By now, I want to tell her to stuff her website. I want to storm out of her office and never return. It takes an effort on my part to remember why I came here, and what I want from her. I do some deep breathing of my own. Her office has one small window with tiny cottage panes. I would like to open it and stick my head out, gulping the air. The window is smudged and grimy. My memories of working in this department are all of seeing dimly. Through a glass darkly. Moira and I used to joke about endarkening young minds.

I need to get out of here before a panic attack convinces me I can’t breathe. I can feel it battering at my ribcage. Soon the walls will crumble, and it will emerge roaring.

I lift my hands to mime surrender. “You’re right. In fact, you’re the reason I’ve been doubting myself. If a feminist of Essie September’s calibre admires this book, I asked myself, is it possible that my initial reading of it was too superficial? Am I not seeing it for the powerful critique of post-apartheid South Africa it is?”

Her face relaxes into an almost-smile. “I’m teaching a course on this book to Honours students next term. You’d be very welcome to sit in.”

“That’s kind of you. I’ll . . . consider it. Of course, my dream is to discuss the book with the man himself.”

“That’s everyone’s dream.” Her tone is severe.

“Do you happen to know where he is these days? I’ve heard rumours of Australia.” I shake my head and laugh. “Oh, what am I saying? Of course, you don’t know any more than the rest of us. Judith at the front desk said you wouldn’t.”

There’s a ringing silence. Bringing up Judith-at-the-front-desk was a master stroke. She is at least ten years younger than Prof. September, and dresses much better. She had an eyelash-batting flirtation with John Coetzee for years. Prof. September cannot stand her.

“As a matter of fact, I do know where he is. I’m the only one John took into his confidence—apart from his publishers. Judith wouldn’t have a clue. There’s no point in asking her. You shouldn’t have bothered.”

I cultivate a sceptical look. “It is Australia, isn’t it? But that’s an open secret by now. No one knows which city he’s in. That’s the real mystery.”

“It’s Adelaide!” Then, more quietly, “He lives in Adelaide. He wanted to get away from the attention and publicity, and he wanted somewhere quiet to work.”

“Adelaide? That’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s the safest town in Australia. That was important to him. It was one of the main reasons he left.”

“South Africa’s security issues? Really? I never heard that he had any problems.”