The Japanese Corpse

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"Hello!" said Grijpstra.

"Yes?" De Gier asked.

"It's me," Grijpstra said patiently, "on the telephone. What's the matter with you? Are you drunk? Or do you only speak Japanese now?"

"I was drunk," de Gier said, "last night, but that's some time ago now. I have slept all day, I haven't shaved yet. It's evening now."

"It's early morning here," Grijpstra said cheerfully. "Well, how are you? Are you coming back at all? How is the commissaris?"

"Asleep too. The job is done. He was crying last night; his friend got himself shot."

"Friend?"

"Yes. The boss of the yakusa. I suppose he will be home soon, but maybe I won't come."

"No?" Grijpstra asked. "Why not?"

"What for?" de Gier asked, tearing his lips apart. He was sure that there was a dead fish in his mouth.

"To look at your balcony," Grijpstra said. "What else? I went to your flat last night. I have been going there every other day. Those yellow flowers you had have died, but I planted a fuchsia, part of the fuchsia I have at home. It's doing well. The flowers are hanging down on each side of your railing, and I have been weeding the lobelias."

"Weeds?" de Gier asked. "I didn't know there were weeds in the lobelia pots. There weren't any when I left."

"Lamb's-quarters," Grijpstra said. "I boiled them up quickly and put them in a plastic bag in your freezer. They taste very good, you know."

"Well, well," de Gier said.

"And I found you another cat," Grypstra said heavily. "Now don't tell me you don't want another cat. This one is probably crazy too, but it is still very small. It tried to get into my house last week and I took it to your flat. It isn't a Siamese."

"What is it?" de Gier asked, mouthing the words slowly.

"It's ugly and it has a lot of colors. It looks like a small piece of a badly designed Persian carpet."

"Hmm," de Gier said.

"So when will you be back?" Grijpstra asked.

"Soon," de Gier said, and hung up.