Tineke is disappointed that they’re “not doing Sinterklaas” this year, so he bought a silver bracelet with freshwater pearls for her at a jeweler in The Hague. She takes him to a recently opened vegetarian restaurant on the Hengelosestraat, and after they’ve ordered she tears open the marbled wrapping paper. Her reaction strikes him as more surprised than pleased; her eyebrows raised, she wriggles the bracelet around her fat wrist. “This isn’t like you,” she says, and that’s true—spontaneous gifts are not like him, there’s always something behind it. These are penance pearls, a single pearl is equal to one year less of purgatory. He sits grinning like a freshwater swab. He fills her in on Cabinet doings. They eat something with pak choi and chickpeas. He nearly chokes when she says: “I spoke to Joni.” “Oh? Did she phone you?” The restaurant is dark, he hopes she doesn’t notice he has to pull himself together. “I pho—” “But we don’t have her number.”
