I felt anger neither at him nor at myself. All I wanted was not to be here.

‘I’ve found you a job!’ he announced. Looking straight at me, with those brave, sincere eyes of his, he added, ‘I mean, I invented a job. It won’t be very taxing. You’ll keep track of our dealings with various banks, and especially our own bank … You’ll be something along the lines of a liaison clerk, coordinating the firm’s dealings with banks … And when there’s nothing else to do, you can see to your own business … Write as many poems as you please … I’ve spoken to the director, and we can take you on … except that we can’t offer you much at the moment: forty or fifty liras. We’ll raise your salary later, of course. So let’s get going! Success awaits us!’

Without bothering to stand up, he extended his hand. I did the same and thanked him. In his face I could see how thoroughly pleased he was to have been in a position to help me. I thought then that he was not a bad fellow, actually – he had only acted in keeping with his station, and perhaps this had been genuinely necessary. But there was a moment after I left his office when I was not a little tempted to leave this place at once, instead of proceeding to the room he had indicated. But in the end I went shuffling down the corridor, head bowed, asking the first porter I saw if he could show me the way to Raif Efendi’s office. He waved at a door and moved on. Again, I stopped. Why couldn’t I just leave? Was I incapable of giving up a salary of forty liras? Or was I afraid of having been seen to offend Hamdi? No! I had been out of work for months now. I would leave this place with no prospects, and no idea where to go … and stripped of all courage. These were the thoughts that kept me in this dim corridor, waiting for a porter to show me the way.

In the end I peeked through a random door and saw Raif Efendi inside. I’d never met him before. Nevertheless, when I saw this man bowed over his desk, I knew it had to be him. Later, I wondered how I’d made my deduction. Hamdi had said, ‘I’ve arranged for you to have a desk in our German translator Raif Efendi’s room. He’s a simple man, and a very quiet one, too. Entirely harmless.’ At a time when everyone else had moved on to addressing each other as Mr and Mrs, he was still known as Raif Efendi. It was, perhaps, the image conjured up by this description that told me this grey-haired, stubble-faced man with tortoiseshell glasses must be him. I walked in.

He raised his head to look at me with daydreaming eyes, whereupon I said: ‘You must be Raif Efendi.’

For a moment he looked me over. Then, in a soft and almost fearful voice, he said: ‘Yes. And you must be the new clerk. They just came in now to set up your desk. Welcome! Do come in!’

I went to sit down at my desk. I examined the scratches and faint ink stains on its surface.