essentially polite ever to become angry with anyone."
"He doesn't care enough to be concerned," de Gier said. He smiled at Cardozo. "Enough sugar? Not too much milk? I stirred twice. To your liking, I hope?"
"A little too sweet," Cardozo said. "Could do with more milk. Otherwise it's just right."
"Too strong." Grijpstra put down his cup. "You'll never learn. Didn't the commissaris tell us that he and Fernandus go back a long way?"
"And that they don't talk to each other anymore," de Gier said. "Surprising. Very. Do we have a hint of humanity here? I'm not sure I like that."
"My brother Samuel got me a free ticket to this play the other day," Cardozo said. "Being eternally unemployed, Samuel finds things to do. It's amateur theatrics now. The play was about Tibetan holy men, calling themselves 'mountain lions,' who have been chased off their mountaintops by Chinese economists. It was called The Mangy Dog. The point seemed to be that when a mountain lion comes down to the village, the common people take him to be some other kind of stray dog."
"Is that so?" Grijpstra asked. "I'm glad you told us."
"I get it," de Gier said, "but nobody ever chased the commissaris into our lowly spheres. If he is here, he'll be here by his own choice."
"Would you care to light the incense, Cardozo?" Grijpstra asked. "And dust the floor, perhaps? It's time for us to prostrate ourselves."
"Go ahead," de Gier said. "Ridicule what you can't understand as yet. See if you can drag us mountain lions through the mud."
"Us," Grijpstra said.
"Got to go now," Cardozo said, tiptoeing away from his desk. "I'm busy. 'Bye."
De Gier jumped up and rushed to the door. Grijpstra drank his coffee. De Gier came back. "Couldn't catch him, eh?" Grijpstra asked. "You're getting old. Go home and take another nap. I'll see you in the courtyard at seven sharp."
\\\\\ 10 /////
"B UT I'M NOT," FERNANDUS SAID, WAVING HIS small fat hands excitedly. "No, I'm not at all what you imply. What has gotten into you? Look at me. I'm Willem. Wimpy, to you. We went to kindergarten together. We looked at goddamn mice. We were pals."
"No," the commissaris said.
Fernandus, dressed in a well-made but inconspicuous suit that was, to the trained observer of status symbols, easily discernible as very high-priced, flashed a golden smile, highlighted by his perfectly repaired canines. His recently permanented silver curls waved as his hands gestured more eloquently. "Jan. Why keep carrying all this old anger? I came here with pleasure. I was looking forward to meeting you after all these years."
"You came here," the commissaris said, "because you were told to come by a uniformed constable. If you hadn't come, I would have signed a warrant. You're a material witness in a murder case."
Fernandus held on to his smile. "You look neat, you look like the very symbol of authority. Do you know you would make an impressive judge?"
The commissaris smiled noncommitally.
"Yes," Fernandus said, "I can see it now. You developed well. As was to be expected, of course. Just look at you." He sketched the commissaris's outline in the air. "A neat little old aristocrat, framed by flowering begonias, looking innocent enough behind that impressively sculptured desk. But don't"—Fernandus raised a hand—"let anyone underestimate your ferocious power when you suspect injustice in the land. Now what murder might you be referring to, Jan?"
The commissaris took his time, lighting a cigar. "You're here to receive fair warning."
Fernandus's hand shot out. "I'll have a cigar too."
"Fair warning," the commissaris said. "You chose the evil path, Willem. How do you find it? Easy?"
Fernandus slumped back. "There we go again. Our last discussion was over thirty years ago. I didn't agree with you then and I disagree with you now. I chose the convenient, realistic path."
The commissaris, with a delicate old-mannish gesture, tipped ash off his cigar. "I chose the good path. I don't find it easy, that's why
"He doesn't care enough to be concerned," de Gier said. He smiled at Cardozo. "Enough sugar? Not too much milk? I stirred twice. To your liking, I hope?"
"A little too sweet," Cardozo said. "Could do with more milk. Otherwise it's just right."
"Too strong." Grijpstra put down his cup. "You'll never learn. Didn't the commissaris tell us that he and Fernandus go back a long way?"
"And that they don't talk to each other anymore," de Gier said. "Surprising. Very. Do we have a hint of humanity here? I'm not sure I like that."
"My brother Samuel got me a free ticket to this play the other day," Cardozo said. "Being eternally unemployed, Samuel finds things to do. It's amateur theatrics now. The play was about Tibetan holy men, calling themselves 'mountain lions,' who have been chased off their mountaintops by Chinese economists. It was called The Mangy Dog. The point seemed to be that when a mountain lion comes down to the village, the common people take him to be some other kind of stray dog."
"Is that so?" Grijpstra asked. "I'm glad you told us."
"I get it," de Gier said, "but nobody ever chased the commissaris into our lowly spheres. If he is here, he'll be here by his own choice."
"Would you care to light the incense, Cardozo?" Grijpstra asked. "And dust the floor, perhaps? It's time for us to prostrate ourselves."
"Go ahead," de Gier said. "Ridicule what you can't understand as yet. See if you can drag us mountain lions through the mud."
"Us," Grijpstra said.
"Got to go now," Cardozo said, tiptoeing away from his desk. "I'm busy. 'Bye."
De Gier jumped up and rushed to the door. Grijpstra drank his coffee. De Gier came back. "Couldn't catch him, eh?" Grijpstra asked. "You're getting old. Go home and take another nap. I'll see you in the courtyard at seven sharp."
\\\\\ 10 /////
"B UT I'M NOT," FERNANDUS SAID, WAVING HIS small fat hands excitedly. "No, I'm not at all what you imply. What has gotten into you? Look at me. I'm Willem. Wimpy, to you. We went to kindergarten together. We looked at goddamn mice. We were pals."
"No," the commissaris said.
Fernandus, dressed in a well-made but inconspicuous suit that was, to the trained observer of status symbols, easily discernible as very high-priced, flashed a golden smile, highlighted by his perfectly repaired canines. His recently permanented silver curls waved as his hands gestured more eloquently. "Jan. Why keep carrying all this old anger? I came here with pleasure. I was looking forward to meeting you after all these years."
"You came here," the commissaris said, "because you were told to come by a uniformed constable. If you hadn't come, I would have signed a warrant. You're a material witness in a murder case."
Fernandus held on to his smile. "You look neat, you look like the very symbol of authority. Do you know you would make an impressive judge?"
The commissaris smiled noncommitally.
"Yes," Fernandus said, "I can see it now. You developed well. As was to be expected, of course. Just look at you." He sketched the commissaris's outline in the air. "A neat little old aristocrat, framed by flowering begonias, looking innocent enough behind that impressively sculptured desk. But don't"—Fernandus raised a hand—"let anyone underestimate your ferocious power when you suspect injustice in the land. Now what murder might you be referring to, Jan?"
The commissaris took his time, lighting a cigar. "You're here to receive fair warning."
Fernandus's hand shot out. "I'll have a cigar too."
"Fair warning," the commissaris said. "You chose the evil path, Willem. How do you find it? Easy?"
Fernandus slumped back. "There we go again. Our last discussion was over thirty years ago. I didn't agree with you then and I disagree with you now. I chose the convenient, realistic path."
The commissaris, with a delicate old-mannish gesture, tipped ash off his cigar. "I chose the good path. I don't find it easy, that's why
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