“I eat my soup with it,” said Sebastian, and placed down the tea. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because … Oh that’s nice tea, really nice.”

She was talking, Sebastian noted, flirtatiously. One of the advantages of being at his age was that he was free to behave as outrageously as he wanted in such circumstances; there was nothing at the end for him anyway. But he was genuinely taken aback by her manner.

“I’m in a situation,” she said.

Pregnant? He thought; her eyes darted up, as if she’d read it.

“Excuse me — I wanted to talk to you — you know them both. Karl and Richard.”

“Well, Rich better,” he replied. She was right; the tea was good.

“The thing is — Karl has asked me to … move in with him.”

“Well great!” said Sebastian and almost stood up, thrilled with all the vicarious intrigue of it all. “And what do you say?”

“I don’t know because of…”

He looked at her.

“Because of you.”

“Me?” The words sunk in; even after a good long pause he still felt knocked about.

“Maria, me — dat kan niet.”^[15]

“Why? You’re not married, at least it says on Wikipedia you’re not…”

“Was married. I was.”

“Was married. I was.”

She looked at him; “Sebastian, I want you to know that I like you.”

Sebastian said, simply, “I can’t.”

Maria said, “Why not?”

He said, “Rich…”

“Rich!” Now she was incredulous. “Was geht ihn das an?”^[14]

Sebastian went on, “He loves you more and more purely than I do.”

“He’s just a kid! A kid!”

“You’re just a bloody kid! And what about his poetry?”

“Haha — His — Can’t you see he’s conning you? It’s all a complete ripoff of Wim de Vrees.”

“You know Wim de Vrees?” he spoke as if charmed, then reasserted himself; composure must be maintained. “Maria, I have grandchildren. There’s little Hugo, and Lemuelje. One of them was just christened, far away on some tropical island. I’m an old man, too old to be chasing girls around. Richard is young and full of — potential.”

“But…”

“Writing has taken the place of sex in my life,” said Sebastian, “And now reading has taken the place of writing.”

“What do you want?” she said suddenly.

“I would like to enjoy my last few years in peace,” he said benignly. “Really, I’d like to see Ayers rock — ja, wanneer ik dat gedaan heb, mag alles voor mij voorbij zijn.”^[16]

She sipped the tea, quite cooled down now. There had been an element of that Selbstinszenierung again; perhaps inevitable considering the hints of drama her very presence evoked. “So — you really rate Richard?”

“He doesn’t say too much, and I like his attitude. He’s a good member of a group rather than an individual. But…” He felt the strain of speaking at length. “Look, he puts you on a pedestal, I know. But give him a chance.”

“If I give him a chance, will you give me a chance?”

Sebastian drew himself up. “And how is it with Baummüller?”

“How is it? It’s … difficult.”

“I mean what is it, what, what. Do you love him?”

She said, “He loves me. I think he’s very smart.”

“No one ever built a statue to a critic,” Sebastian quoted; she laughed and stopped after a beat, displaying her very strange ability to switch into sudden complete seriousness. “Do you think I’m expecting the impossible?”