Knut Hamsun’s greatest novels – from which this is a typical scene – throttle reason. The old man looks frightened, and moves away as fast as his legs will take him, running with his small, geriatric steps. What the hell is the matter with you? … Let me tell you sir, that I’m not at all accustomed to such treatment as yours, and I won’t stand for it. Perhaps you don’t even believe that a man with the name Hippolati exists! What obstinacy and wickedness in an old man – I’ve never seen the likes of it.

Why is the old man so blandly gullible? Why is he agreeing to these ridiculous lies? But instead of accusing him of being a dupe, he does the opposite, and bizarrely accuses him of not believing his stories. Now the young man, who is clearly unstable, begins to get angry. And, Hippolati was for seven years a cabinet minister in Persia, adds the young man. Yes, says the blind man, he recalls hearing some thing like that. He reminds the old man that Hippolati is something of an inventor, that he invented an electric prayer book. The young man is enjoying this he froths his lies up into greater extravagances. The young man says the first word that comes into his head: ‘Hippolati.’ Ah yes, says the blind man, Hippolati, that’s right, he knows the name, it was on the tip of his tongue. What is the name of the landlord again, asks the blind man. The blind man knows the square, knows the building, in fact. The young man decides to lie, and names a pleasant square, somewhere he could not afford in his present circumstances. In its course, the old man reveals that he is blind.

Beside him, an old man is holding a newspaper. He is wild, nervous, seems to fiddle with his soul. A young man, hectic and dirty, sits on a park bench in a cold city.

Hamsun mysteries