Didier van Cauwelaert - Unknown

To Dr Jean-Marie Pelt for the language of plants.

To Jean-Claude Perez for deciphering DNA and his discoveries on transgenic mutations.

To Dr Rmy Chauvin for his insights into certain parapsychological experiments within the former KGB.

To Dr Pim van Lommel for his studies on comas and near-death experiences.

To Yale University for its hospitality.

To Joel Sternheimer for his musical tomatoes.

Ive just rung at my apartment and a strange man answered. Taken aback, I stare at the intercom.

Yes, the voice repeats.

Sorry, my mistake.

The crackling stops. The buttons are very close together; I must have pressed the neighbors instead. With my finger centered squarely on my name, I press the little black rectangle once more.

Now what? says the same voice, impatiently.

Probably a crossed wire. Or a workman whos there to finish the remodeling.

Is this the fourth floor, left?

Yes.

Is my wife there?

Who?

Im about to tell him that Im Martin Harris, but the building door opens and a couple with twin cell phones spills out, listening to their messages. I walk across the foyer and straight into the wooden elevator, which shudders slowly up to the top floor.

The landing is dark. I feel around for the timer switch, then press my doorbell. The neighbors door opens after a moment and a little old man passes one eye over the chain. I say hello. He answers, in a tone thats at once guilty and suspicious, that all the doorbells sound the same. I agree, explain that I dont have my keys, turn around as my door opens. A man wearing pajamas, backlit, gives me the once-over. The words stick in my throat.

Are you the one who keeps ringing the intercom?

I ask what hes doing there.

What do you mean, what am I doing here?

In my house.

Your house?

The sincerity of his astonishment leaves me nonplussed. As I begin making out the features of his face, I explain with forced calm that I am Mr Harris. He jumps. Thoughts begin to crowd into my head, of the most pathetic and insecure kind. My wife is seeing another man, she moved him in here while I was in the hospital.

Liz!

Weve both called out at the same time. She appears at the door to the bathroom, in panties and a black blouse. I start making my way into the apartment, but he blocks my way. She asks whats going on. She asks him whats going on.

Nothing, he says. An error.

She looks at me. Not like a cheating wife caught red-handed but like a stranger you accost who turns away, wanting no part of you.

You deal with it, she says to him.

And she disappears into the kitchen. I take a step, but the other man grabs me by the arm. I shout, Liz! Whats gotten into you!

You leave my wife alone!

His wife? I stand there with my mouth hanging open, my momentum broken by his aplomb. He is more or less my age, thinner, with a better-pitched voice, a square-shaped head, disheveled blond hair, and hes wearing the Herms pajamas that Liz bought me at Kennedy Airport. I knock his arm down with my fist.

What the hell! he shouts, pushing me back.

Is there a problem, Mr Harris?

I turn around. The neighbor is still behind his door chain.

No, everythings fine, Mr Renaudat, the other man answers. Its all under control.

I gape at each of them, incredulous.

Are you sure? the neighbor insists.

Yes, yes. Its just a misunderstanding. Im sorry I woke you up. Were not going to get the whole building involved, are we? he segues in a lower voice, staring at me as if trying to reason me into some kind of reconciliation. Come on, come inside so we can talk this over

I grab him by my pajamas, yank him out onto the landing.

No, you get out of my house, and I mean now! Well talk this over in front of witnesses!

Martin! my wife cries out.

He frees himself with a backhanded slap. In the time it takes me to react, my door has slammed in my face. I spin toward the little old man, who jumps back, slams his own door shut, and gives the deadbolt two full turns. Swallowing back my stupor, I try to find the natural tone of voice one uses in such situations. Hello, Mr Renaudat, excuse me, Im your new neighbor. I havent had a chance to introduce myself yet. He screams at me to go away or hell call the police.

I remain frozen in the silence of the landing, with no explanation for this absurdity. How can you prove whats obvious when everyone denies it, and youve got no proof to offer other than your own good faith? I love my wife, she loves me, weve never fought in front of people, Ive only cheated on her once in ten years of marriage and even then it was just professional, a colleague at a botanists convention, she never knew about it, we were looking forward to our new life in Paris whats the meaning of this? I come home and suddenly find myself in some kind of Candid Camera situation. I look around the landing for mics, a hidden lens, reflections behind the mirror But who would have staged such a prank, and why would Liz play along?

The timer on the hallway light runs out. I lean against the wall to catch my breath. My throat feels tight, my head is spinning, and in the pit of my stomach is the mix of anxiety and relief you feel when a bad premonition finally comes true. Since waking up Ive been trying in vain to reach my wife on her cell phone. Ive been missing for a week and she wasnt even worried, didnt report my disappearance, didnt go to the police, who would have given her the name of the hospital where I was recovering. And now this morning, shes pretending to be married to someone else.

Immobile in the shadows of the landing, I stare at my door, hoping it will open and Liz will come out laughing, introduce her accomplice, and throw her arms around my neck with a shout of April fool! But its 30 October, and shes never been one for practical jokes. Nor for having a lover. Or so I thought. In the span of two minutes, Ive found myself thrown out of my own home, not sure of anything anymore.

And then the situation suddenly becomes clear and I break into a smile, realizing how stupid the whole thing is. She thought Id left her flat, that Id just run away with the blonde in the window seat whod been flirting with me above the Atlantic. I figured Liz hadnt noticed, what with her two sleeping pills and cloth mask I thought she was acting strangely when we landed, but she always scowls at younger women. Leaving the airport, as I tried to cheer her up, she hissed under her breath, Very discreet of you! And when I bent down to pick up the belt of her raincoat, she slammed the taxi door on my hand.

Liz, listen to me, its not what you think! I was in a car accident, I was in a coma for three days, its all right now, there are no lasting effects, but the hospital wanted to keep me under observation Ive been trying to call you since I woke up, theres a problem with your cell Listen to me, open up! Whats going on here? Im exhausted, my hand hurts, I need a shower, and Liz! Open the door, goddammit!

No answer. Utter silence in the apartment. Listen as I might, all I hear is the sound of the elevator behind me. I try to kick the door down.

Cut it out! Im in no shape for this! Open this door or Ill break it in! You hear me?

A giant surges from the elevator and wraps his arms around me.

Take it easy.

Let me go!

Everythings fine, Mr Renaudat, Ive got him under control.

The sound of a deadbolt from the neighbors. His door opens again and the little old man yelps, Whats the use of paying for an intercom and a super if you let just anybody come in?

I shout that this is my building.

I said take it easy! the huge guy answers, crushing my ribs.