Cheese by Willem Elsschot
Author:Willem Elsschot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alma Books
Published: 2017-02-15T00:00:00+00:00
XII
I spent all week looking for a second-hand desk and typewriter. And I can assure you that going from one junk shop to the next in the old part of town is no picnic.
Theyâre normally chock-a-block, so itâs hard to see from the street if theyâve got what Iâm looking for, and as a result Iâm forced to enter and enquire inside. Not that I mind that tiny effort, but I donât dare leave a shop without purchasing something, or a café without buying a drink.
Thatâs why, when I started out, I ended up buying a decanter, a penknife and a plaster statue of St Joseph. The penknife I can use, although I find it a bit off-putting, and when I brought the decanter home it caused quite a sensation. The statue of St Joseph I put on a window sill a few streets away when no one was looking, after which I took to my heels. Because after that decanter I swore not to bring anything else home, and I could hardly walk around with a plaster statue under my arm.
Now what I do is stand in the doorway and ask if they have a pedestal desk or a typewriter for sale. As long as Iâm holding on to the doorknob, Iâm not actually in the shop, so Iâm under no moral obligation to buy anything, because Iâve had it with that. But if the door isnât shut, the bell keeps ringing, and if that goes on for too long, you look like a thief contemplating whether to strike or not.
In addition to that, Iâm never really relaxed walking around town. Hamer may have my sick note, but someone whoâs seriously ill stays at home and doesnât traipse from shop to shop. Iâm always afraid I might bump into employees from the General Marine and Shipbuilding Company, because I donât even know how people with a nervous condition are supposed to behave. If I let myself fall on the ground, theyâll throw water in my face, stick smelling salts under my nose or else take me to a doctor or a pharmacist whoâll tell them Iâm play-acting. No, thanks very much. Itâs better if they donât see me. So I keep a watchful eye, ready to do an about-turn or dive into an alleyway. All things considered, it would be preferable if my entire absence didnât attract too much idle talk.
Still, sometimes Iâd like to know how things are at the shipyard.
Itâs a quarter past nine right now. My four fellow correspondence clerks are warming their calves against the pipe of the heater, each of them standing in front of his typewriter, like gunners in front of their cannon. One of them is telling a joke. Yes, that first half-hour was always enjoyable. Hamer has opened his ledger without getting warm first, and the telephone girl is lightly caressing her blond hair, which sheâd had permed just before I left. The pounding of the shipyardâs pneumatic riveting hammers is heard all the way to our office.
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