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corner, and kept running until he reached somewhere where no one knew him. Then he stopped, gasping for breath.
    He examined the letter in his hand. Why would Mrs. van Amersfoort write a letter to his father? This could only lead to trouble. Father must never get that letter. He must tear it up and bury it, for Mrs. van Amersfoort was a commernist or something, and a witch on top of that. And who would get the blame if his father received a letter from that woman? He! Thomas! And nobody else. He clasped the letter in his hands and was about to start tearing it up when he thought, “I wonder what’s in it?” He could read the letter first and then tear it up, couldn’t he? Then he would at least know what it was about!
    He looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Carefully, he undid the envelope. Why were his fingers trembling so? Why did his stomach feel as if he had swallowed a rhinoceros? Because he was doing something that was totallyforbidden. “But,” he thought, “it has to be done, because if I don’t, much worse things are likely to happen.” What sort of things? “For instance somebody could get a terrible belting and that person could for instance be me.”
    He pulled the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. There was only a single sentence. Thomas read it aloud to himself: “ A man who hits his wife dishonors himself.”
    â€œA man who hits his wife …” Thomas muttered uneasily. So she knew! He flushed with shame. She had discovered the great secret. There were secrets you could safely pass on. But this was a secret that nobody must know, because it was awful. Mrs. van Amersfoort knew it. How could that be? Had someone told her or did she just know, automatically, because she was a witch?
    â€œâ€¦ dishonors himself,” he mumbled. What did “dishonors” mean? He had no idea.
    â€œPapa must not ever read this,” he whispered. “For I will be blamed for it, and probably Mama too.”
    He walked over to the Van Heutz monument. In front of the monument was a pond with a fountain where children sailed small boats. Behind it grew shrubs. He slipped in among the shrubs, squatted, and started digging a hole in the ground with his hands. He stuffed the envelope into the hole, but when he was about to put the letter in too, he hesitated. Once more, he reread the sentence Mrs. van Amersfoort hadwritten. A man who hits his wife dishonors himself . He thought. Perhaps it was a magic spell. A spell that could change people into … eh … something. That was quite possible. He filled in the hole. The envelope was buried, but the letter he kept.
    Thomas went back home, the letter folded up in his trouser pocket. He would have to hide it somewhere at home until he could figure out exactly what it meant. When he turned into his street he was so deep in thought that he didn’t see Eliza coming. He looked up only when he heard her leather leg creaking.
    Accidentally, he looked straight into her face and turned as red as a brick.
    â€œListen, Thomas,” said Eliza.
    Thomas looked at the tiles of the sidewalk and felt his heart thumping.
    â€œThat was ab-so-lute-ly the loveliest letter I have ever received,” he heard her say.
    So she was not angry. Now he dared look her in the face again. Was she making fun of him?
    â€œI will keep it carefully. And whenever I feel sad, I’ll read it.”
    â€œOh,” said Thomas. “Good.”
    â€œYou’re such a wonderful boy. Later, when I live in my castle, you can come and visit anytime. We’ll go for rides in my Rolls-Royce.” She bent over and kissed him on the cheek. Then she walked on.
    It was unbelievable! A kiss from Eliza right in the middle of the street. For a letter! His ears were ringing and he heard the music he had heard before, with lots of violins. He jumped for joy. To his amazement, he shot two meters into the air, so light had