For years she’d heard nothing but insignificant confidences, which is why she made me repeat what I’d said, and then waited for a more detailed explanation, which I gave her in a calm, clear – I’d even say businesslike – manner. In five minutes I gave her an overview of Van Schoonbeke’s circle of friends, their natural, unintentional condescension and the proposal with which I’d been sent home so unexpectedly.

My wife listened intently, lying as quietly as a mouse, without coughing or turning over. When I’d stopped talking, she asked me what I intended to do and if that meant I was going to give up my job with the General Marine and Shipbuilding Company.

“Yes,” I answered casually. “I’d have to. I can’t be a clerk somewhere and in addition run a business for my own account, can I? This requires a resolute decision.”

“What about in the evening?” she asked, after a renewed silence.

“In the evening it gets dark,” I said.

I’d hit the mark, because the bed creaked and my wife turned over as if she’d made up her mind to let me stew in the juice of my business venture. Now the ball was in my court.

“What do you mean ‘in the evening’?” I snapped.

“Doing business in the evening,” she persevered. “What kind of business are you in anyway?”

At that point I had to admit it was cheese.

It’s odd, but I thought there was something repulsive and ridiculous about the product. I’d have rather traded in something else, like flower bulbs or light bulbs, both typically Dutch products as well. Even herring – preferably kippered – I would have put more effort into selling than cheese. But obviously I understood that our northern neighbours could hardly be expected to change their merchandise merely to please me.

“A peculiar product, don’t you agree?” I asked.

But my wife didn’t. Not at all. “It’s a reliable business,” she said, just as Van Schoonbeke had done.

Her encouragement did me a world of good. I announced that the next morning I’d tell the General Marine and Shipbuilding Company to get lost. But first I wanted to go to the office and say goodbye to my colleagues.

“But why don’t you start by applying for that representative’s position first?” my wife suggested. “You can always decide what to do afterwards. You’re acting like a man possessed.”

That last remark was rather irreverent, addressed as it was to a businessman, but the advice was sound. Anyway, despite what I’d said, I wouldn’t have just gone ahead and done it. When you’ve got a wife and kids you’ve got to be doubly prudent.