started. He was in a forest, walking down a fairly wide path, and Oliver was walking ahead of him, his long black- tipped silver tail flicking nervously. They were walking on a thick carpet of fir needles. It had to be late in the day for the sunrays were low, cutting through the open spaces left in between tree trunks. There was light at the end of the path and Oliver began to run. De Gier turned over and the dream stopped.
\\ 10 /////
'You mean, turn out the ughts after I have given them a Japanese newspaper, tell the guard to forget to serve them tea, get somebody to fix the baseboard heaters so that they work at top capacity while the outside temperature is eighty in the shade, that sort of thing?'
Grypstra was asking his complicated question pleasantly while he leaned his bulk against the white wall of the inspector's office. He had refused the chair which had been offered and was making a mess with his cigar ash, allowing it to drop on the spotless floor and spreading it with the sole of his right shoe. The inspector was aware of the nature of the adjutant's thoughts. His left eyelid was twitching and his thin fingers, which reminded Grijpstra of the claws of a chameleon, were clutching at various objects on his smooth desk top.
'Well,' the inspector said, 'it's not my business. I was only making a few suggestions, helpful suggestions, you know. I know you are dealing with the case. But…'
'Yes?' There was a slight threat in Grijpstra's heavy whisper.
'Damn it, man,' the inspector said, and his voice shot up. 'Can't you accept suggestions? This sort of thing is my specialty. I graduated in it. At the academy I never missed a lecture on crime detection and they sent me to London for a year to study CID methods over there. Surely it is no torture to make a prisoner uncomfortable? I am not telling you to pull the fingernails out of these Japanese gangsters' hands, am I? And if I did I am sure they would understand, and not only understand, they would accept. And they would talk. Every man has his breaking point, even professional toughs. I saw those men, they are killers. They would torture you, without any hesitation, provided someone ordered them to do it. This whole situation is ridiculous, we are pampering them. They are in Amstelveen jail, the most comfortable jail in the country. They have a large cell, well aired, lots of light. They get their meals sent in, delicacies from a superexpensive Japanese restaurant, and we are paying the bill, or the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is taking care of it. Preposterous, don't you think?'
'I am not thinking,' Grijpstra said.
The inspector shoved his chair back with such force that it hit the wall and fell over. 'Listen, adjutant,' he said in a cold voice, 'don't play your game with me. I am an officer, commissioned by the queen, and you are not. Don't forget that small point. If I pull a few strings your life will change, you may find that you will be ordered to do different work. There is a vacancy in the Aliens Administration Department. You could be sitting behind a dirty desk in a stuffy room and there will be Arabs pushing documents at you, full of scribbles and rubber stamps, a hundred Arabs a day, three hundred days a year. Your fingertips will be worn down from finding index cards in battered tin boxes. You'll be sick from the smell of garlic, and sweat, and human dirt. And when you go home each day you will know that you have achieved nothing. The Military Police will fly illegal immigrants back to their countries, but they will be back in a matter of weeks, or days even, and they'll be in your office again, pretending that they don't speak Dutch and arguing and touching you with their grimy hands, pulling your sleeves, patting your cheeks, begging and shrieking.
Grijpstra was staring out of the window; the muscles attached to his jaws were working.
'Are you listening, adjutant?'
'Yes, sir. But we aren't dealing with Arabs now, we are dealing with Japanese. Mr. Takemoio and Mr. Nakamura. I agree with you that they may very well be gangsters. I have seen them at least twenty times, and they behave in an unusually cool manner, considering their circumstances and the charges against them. I agree they are tough and dangerous. But we have almost nothing on them. You have read the reports. We can forget the statements made by witnesses. We don't really have witnesses. First they recognized the suspects' faces, then they didn't. The public prosecutor is laughing about the case, and we are only allowed to hold the suspects because of special requests made by persons in high places. As matters stand now, I can't be sure that our suspects did indeed kill Mr. Nagai.'
The inspector sat down again. He seemed to be in control of his temper, but the eyelid was still twitching.
'Right. But soon the case will change. Nagai's body was buried near the speedway between Amsterdam and Utrecht. We'll find the grave. I spoke to the State Police this morning and they are making an intensive search. The speedway is fifty kilometers long, but we know that the car was washed near a pond, we know where the pond is and we may assume that the body was buried close to there. The State Police are concentrating their search in that area. I think they have a hundred men on the job, plus all the men the nearby villages and towns can spare. They'll find the grave and they'll find the body. As soon as you have the body you should confront your suspects with it. The body will have decomposed a little by now and will look properly gruesome. Rub their faces in it if necessary. The fact that the commissaris is in Japan doesn't mean we can sit back here and wait.'
He contracted his eyes and stared at the adjutant's face.
Grijpstra had been looking out of the window again. There were a lot of sea gulls on the roof opposite. He had counted them. Thirty-seven sea gulls, all bloated from food throw-outs floating in the canal.
'Yes sir,' Grijpstra said, 'and now if you'll excuse me I'll go. I'd like to hear what the drug-brigade detectives have found out. They have been working on the restaurant angle. I was told that a Dutch seaman, a first mate, I believe, has been asked to come to their office to answer some questions. The man's ship has just come in from Hong Kong, and the detectives have found eight kilos of heroin in the old city. There is proof that the heroin came out of this man's ship and there are strong indications that he has handled it. The suspect doesn't like Japanese food, but he has been seen in the restaurant twice in the last few days.'
'I know,' the inspector said. 'Your colleagues have been very active.' He stressed the word 'colleagues.' Grijpstra nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly. His teeth showed when he walked back to his office but he wasn't smiling.
\\ 11 /////
The Tokaido Express was racing along noise-lessly on its endless gleaming twin tracks, and loudspeakers in all carriages were respectfully informing the honorable passengers that Mount Fuji, Japan's highest and holiest mountain, would soon appear and could be viewed through the windows on the right. The message was repeated in English, and the commissaris looked up at the little box above the sliding door, as if he were amazed that it could say something understandable. He was getting used to the all-encompassing riddle around him; the signs written in three different scripts, all of them meaningless; the language in which he couldn't recognize a single word; the utter foreignness of the farmhouses and temples, set in the lush green fields or built on hilltops; the outlandishness of the farmworkers wearing vast straw hats and coats made of dry leaves or stalks, and who sheltered under oilcloth parasols, decorated with huge diagrams. He had never been in the Far East before and felt himself wholly unprepared for the jumble of new images which were forced on his brain, asking for explanation and translation. But he had passed the first stage of bewilderment, and his mind now seemed ready to accept the strangeness and even to rest in it, as a show put up for his entertainment and imagination. He was no longer intent on trying to understand, but was allowing his mind to receive the impressions and to enjoy the colors and shapes and sounds. And now the loudspeaker had said something he could understand without bothering to translate: Mount Fuji.
He had seen photographs of the mountain, on postcards and in picture books. Not a word was said in the train when Fuji-san showed itself. The passengers were paying their respects. Eyes widened, faces smiled in wonder. The commissaris bowed his head slightly, without taking his eyes off the mountain. He agreed. The mountain was beautiful, and suddenly he felt a wave of love for the hundred million people of these islands and their childlike ability to enjoy, to play the supreme game, to accept and admire the beauty of the creation and to try to live in harmony with it.
