Cheese by Willem Elsschot

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.

They’re normally chock-a-block, so it’s hard to see from the street if they’ve got what I’m looking for, and as a result I’m forced to enter and enquire inside. Not that I mind that tiny effort, but I don’t dare leave a shop without purchasing something, or a café without buying a drink.

That’s 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 I’m holding on to the doorknob, I’m not actually in the shop, so I’m under no moral obligation to buy anything, because I’ve had it with that. But if the door isn’t 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, I’m never really relaxed walking around town. Hamer may have my sick note, but someone who’s seriously ill stays at home and doesn’t traipse from shop to shop. I’m always afraid I might bump into employees from the General Marine and Shipbuilding Company, because I don’t even know how people with a nervous condition are supposed to behave. If I let myself fall on the ground, they’ll throw water in my face, stick smelling salts under my nose or else take me to a doctor or a pharmacist who’ll tell them I’m play-acting. No, thanks very much. It’s better if they don’t 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 didn’t attract too much idle talk.

Still, sometimes I’d like to know how things are at the shipyard.

It’s 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 she’d had permed just before I left. The pounding of the shipyard’s pneumatic riveting hammers is heard all the way to our office.



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