She laid them lovingly on the black velvet.

“That one would be marvellous… for a leontine,” said Mrs Van Oudijck, peering at a large gem.

“Well, what did I tell you?” asked the Eurasian lady.

And they all gazed at the stones, the genuine ones, those from the “real” jar, and held them carefully to the light.

Mrs Van Oudijck could see they were all genuine.

“I really have no money, dear lady!” she said.

“This big one… for the leontine… six hundred guilders… a bargain, I assure you, madam!”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly, madam!”

“How much then? You will be making a good purchase. Poor thing, her husband used to be a big noise. Council of the Indies.”

“Two hundred…”

“Kassian! Two hundred!”

“Two hundred and fifty, but no more. I really don’t have any money.”

“The Commissioner…” whispered Mrs Van Does, sensing the approach of Van Oudijck, who, now the hearing was over, was heading towards the back veranda. “The Commissioner… he’ll buy it for you!”

Mrs Van Oudijck smiled and looked at the sparkling drop of light on the black velvet. She liked jewellery and was not entirely indifferent to precious stones.

She looked up at her husband.

“Mrs Van Does is showing us lots of nice things,” she said soothingly.

Van Oudijck felt a jolt of displeasure. He never enjoyed seeing Mrs Van Does in his house. She was always selling something; on one occasion batik-dyed bedspreads, on another woven slippers, and on a third occasion splendid but very expensive table runners, with gold batik flowers on yellow glazed linen. Mrs Van Does always brought something with her, was always in touch with the wives of former “big noises”, whom she helped to sell things, for a very steep commission. A morning visit from Mrs Van Does cost him at least a few guilders and very frequently fifty guilders, since his wife had a calm way of buying things she didn’t need, but was too indifferent not to buy from Mrs Van Does. He didn’t see the two jars at once, but he saw the drop of light on the black velvet, and realized that this time the visit would cost more than fifty guilders, unless he were very firm.

“My dear lady!” he said in alarm. “It’s the end of the month; there’s no way we can buy jewels today! And jars of them at that,” he cried, horrified, now seeing them sparkling on the table, among the glasses of tamarind syrup.

“Oh, that Commissioner!” laughed Mrs Van Does, as though a commissioner were always rich.

Van Oudijck hated that laugh of hers. To run his household cost him a few hundred guilders or so more than his salary each month; he was eating into his savings and had debts. His wife never bothered with money matters; she reserved her most radiant indifference for them.

She made the stone sparkle for a moment; it flashed a blue ray.

“It’s wonderful… for two hundred and fifty.”

“Let’s say three hundred then, dear lady…”

“Three hundred?” she asked dreamily, playing with the jewel.

Whether it was three or four or five hundred, it was all the same to her. It left her completely indifferent. But she thought the stone was beautiful and was determined to have it, whatever the price. And so she put it down gently and said:

“No, madam, really… the stone is too expensive, and my husband has no money.”

She said it so sweetly that her intention was impossible to guess. She was adorable in her self-denial. As she spoke the words, Van Oudijck felt a second jolt. He couldn’t refuse his wife anything.

“Madam,” he said. “You can leave the stone here… for three hundred guilders. But for goodness’ sake, take your jars away with you.”

Mrs Van Does looked up triumphantly.

“Well… what did I tell you? I knew the Commissioner would buy for you…”

Mrs Van Oudijck looked up with a gently reproachful look.

“But Otto!” she said. “How could you?”

“Do you like the stone?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful… but so much money! For one stone!”

And she pulled her husband’s hand towards her and allowed him to kiss her on the forehead, since he had been allowed to buy her a three-hundred-guilder jewel. Doddy and Theo winked at each other.

4

LÉONIE VAN OUDIJCK always enjoyed her siesta. She slept only briefly, but loved being alone in her cool room after the rijsttafel until five o’clock or five-thirty in the afternoon. She read a little, usually the magazines from the circulating library, but mainly she did nothing and daydreamed. Vague blue-tinted fantasies filled her periods of afternoon solitude. No one knew about them and she kept them strictly secret, like a hidden sin, a vice. She was much more inclined to reveal herself to the world when it came to an affair. They never lasted long and didn’t count for much in her life; she never wrote letters, and the favours she granted never gave the privileged one any rights in daily discourse.