that. And there's a cupboard over there which you haven't seen yet, there's a gramophone in it and an electric heater and clothes and a few odds and ends."
De Gier was still shaking his head. "You have the absolutely necessary," he said, "but where's the rest?"
Bart laughed. "You really want me to explain my way of life? Are you interested in people?"
"I am," de Gier said.
"Of course he is," Grijpstra added, "he is very interested in people. So am I."
"You are policemen," Bart said, "representatives of the State. Have you ever realized that we, ordinary citizens, think of you as representatives of the State? That we think, every time we see a cop, 'there's the State'?"
"We do," Grijpstra said.
"Yes," Bart said, "perhaps you do. You are probably intelligent. It's a pity. A civilian may think 'there's the State' but he will also think 'ah well, cops are stupid.' But maybe he is wrong. Perhaps cops are not so stupid."
"Please explain your way of life," de Gier said.
Bart poured more coffee from his tin jug. "I am a misfit, that's my explanation. But I know I am. I'll never be able to hold a job. I start working, I try to fit in, I do my best but after a while it goes wrong and I get fired. When I do work I earn the minimal wage and when I lose the job I only get a percentage, so whatever I do, I'll never have any money."
"So?" de Gier asked.
"So I don't spend any. It's possible to live quite comfortably on little money. It's a discovery I made a long time ago. It needs discipline, that's all. I say 'no' all the time. I buy food, of course. Good food. And tobacco. Food and tobacco have their price and I have to pay it. But all the other stuff I don't buy."
"You bought the furniture," Grijpstra said, "and the kitchen utensils, and the blankets and whatever you have in your cupboard."
"I did. But I paid very little. It came from auctions and dump stores. I save half of what I get, wages and unemployment money. I have an old bicycle for transport. This boat I built myself, years ago. The boat itself I stole from the ship's cemetery on the river. I think the man in charge saw me take her but he didn't mind. There are a lot of boats over there and they are rotting away. I had to rebuild the superstructure and I had to buy some materials but not much. I don't think I spent more than half a year's savings and since then it has saved me a good sum in rent."
De Gier had got up and was looking out of the window. A large barge came past, being pulled by an energetic little river tug.
De Gier was thinking of his own flat in the suburbs. He was also thinking of all the money he had wasted over the years. The day before, in fact: two striped shirts he didn't need, and at a very fancy price.
"What the hell," he thought and turned around. "But you paint," he said.
"Yes. I do, and I have never been able to figure out a way of buying paint cheaply. I try not to waste paint."
Grijpstra had walked over to the easel. "Can I look at your work?"
"Sure."
The painting showed a building. Grijpstra recognized the building, it had never occurred to him that there was anything special about it, a large lumpy heap of bricks and plaster, built during the depression of 1929 by the city for one of its many departments. The painting was very realistic, minute in detail. But Grijpstra found that he liked the painting and he kept looking at it.
"Do you paint yourself?" Bart asked.
"No. But I would like to."
"Why don't you then?"
"Ah!" Grijpstra made a gesture. "Why don't I paint? I work, I come home, I read the paper, I go to sleep. There are lots of things I would like to do, but the children take time and my wife talks to me and the TV is on. I go fishing sometimes, but that's all."
"Pity," Bart said.
"Yes, pity. I like your painting but I don't know why."
"Look again," Bart said.
"The contrast maybe," Grijpstra said. "The grays and the whites. It makes the building look like it ought to have looked."
"No," Bart said. "It does look