At the urinal, Willem looks down at himself, at the purplish scar where his skin had been destroyed at his circumcision when he was eight days old. He thinks of Jopie and his face burns. He wraps his fingers around it further down than usual, trying to seem casual as he does his best to conceal himself, just in case the guard should glance to the side and notice something missing. No dogs or Jews allowed. Probably the sign wasn’t even official at all, he thinks to himself, trying to steady his trembling fingers. The guard, however, is standing at his urinal whistling something, and doesn’t take much interest in Willem. When Willem has arranged his fingers as best he can, he relaxes and begins to urinate. But then, as he glances down at his strangely intertwined fingers, one thumb on top of the other, he suddenly remembers something that happened at his grandmother’s house long ago. And as he empties his bladder he feels himself about to cry.