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12 erotic stories impertinence, of my stupidity, in such fury that not one of my excuses was enough to pacify her. Finally, looking pitiful, tears bathing her eyelashes, she said in a quiet voice: ‘I was just beginning to enjoy the thought of being your teacher!…’ I took advantage of this friendly gesture and, telling her what a child she was, I comforted her like a child, explaining to her that there had been no intention on my part of offending her; to be Jewish was no disgrace, and since she displayed such anger against Jews, I told her the real reason why I had supposed her to be Jewish: it had not been so much because of her black hair, nor because of her dark complexion; it had been for a very different reason. ‘So what was the reason?’ she asked at once, burning with curiosity. ‘I think it would be better not to tell you, as I don’t want you to get angry again…’ ‘No, that’s not a good enough reason… You must tell me.’ ‘I’m sorry, but I shan’t…’ ‘Tell me, I order you to tell me…’ she exclaimed, angry again. ‘All right then, I shall tell you… It’s because I thought you were hardhearted.’ ‘Me? Hardhearted?’ ‘But you even admitted to it…’ ‘I was teasing,’ she retorted, her mouth and eyes now smiling. Very soon we had made our peace when, stopping suddenly and looking about her, she realized that we were approaching Rembrandtsplein, where the busiest streets of central Amsterdam meet, and she remarked: ‘It’s time to say goodbye. I wouldn’t like to be seen with you.’ ‘If you’d like, we could go to a café…’ ‘Not today.’ ‘All right… But tomorrow, where shall we meet?’
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deus ex machina 13 ‘The best place for me would be Vondelpark, and for you too, because of skating.’ ‘Then let’s meet in Vondelpark.’ ‘At one o’clock…’ ‘Then it is settled…’ ‘Goodbye…’ and she held out her trusting hand to me, at the same time allowing an open, generous expression to show on her face, the look of one who is granting a great favour, so magnanimous and gracious that, gazing once again at her strange beauty, I imagined I held in my own the hand of some eastern enchantress, frozen in the icy plains of Holland. Although Amsterdam is a large, densely populated city where, as long as one avoids the busier areas, it is possible to walk with a woman on one’s arm without running the risk of an embarrassing meeting, I felt I must avoid the inevitable curiosity of the Jewish community, among whom I was wellknown, as I was often to be found in the company of one of its more prominent members, a Mr Kater. More importantly, I must also avoid Vondelpark, since during that season of delicious skating it was the favourite meeting-place of sophisticated people who could not have failed to notice my ability to sketch out S’s and 8’s on the ice. However, as I made my farewells to my new-found friend, no such argument came to my mind against the choice of the park for our next meeting, and as it was so large, with quiet corners which were rarely visited, and others where the less well-off and even the very poor would walk, the following day we looked for a suitable place for our meetings which served us for a while, although as a cautionary measure, I decided to wear less fashionable clothes so that my companion would not stand out for her apparent lack of care in her dress. In spite of my pretences, my friend soon realized that I was not quite as helpless at skating as I had at first made out, and on the second day, as we ventured hand in hand towards a wider part of the lake, tempted by the exhilaration of our freedom, she lost her balance and I instinctively grasped her

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12 erotic stories impertinence, of my stupidity, in such fury that not one of my excuses was enough to pacify her. Finally, looking pitiful, tears bathing her eyelashes, she said in a quiet voice:

‘I was just beginning to enjoy the thought of being your teacher!…’

I took advantage of this friendly gesture and, telling her what a child she was, I comforted her like a child, explaining to her that there had been no intention on my part of offending her; to be Jewish was no disgrace, and since she displayed such anger against Jews, I told her the real reason why I had supposed her to be Jewish: it had not been so much because of her black hair, nor because of her dark complexion; it had been for a very different reason.

‘So what was the reason?’ she asked at once, burning with curiosity.

‘I think it would be better not to tell you, as I don’t want you to get angry again…’

‘No, that’s not a good enough reason… You must tell me.’ ‘I’m sorry, but I shan’t…’ ‘Tell me, I order you to tell me…’ she exclaimed, angry again.

‘All right then, I shall tell you… It’s because I thought you were hardhearted.’

‘Me? Hardhearted?’ ‘But you even admitted to it…’ ‘I was teasing,’ she retorted, her mouth and eyes now smiling.

Very soon we had made our peace when, stopping suddenly and looking about her, she realized that we were approaching Rembrandtsplein, where the busiest streets of central Amsterdam meet, and she remarked:

‘It’s time to say goodbye. I wouldn’t like to be seen with you.’

‘If you’d like, we could go to a café…’ ‘Not today.’ ‘All right… But tomorrow, where shall we meet?’

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