‘Oh, I never forget,’ Newman chuckled wearily, as though to say he was dependable and still what had he gotten for it.

‘You ought to try him first thing in the morning. Because I know he’s on the lookout for somebody,’ Willy said with an extra note of encouragement, as though unable to understand what had caved in the man so suddenly.

‘Thanks, I will. Well, good night, and don’t work too hard,’ Newman waved weakly.

‘Take it easy yourself. And let me know how you make out.’

‘I will.’

Willy waved, and walked off down a narrow street.

For a moment Mr Newman stood still on the corner. Slowly he took out his glasses and put them on.

At that hour a man can pitch a tent in the Wall Street neighborhood and sleep soundly, hardly hearing a single footfall or automobile on the streets. The buildings were locked up tight, like tall vaults. The stores were dark. As far as the eye could see the city was dead, and the green smell of the sea hovered along the sidewalks. Mr Newman felt forced to walk; the mute height of the buildings moved him. He walked slowly, like a man who has used up his strength rushing to a sale, only to find all the goods sold. No other living thing breathed with him on those streets, no dogs or cats marauded, for there were none there. Even the pigeons were huddling high against the churches, quiet and still and unseen. He walked, staring passionlessly at the low stars which hung between the buildings at the far end of the avenue where it was cut off by the bay. At last he felt very tired, and he sat on the high stone curb bounding the lawn of Trinity Church. Above his head and behind him he heard the flurry of pigeon’s wings, and then they grew used to him and it was quiet again. His hollow loneliness descended upon him once more and he sat very still with his back against the iron railing of the churchyard, and listened to the silence.

He could not think because there was nothing to decide. Instinctively he knew there was nothing he could do about it. It was such an outrageous farce that it required a much wilder laughter than he could ever generate, and all he could do was look at it, shocked and paralyzed. A total stranger looking for a man with just his experience had taken him for a Jew and therefore he had not gotten a job that was rightfully – almost fatefully – waiting for him. But what shocked him into this dulled stupor was that he could not go back and explain to the man. This was what made him stare so dumbly now.

With all the words in the English language there were none that could explain to Mr Stevens …

What was there, exactly, that ought to be explained? He tried to fathom it now. Very well, he thought, I could convince him I am not a Jew. I could even go so far, let us say, as to bring him my baptismal certificate. Very well. He would believe then that I am what I really am.