CHAPTER 22“MONDAIN VERMAAK OP SCHEVENINGEN BOULEVARD,” Hubert typed in capital letters -- “FASHIONABLE AMUSEMENT ON THE SCHEVENINGEN BOULEVARD.” Aunt Frieda had bought him a used portable typewriter for his birthday. The typewriter, a bottle of the finest Enzian schnapps, and five hundred sheets of good white stock with the Monk water-mark, neatly stacked on the table against the wall, still within his reach.
While the wheelchair freed his body, at least to some extent, the typewriter gave wings to his mind. Since it had arrived two months before, Hubert had been a changed man. Gone were the hours of brooding; instead, he started to fill pages with something he called quick thoughts: things that came to his mind without reflection. The resulting statements had a random, swirly quality, as
