My mother used to tell me the same thing years ago when she let me play outside before dinner – except that now she said it for a different reason.

I had just pulled the door shut behind me when a fat man came up to me. It was as if he’d been waiting for me and knew I’d be leaving the house at that particular moment. He positioned himself right in front of me so I couldn’t get away.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

I gave him my name. He had a double chin, red-veined cheeks and dark bags under his watery eyes.

‘Humph,’ he said. ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

‘But it is my name,’ I said.

‘Pretty quick with the answers, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Like all you people. Where are you going?’

‘Shopping,’ I said, and started to walk off.

‘Hold your horses,’ he said. ‘Stay right where you are.’

I glanced at the people going by, but no one paid attention to us. It was as if we were just standing there, talking.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked again.

I gave it to him once more. He curled his upper lip. He had brown teeth and the ones in front were crooked.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

I told him how old I was.

‘That’s correct,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Your identity card.’

I was surprised that it had taken him this long to ask me for it. I took the card out of my bag. He snatched it from my fingers and inspected it carefully.

‘Hmm,’ he said, ‘I’m looking for a different girl.’

He mentioned a name I hadn’t heard before. ‘Do you know her? She’s supposedly living in this neighbourhood.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t know her.’

‘Are you sure?’ he insisted. He moved even closer. There were ash smudges on his lapels and his tie was crooked.

‘I don’t know her,’ I repeated and took a step backward.

‘Humph,’ he growled and gave me back my identity card. ‘Now off you go!’

I started walking and didn’t dare look back until I reached Weesperplein. He was still standing in the same spot. I wondered who the girl was. Perhaps I’d seen her sometime, perhaps we’d passed each other on Sarphatistraat.

It was busy on Weesperstraat. Inside the tiny shops women with shopping bags were stocking up before the Sabbath. Salesgirls and bosses in white overalls – with pencils jutting out of the breast pockets onto which a yellow star had been sewn – were bustling around behind the counters. People laughed at the jesting remark of a fat lady with a bulging bag of groceries. Two small boys in navy-blue jackets peered into the window of a sweet shop. Their yellow stars had been sewn on so low that it looked like their pockets had little windmills that might start turning at any moment. I quickly finished my shopping and hurried back home. This time I walked along Achtergracht, which was a quieter street. An old woman holding a white handkerchief in front of her mouth was just going into the hospital on the corner, helped by two men.