There was a logo too: a little man in overalls with a stethoscope around his neck for auscultating the Wankel engine.’ The eponym, skilfully inserted into the flow of the conversation, went unremarked. ‘Dr Exhaust, then, strictly speaking.’ ‘Perhaps he was a surgeon.’ ‘Mr X-haust,’ said Merle. ‘I...
Nieuwenhuizen said it was maturing. Mr Malgas spent all his spare time practising to see the new house, racking his brains to recall Nieuwenhuizen’s guidelines and finding them all reduced to the unhelpful ambiguity of dreams. One night, after Nieuwenhuizen had sent him home and retired, Mr Malga...
I’m a bit early.’ ‘That’s okay. I’ll let you in.’ I put down the phone and went outside. When I opened the street door she was paying the taxi driver through the window. A younger, softer-looking woman than I’d pictured from her telephone voice, but dressed tough in cargo pants and a denim jacket...