September
Halim whistled softly in the bathroom. He was in high spirits. Standing before the mirror, he shaved his moustache, glancing from time to time at some neatly typed sheets laid out on the little table near the mirror. Then, turning back to the mirror, he rehearsed the speech he was going to deliver that night in parliament.
At certain passages of his address, he laughed aloud into the mirror. “There are a number of people these days who make special efforts to show that they are genuine nationalists,” he declaimed, assuming a lofty pose. “And so it was, quite recently, that our fellow parliamentarian, de Vries, arrived in parliament wearing a sarong and announced that he had donned this sarong as proof of his true nationalism. Could anything be funnier? If a monkey puts on a sar
