It was extremely pleasant, that atmosphere of the clear evening, the deep blue sky overhead, and the fresh breeze.
An old delman carriage, drawn by an old emaciated horse, came by, empty except for its driver, Pak Ijo, dozing in his seat. For years the horse had been accustomed to pulling the delman through the big city, even if the driver fell asleep. This often happened on hot days—Pak Ijo, who hadn’t had any passengers or anything to eat since morning, had indeed fallen asleep—and the horse would continue to draw the delman along his accustomed route, stopping by himself when hailed by a passenger, awakening the driver by the shock of the sudden stop. Or when a traffic policeman barred the traffic’s progress, the old horse stopped too, its muzzle pressed against the side of a car or a
