. I saw an attendant come and close it from outside.

  So what was I supposed to do sitting here in this meeting room alone? But it was so peaceful here. I rested my face in my two hands as I savored the peace and quiet. During the last ten years I had rarely enjoyed this kind of peace. I knew that I would not be able to resist, that I would cross further into the field of mud before me, as a good official, as a successful career man. You can’t succeed in everything, I humored myself. To succeed in just one thing already puts you above most other people. And I knew that I had no wish to be an extraordinary person with successes in all sorts of extraordinary areas. My success was already enough. Anyway, what was the real difference between a successful human being and a successful criminal? They both contained elements of success. The only difference was that one was good at being a human being, the other at being a criminal.

  I had lived through half a century now. How much longer would this body of mine survive? Ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? The doctor said there were no signs of anything wrong with my heart. My lungs were in first-class condition. I had ideal blood pressure—120/80. I had a waist as good as any young man. There were no signs of any hardening of the arteries. I should be able to live another fifty years, if everything could be as peaceful and quiet as at this moment. And to make it possible for me to live another fifty years, I did not need all this turmoil and confusion afflicting my mind and emotions.

  I was not a person with great passions. I had no unlimited ambitions. I certainly had no great desire to be wealthy. Neither did I have ambitions for great power. All I wanted was the authority justified by my position and abilities. I had no grandiose dreams. As far as this went, I was a normal and balanced person. But there was one plan that I worked hard to successfully implement—to ensure that my children would be equipped with enough education and learning to cope with the new times, their own times, the times they were entering now. Was I sinning too greatly if, for those reasons, I now decided to choose to be only an official?

  My hand seemed to move by itself, as I crossed myself: “Protect me. Guide me.” It was only then that I left Room A and made my way to my own office.

  I had only sat down for a few minutes, when I stood again and opened the windows. Fresh air entered the room, accompanied by a cool and pleasant dampness.

  The telephone rang again. Monsieur R— summoned me.

  Now that I realized that so many people wanted to get into this room, I locked both the windows and the door before I left.

  Monsieur R— welcomed me as amicably as he had in the morning, saying politely: “Put your pistol down on this table.”

  I took my pistol from under my coat and put it on the table.

  “Are you happy with that weapon or would you like a better more modern one?”

  “It is all up to you, Meneer.”

  He took the pistol and put it in his drawer. He took out a smaller pistol and showed it to me: “This is not made in England, Meneer. America.”

  American products were not generally thought to be any good, so: “Then perhaps I could keep the old one, Meneer.”

  “You haven’t used American weapons yet, so you don’t want one,” he said. “Anyway, your pistol belongs to the police. Get used to this one first. And here is an additional box of bullets for practicing with. You know where the practice range is?” he put the weapon, the bullets, and the papers down on the desk. “You will come to love t
his weapon. I myself have already fallen in love with it. You don’t need to report the use of the bullets to the police. Just tell me. That’s enough.” He continued to speak in French. I just agreed to whatever he said. He went off across to a cabinet and took out a big file tied up in tape and the knot sealed with wax. He put the parcel down on the table. “This is your first case.” Then he started again: “Take the pistol. Don’t carry it at your waist but use a shoulder holster.” He opened the drawer again and gave me a black leather holster. “You prefer a pistol to a revolver, yes?”

  Bored with his never-ending stream of words, I just nodded.

  “Please take all this. To be honest I don’t like having that pistol on my table.”

  I returned to my office with everything he had given me. I opened the window, locked the door, and took off my coat. I tied my shoulder holster on and slipped the pistol into its pouch and then put my coat back on. I was just about to open the sealed file when the phone rang again and I was summoned once more by Monsieur R—.

  “Do you realize, Meneer, that you have broken the law?”

  “I realize, Monsieur, that I have no papers for my pistol and the bullets. But I was only carrying out your orders as my chief, isn’t that so?”

  He smiled. “Here are the papers. Put your signature on them; then everything will be legal.” I did what he wanted.

  “That file is for your eyes only. It must not leave your office.”

  I returned to my office. Monsieur R—’s nerves were worse than mine, I thought to myself.

  “Who said Meneer R—’s nerves were worse than yours, Meneer?”

  I looked up from the file. Before me stood that man in his white robes and white turban. His teeth grimaced at me. Two on one side of his mouth were missing. Ziihhh. Ziihhh.

  But the vision did not disappear, it just grew more challenging, pointing at me: “Meneer is sitting here now precisely because you are worse than R—. In any case, both of you, all of you here, are nothing more than a bunch of sick human beings. You destroyed us because you saw us as criminals. You here are nothing other than official criminals, we were unofficial.”

  I held the file in front of my face. Ziihhh, ziihhh! Get away, you!

  “Yes, Meneer, what can I get you?”

  “Fetch me a drink,” I ordered, unable to see, my face still covered by the file. I shut my eyelids so tight I could start to feel my eyes warm at the edges.

  Suddenly I remembered that I had locked the door. I dropped the file on the table and checked the key that was still in the keyhole. I tried the door handle. The door was still locked. The hairs on the back of my neck and up and down my body stood on end. My hands made a cross.

  Was I as sick as this?

  I opened the door and saw Frits Doertier walking briskly by carrying an empty serving tray.

  “Frits!” He glanced back but continued on without answering. His eyes didn’t blink. They were dull, like those of a dead fish. Oh, my Lord, I needed a friend here in my office. I longed for the presence of Nicolaas Knor, the chief of housekeeping.

  I was about to leave the office to find him when I remembered I had to lock the file away in the cabinet and lock the windows too. So I turned to go back into the room instead of heading off down the corridor. Suddenly my hairs stood on end again. The window and the file seemed far, far away. I was afraid to enter my own office. I stood there not knowing what to do. Or had I in fact lost my mind? Were my nerves in such a bad state or was this room haunted?

  How lucky I was that there was no one else in the corridor except Frits Doertier. I knew he was taking his revenge on me. Nicolaas Knor, where was your office? Ah. I couldn’t leave this office with the window left open like that. Anyone could get in and mess around, putting their hands on documents to which they had no right. And I could be in big trouble.

  I felt as if I stood there for a long time. Frits Doertier appeared with the empty serving tray again.

  “Come here, Frits!” I called to him in Dutch.

  He stopped in front of me. His sullen face displayed his hatred of me.

  “Go and get Meneer Knor.”

  “Very well,” he answered stiffly.

  I was not offended. This time I was in great need of his help.

  Nicolaas Knor appeared in the distance. His yellow buttons gleamed, and his white head was hardly less shiny. He nodded respectfully, waiting for my orders.

  “Please go in, Meneer Knor,” I invited him and I followed him inside.

  “You don’t look well,” he said after he sat down opposite me.

  “Perhaps, Meneer. The hairs of my neck are always standing on end. Perhaps this room is too damp.”

  He just cleared his throat and glanced across at the open window.

  “Perhaps some hot milk would help me, Meneer Knor.”

  “Let me get some for you, Meneer. Is there anything else you would like?”

  “I would like to talk to you for a moment.”

  “Good. Let me get you the milk first, Meneer.”

  He stood, and I stood too. My eyes followed him to the door. He walked down the corridor toward the back of the building. He had been walking a long time and still he didn’t disappear from my sight. I felt so ashamed of myself standing outside my door like that. Fifty years old and I was beginning to believe in ghosts? Is this what Pangemanann, graduate of a French university, is going to be like in his period of degeneration?

  Nicolaas Knor arrived back accompanied by Frits Doertier, who carried a tray with glasses of hot milk. They entered and I followed. Knor took the milk and placed it on the desk.

  “And whiskey, Frits, with three tumblers,” I ordered. “One bottle.”

  Frits nodded happily and rushed off.

  As soon as I had sat down, I quickly asked: “Meneer Knor, whom have I replaced?”

  “Meneer Mister De Lange.”

  “Did he retire with pension or . . .”

  “A terrible thing, Meneer, a terrible thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suicide, Meneer.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, here, Meneer, with poison,” he said slowly, then pointed to the door. “It was locked. We discovered him at closing time. He didn’t come out of his office. I knocked several times. No answer. He was still very young. He had graduated from university only five years ago. Over there”—he pointed to the window—“I went round and looked in from there. God! Meneer De Lange was sprawled out on the floor. I didn’t dare go inside. I telephoned palace security. They came and went in through the window. I followed, Meneer. Such a young man. A graduate. Not even married yet! Here, Meneer, in this room!” He pointed to a spot on the floor, near the legs of the table. “He was bleeding from his mouth, and the pores of his skin. Perhaps his arteries had all burst. I don’t know.”

  The extremities of my feet, wet with perspiration, shivered from the cold.

  “Why did he kill himself?” I asked.

  “Nobody knows.”

  “Why did he kill himself here?”

  “Only he knows that, Meneer.”

  Frits Doertier arrived with the whisky.

  “Sit down here, Frits. Let’s the three of us drink to our friendship!”

  The two of them became merry after a couple of whiskeys. I drank mine in my milk. When Frits’s face started to turn red, I told him he could go, and he didn’t seem to hate me anymore.

  “I have never heard of any suicides at the Algemeene Secretariat,” I said.

  “There is no need for anyone to know, Meneer.”

  “What about his family?”

  “He had no family.”

  “Perhaps love was the motive?”

  “Who knows, Meneer? He was a happy man who was well liked by the ladies.”

  “What was his first name?”

  “Simon, Meneer, Simon De Lange.”

  That was the first time I heard that name, and he was such an important person. I already had a vision of what kind of work he
did here every day. And he chose to kill himself here in this room. He planned it! He didn’t kill himself at home but here in my office!

  “He didn’t leave behind any message?”

  “How would I know, Meneer? You could find out from the gentlemen at palace security.”

  “Were the cabinets opened and inspected before I arrived?”

  “Of course, Meneer,” he answered coldly, as if nothing had ever happened, as if no human being had lost his life.

  “They didn’t find anything?”

  “I don’t know, Meneer. Perhaps yes. Perhaps no.”

  “You don’t mind me asking you these questions?”

  “No, Meneer. We all know that you were a police commissioner. It’s only natural that you ask such questions. Before you arrived, everyone talked about your successes in the police. I am sure that you will conduct your own investigation of this secret incident.”

  “Meneer Knor, have you ever entered this room by yourself?”

  He seemed startled by that question. I had to clear things up: “Others too, perhaps? By themselves alone, I mean?”

  “As head of housekeeping, naturally I have been in here often, Meneer.”

  “I mean after Meneer De Lange killed himself?”

  “Of course.”

  “You never felt there was anything strange about this room?”

  “I always found it a bit distressing coming in here, Meneer, especially after such a terrible thing happened.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Three days before you arrived.”

  “Thank you for keeping me company, Meneer Knor.”

  He rose from his chair. I went over straightaway and opened the window, then followed him to the door. Before he left for his own office I added: “Come and visit me often, Meneer.”

  He just smiled, nodded politely, and left.

  I left the window and door open. I startled to fondle the sealed file again. Meanwhile I started laughing at myself: You who have already lived through half a century; what are you afraid of now? You only have a little time left to live. Enjoy what time you have left. You are stupid if you don’t do that. Put some zest in your life, go and visit Rientje de Roo occasionally. Yes, like everyone else. Make your life as balanced as possible. You’re always anxious and restless. What do you get from being so anxious all the time? Nothing, zero. All you do is destroy yourself and you are afraid to let other people see. Even your own wife.