The student had invited the sergeant into a small bar. De Gier hadn't wanted a drink, so they had coffee instead.
'We Japanese used to drink only tea,' the student had told him. 'To drink tea became an art. We know at least five hundred different types of tea, all different tastes and qualities. A very elaborate art with many details. The cups or bowls come in different styles, they are held in a certain way, the choice of the teapot matters; we are taught how to sit while we drink; even the conversation has certain rules.' The sergeant had said that he had heard about this. The Tea Ceremony, an important event.
The student had smiled and bowed. Yes, yes. But then coffee came on the scene and they quickly acquired the taste. But now coffee had to have its rites too. He had pointed at the array of jars on the shelf behind the bar counter. Some twenty different jars. Different qualities. Brazil, Colombia, Java. 'We even have monkey coffee,' the student had said. 'Do you know what that is?'
De Gier didn't know. The student was glad he could explain. In Burma certain experiments had been made with coffee plantations. It was thought that the plantations should be high in the mountains, but for some reason the crops had been disappointing and attempts to plant there had been stopped. But the coffee plants still grew, and the berries were eaten by monkeys. The pips, being inedible, passed through the monkeys' intestines and were deposited all over the place. And the mountain tribes would gather the pips, clean them and sell them. At a high price, of course, for it was hard work to gather the pips. Monkey coffee sells at about ten times the price of the ordinary qualities.
De Gier was impressed and the student was happy. They left the bar and walked about and the student chattered on. De Gier was getting tired of the high-pitched voice, but the student had a sense of humor and the sergeant went on listening. They came to a small brick building, at the end of an alley, a theater serving the people of the poor quarter with live plays, song and dance, music, bits of clowning. The student said that the city had many little theaters like that. People liked to go in and stay an hour or so. Would he like to go in for a bit? He wouldn't be able to understand the dialogue, of course, but maybe it would be amusing to watch the actors. They had gone in.
The place had been crowded, but there were a few seats left on the back row. The small stage showed a love story which ended in a double suicide. Then an old man with a beard down to the floor recited poetry, while the orchestra provided the proper sound effects. He would chant a few words and a cymbal would clash, then he would whisper and a guitar would finish the phrase for him.
'Then it happened,' de Gier said. The student excused himself; he had to go to the toilet and he never came back. On the stage two people appeared. A small chubby student in a black uniform, talking excitedly and a tall foreigner with curly brown hair, a full mustache and high cheekbones. The actor was Japanese, but he had been well made up. He managed to imitate de Gier's bouncing way of walking. He was listening to the student, who was explaining things to him, pointing at this and that as they walked along. They both spoke Japanese, but they were using English words here and there. The overall effect of the scene was nearly perfect. De Gier felt that he was watching himself and his new-found friend, who hadn't come back from the toilet. The lights on the stage changed and the orchestra played a ghastly song, the shrill voice of a girl sang of impending doom. A guitar whined and drums sounded a heartbeat. The rhythm quickened and stopped. Four characters, dressed in black capes and hoods, had appeared suddenly, detaching themselves from the shadows and gliding around the couple. The music started again and the old man was singing, a wavering long drawn-out incantation, obviously warning the two actors to withdraw, to run, to give up. The taller actor had stopped, looking about anxiously. He was in doubt but he decided to go on, and as he moved forward the four characters attacked. There was a flicker as the light caught the shine of a long blade. The music shrieked and wailed, the tall actor sank to the ground, groaning and vomiting blood, the student ran away.
'Yes,' the commissaris said.
'It was well done, sir. They got through to me. The little tricks the actor went in for were good, the way I pull my mustache when I am listening, for instance. At one point he took a cigarette from a pack which he kept in his shirt pocket and lit it; every movement was a complete copy of my own. It was interesting to watch him. A mirror image is never really good because you know that you are watching yourself. This was much better.'
'Were you frightened afterward?' the commissaris asked.
'No, sir. I was telling Grijpstra on the phone yesterday, nothing seems to register anymore. Like this morning when you cried out in your sleep and rolled out of your bed. I was on the balcony because I couldn't sleep. I heard you and I must have thought that you were attacked, for the next second I was in the room with my gun out, but there were no feelings really. It was the same when I was watching the performance. It's as if part of my brain doesn't function. I see what is happening and I react to it but nothing comes afterward.'
The commissaris was lighting a cigar. There was still a slight tremor in the muscles of his right hand.
'So you just left?'
De Gier grinned. 'No, sir. I did something silly. I was carrying my flute, you see, the small one which I usually have in my inside pocket. The orchestra had been pretty good when they did the fearful bit, and I had remembered the passage the flute played. Everybody was looking at me when the lights went on. The audience was startled, of course. They hadn't been prepared for the performance and the actors must have been somewhat shocked too. Evidently the same brain that thought of your mask had been directing them, and they must have been paid well, but still, it wasn't so nice what they did, trying to frighten a man they didn't even know. Maybe they felt guilty. I saw them standing in the wings and I got up and brought out my flute. I repeated the orchestra's flute passage. It came out rather well, especially because everybody was deadly quiet. And then I left.'
'Good,' the commissaris shouted, and banged the table. 'Excellent! Well done, de Gier! They must have been watching me too, but I was frightened out of my wits, running about in that temple garden like a scared hare. But you may have offset my poor results.' He tittered and rubbed his hands. But a little later he was shaking his head and muttering to himself.
'It's all right, sir,' de Gier said softly. 'They would have scared me too, under normal circumstances, I mean. But there has been the accident. When I stayed at your house I must have been a nuisance, I remember bits of it. I was crying, wasn't I? This must be the aftereffect of the shock; maybe I feel I have nothing to lose anymore. It's a dangerous mood to be in, asocial I think. I almost killed those fellows in Tokyo without any hesitation, I meant to kill them and if Dorin hadn't been around, I would have killed them. Not caring is abnormal. A normal man cares.'
'I certainly cared,' the commissaris said. 'It's amazing I didn't dirty my pants. I don't think I have ever been so frightened in my life, not even during the war when the Gestapo had arrested me and they threatened to pull my fingernails out.'
He looked pensively about him. The room had been cleaned and the dull shine of the thick floormats, the white walls supported by solid wooden posts, the neat lines of the paper-covered windows and doors seemed very foreign. I am a duckling in a chicken coop, he thought. Ducklings must get rather nervous when they find themselves caught in chicken coops.
'What happened to Dorin?' he asked quietly. 'Did the innkeeper tell him we would be back for lunch?'
'Yes, sir, I checked with the office and he left a note. He'll come back for lunch too. I looked in his room but he isn't there yet.'
The commissaris looked at his watch. 'We still have half an hour. I'll make a telephone call at the office, I won't be long.'
\\ 15 /////
'Hello Jane,' the Commissaris said, 'How are you today?'
'You?' the voice said. 'You are a fine fellow, you know. Dumping this girl on me and disappearing. Do you know that she has been with me for nearly two weeks now? I thought you were in Japan. You should come and see us. Joanne is a little restive. Apparently you promised her a new American passport and she is anxious to leave, and the poor girl is still very sad about her dead boyfriend. How is the investigation going? And how was your trip to Japan?'
'I am in Japan,' the commissaris said.
