“All I want,” he’d said to Jude one night, trying to explain the satisfaction that at that moment was burbling inside him, like water in a bright blue kettle, “is work I enjoy, and a place to live, and someone who loves me. See? Simple.” Jude had laughed, sadly. “Willem,” he said, “that’s all I want, too.” “But you have that,” he’d said, quietly, and Jude was quiet, too. “Yes,” he said, at last. “You’re right.” But he hadn’t sounded convinced.
