The Darkroom of Damocles by Willem Frederik Hermans

down for me?’
    Osewoudt took out the photo again and laid it face down before her. She fished about in her bag and brought out an unusual-looking writing tool. It resembled a propelling pencil, but the writing appeared to be in ink.
    â€˜What have you got there?’ He snatched it from her. At the pointed tip he noticed a tiny ball.
    â€˜It’s a ballpoint pen. What’s so special about that?’
    â€˜We don’t have them here. Don’t ever use it again! The Germans haven’t got anything like that. Have you gone mad? What will they think if they see you with that?’
    â€˜In England they never said I shouldn’t take it with me.’
    â€˜Could you tell me a little more about the organisation that sent you?’
    â€˜No. They told me not to.’
    â€˜How did you get here?’
    â€˜In a dinghy.’
    â€˜When was that?’
    â€˜They put me ashore last night, at Scheveningen.’
    â€˜So where did you spend the night?’
    She began to laugh.
    â€˜You’re only asking because you want to check me out, naturally. You knew I’d phone, of course you did. You knew what was going on.’
    â€˜I don’t know anything. Explain it to me.’
    â€˜In England I was given an address, an address inScheveningen. But the people weren’t living there any more. So I went to an aunt of mine, here in Voorburg.’
    â€˜What did your aunt say?’
    â€˜Not much. But I’ve got to find somewhere else. On no account am I to stay with relatives. It’s the rule.’
    â€˜Where will you go?’
    â€˜That’s for you to say.’
    â€˜Is that why you phoned?’
    â€˜No, that wasn’t the only reason. I wish you’d stop fussing! It was all arranged long ago!’
    â€˜I don’t know what you’re talking about. The first time I heard your name was this afternoon.’
    â€˜You don’t expect me to tell you my real name, do you?’
    â€˜So it isn’t your real name?’
    â€˜Are you saying you thought agents would ever use their real names? Are you having me on or is there something wrong with you?’
    â€˜I think there’s something wrong with you, not me. You’re telling me you just arrived from England on a boat. Nobody’s allowed on the beach, it’s swarming with Germans, and you say you came in a dinghy, just like that? You expect me to believe you? Well, well. Next you show me a picture which is totally meaningless as far as I’m concerned. Where did you get it? In England? When was that?’
    She twisted her hands and lowered her eyes.
    â€˜Yesterday!’ she said. ‘Just before I boarded the dinghy, which was at half past eight. I was taken across the Channel in a motor-torpedo boat, then they rowed me to the beach. They gave it to me just before I got into the dinghy.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    â€˜Almost sure!’
    â€˜Not absolutely sure?’
    â€˜No, not absolutely sure. There was such a lot to remember,I didn’t think I was expected to remember when I got the picture. Stupid perhaps, but not unreasonable for someone who thinks others share their ideals. That’s my biggest weakness.’
    â€˜Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole café to hear?’
    â€˜You make me want to scream, going on like that. You’re making excuses because you’re scared.’
    Osewoudt jumped up, walked to the bar, paid and left the café without a backward glance.
    But she went after him, still clutching the rolled-up newspaper.
    â€˜I don’t know what to do,’ he said. ‘Best would have been for you to stay right there at that table. But it would be pretty naïve of me to think you’d leave me alone.’
    â€˜Leave you alone?’
    â€˜Yes! Leave me alone! Did you think I’d let you draw me out? What is it you want from me? Why did you phone?’
    â€˜I’d have told you straightaway if I