The Darkroom of Damocles by Willem Frederik Hermans

feathers for a client. But if you get to talk to Mr Nauta himself, begin by asking him why he hasn’t been answering the phone. If he has a satisfactory explanation you can carry on. But if he says he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, tell him to watch out, because Ria and her mother-in-law have been arrested by the Germans. Ask him where Elly is. Just ask after Elly. But if it turns out there’s nothing wrong with the phone, give him this ID card. Put it in a sealed envelope first. Give him the envelope and tell him: from Henri. If he asks any questions, just don’t answer them.’
    He thrust Elly’s new identity card into her hand.

Zoeterwoudsesingel did not have an even and an uneven side, the houses were numbered consecutively: 70, 71, 72. On the far side of the canal, which followed the zigzag course of the town’s old defences, was a stretch of parkland with huge weeping willows.
    Number 74 sat exactly in the crook of an angle in the zigzag waterway. The house was quite different from the houses to the left and right, which stood slightly further back. The windows and eaves were decorated with lavish woodcarving. There was no garden at the front, but next to the doorway there were iron railings enclosing a flagged space hardly big enough to park a baby’s pram in.
    The house next door was full of doctors, all of whom shared the same name. Their nameplates were set one above the other by the entrance.
    Labare opened the door in person. He was about forty, and had a dented appearance, with hollow temples, hollow cheeks covered in a thick stubble of a mousy shade, and grey, spiky hair. He wore slippers. He extended an ink-stained hand and said: ‘My name is Labare. Come in.’
    â€˜I’m Joost Melgers,’ said Osewoudt, and shook the proffered hand.
    He was quickly ushered upstairs. Labare drew him into a small, narrow room.
    In it stood a narrow bed with a dingy white counterpane, astraight-backed chair and a small table with an enamel basin and jug. On the wall: a framed picture of a family of ginger apes partially clothed as humans.
    Labare sat down on the bed, and with a weary wave of the hand indicated by turns the chair and the space beside him on the bed. In his other hand he held a flat tin box.
    Osewoudt sat down on the bed.
    â€˜Look here, Melgers, it’s like this. You can sleep up here as long as nothing’s going on, but in emergencies you’ll have to stay in the basement. These are all strict orders. We have no time for amateurs, jokers, show-offs or blabbermouths here. There have been enough accidents already. Have you heard about the Dreadnought group? It’s the firing squad for them all next week. That lot talked too much, they all knew exactly who the others were. The Germans rounded up every one of them in an afternoon at the same address. So we don’t go in for chit-chat here. Like to roll yourself a smoke?’
    â€˜No thanks. Allow me to offer you an English cigarette.’
    â€˜You’d better hang on to those.’ Labare opened the tin box and rolled a very thin cigarette with pitch-black, hair-like tobacco.
    â€˜So in an emergency,’ he went on, ‘you go straight down to the basement. There are bunks there too. Besides, that’s where all the work is done. It would be safest if you stayed down there permanently, but that’s a bit hard …’ He paused. ‘A bit hard … You might as well come down with me now. Could I see that Leica of yours?’
    Osewoudt got out the camera and handed it to Labare. Labare crossed his legs and examined it with head bowed. He kept the roll-up between his lips, the smoke curling around his hollow temples. He was breathing through his mouth and began to cough.
    â€˜Not bad, new model. No close-up lens?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜I’ve never had one.’
    â€˜Never had one?’ Labare looked at him as if he thought