"James, I have bad news... Hans is dead."

James sagged back in his chair.

"Ah, God."

"It was a heart attack, James. He didn't feel a thing."

"Joanie?"

"She's still at the hospital. Went out like a light, they say."

James couldn't say anything.

"He should never have smoked that pipe," Joe, his colleague and fellow philosophy tutor went on. "I told him. Wouldn't listen. You know Hans. Always had to have his pipe. Doctors said no smoking but Hans wouldn't listen...."

"Where are you now?"

"In the office. Man, I see Hans's door. The place is funny... where the hell were you? I was trying to get you all morning..."

"I in there. It must be... it must be only two hours since I was talking to Hans... before lunch..."

"What the hell are you talking about, man? Hans died last night!"

"Couldn't -"

"In his Goddam sleep-Joanie woke up and he was like a stone... "

James leaned forward. "It couldn't be, Joe. You're mixed up. I was talking with Hans before lunch and he was fine... he might have been a bit preoccupied..."

"Preoccupied? He was dead! They reckon he died at four am. They took his body away from the house at seven! Jesus! Man!"

James swallowed. "I'll ring you back..."

He clicked down the telephone and stared at the screensaver. Yael had come in.

"Honey?"

"Hans-is dead."

Yael put a hand to her lips.

"Died... died... this morning..."

"Oh, I am so sorry." She put her arms around James neck.

"I know you two were close..."

"It was his heart..."

"The poor thing. He was only-what... fifties...?"

"Fifty two."

James felt a light kiss on the cheek.

He had been talking to Hans that morning. He had been in the department at... nine. It was nine because he remembered looking at his watch as he trotted up the steps to the main concourse. Because the library opened at nine fifteen and could distinctly remember thinking-would he pop in to see if that Inter-Library loan came through.

No, he thought. He would hop up and see Hans first. Hans liked to get all the department trivia out of the way by ten, before he started work "proper" as he said.

Nine o clock.

Yael had gone to make coffee.

A joke. Some kid rang up, impersonated Joe. Department-no the whole Faculty was full of Joe impersonators. The lively way he had of bobbing his head and shifting his feet while he talked. The ever-present "man" near the end of every sentence.

It sounded exactly like Joe, true. But Joe didn't have a distinctive accent-and besides he had even overheard a student impersonate Joe's voice-only a few weeks ago, in the canteen-and he had been sure it was Joe.

Hans dead... some sicko.

Now, would he ring Joe to make sure or would it be a bit, well, weird? What would he say? Hello, Joe? Did you just ring me a few minutes ago?

James got up and went down the book-lined hall of the bungalow into the kitchen.

"Yael," he said, "it's okay. Hans isn't dead."

"What?"

"It was a joke... some student.. I don't know what I was thinking...probably pissed because I failed him and he couldn't get his loan..."

"What kind of a person would do such a thing? Completely heartless."

"Who the hell knows? Little shit said he died last night but I saw him this morning."

"You saw him this morning? Then... why did you think he was dead?"

James sat down at the table. "No why. You know, when you're taken off guard? the shock..."

Yael set the mug on the table before him. She sat down.

"You've been spending too much time on front of that computer. What time did you get to bed last night? Four? Five?"

James had been working hard on his Guide to Socrates for four months now, but he had only finished six of the proposed twelve chapters. And they were the easy ones. The intricate stuff-like the way Plato integrated the Socratic method into his dialogues... all that he had shoved aside to wait until he felt he were able.

Problem was, the contract demanded delivery of the manuscript in only eight weeks time-to be on the market for the start of the fall semester. The marketing was in place, the dust jacket had been designed, his editor had told him the week before when he had rang to ask him how the "finishing touches were going?"

All this and five courses to teach-two of these weren't even his but Al Kelly had gone on sabbatical and since they were a general kind of course- how to write philosophical papers, general stuff like that-he had told Hans he would take them on, no problem. Because Hans was in a bind.

Exams in four weeks. Papers would have to be prepared. Corrections in six weeks....

He ran his hair through his hands. Yael was still talking.

"You'll have to take it a little easy... sometime I wonder you find your way home from campus. I really do."

"I have to get this book ready."

The phone rang.

Yael said, getting up, "you'll just wind up in hospital-hello? Hello? Oh! Oh poor Joanie! On Joanie."

She held the received to her breast and turned to James.

"James -"

"Hans is dead...."

James took the receiver. Joanie through the numb, cold voice of Joanie, James was told that Hans died that morning. She had woken up beside him. He was cold.

James parked his car in front of Randall Clinic. Dr. Lehmann took him immediately, without an appointment.

James told him about Hans's death, and how he had seen him that morning.

Lehmann nodded.

"Do you think its back?" James asked.

Dr Lehmann spoke haltingly, blinking his eyes firmly as if he was constantly changing his mind.

"You see, you are obviously distressed... \and any number of things... We don't even have to enter into that. You could have dreamed this whole... thing."

It was no dream, James knew.

He had stepped out onto the landing of the Department, which was situated in a high tower that over looked the sprawling campus and the city. He passed Joe's office and knocked on Hans's door, which was on the other side of the hallway.

"Ah!" Hans beamed, leaving his ever-present pip on the saucer by his desk. Hans was from Berlin and though he hadn't lived in Germany for many years, he spoke with an almost exaggerated accent. "Just the man! Just the man!"

James had sat down. "You look wrecked!" Hans said.

He had always put emphasis on learning slang. He had learned English by learning swear words first, and even now he slipped in an occasional "fuck" or "cunt". When he did it at lectures, students would laugh nervously.

James had sat down. "I was up until all hours last night."

Hans looked at him with concern. "Perhaps I will take Philosophical Writing today? Hm?"

"Would you-that would be great!"

"Of course-if you forget about that fucking book and use the day to relax. Relax, okay. Yael said you work night and day, day and night."

"I have to Hans -"

"Damn publishers! Damn them! If it is not ready that is their problem. Once my editor told me Professor you have to have the manuscript in four days. Four days, I say. I couldn't give you a pint of piss in four days, let alone a discussion of Aristotelian Theory of Forms. Be hard, James!" he cried theatrically, clutching his pipe and waving at James for emphasis.

There was no point in James telling him that he was a lowly junior lecturer, not Professor and Head of the most prestigious Departments in the world and leading Aristotle scholar. Anybody could write an introductory guide to Plato. And he needed the money. He had been lucky to get the job in the first place.

"I have to do it on time," was all he could say.

James looked at Lehmann. "You see? I couldn't remember that kind of detail from a dream."

Lehmann looked as if he were going to say something, but closed his mouth again and continued to stare. Then he started to form his words very, very carefully.

"You see, you have to understand that your recollection of this so-called meeting can be deceptive. You have to take into account that not only have you been working hard, but also you have been getting very little sleep. Now, you say you got to bed very late last night -"

"Yes."

"And on previous nights?"

"Yes."

"So, you see, it is entirely possible that you could be suffering from some effect of fatigue..."

"Fatigue! I saw a dead man this morning, Doctor! How could I be suffering from fatigue! He was there..."

Though James had to admit that Hans wasn't himself.

"Let's sort out this course," James had said.

Hans took the papers out of his desk after much rummaging. He laid them out on his table.

James said, "So Reilly discussion of the Politics should be the basis of the course..."

"Ehhhh ... yes," Hans had said doubtfully.

James was going to take on this short course at the start of the next semester. James would take his guidelines, hand them out to the students and just be there to field questions. They decided that the course should be graded very, very easily - far more easily than James usually graded - because James was no Aristotle expert. And it was only the second part of a series of three introductory Aristotle courses. James said he would do it without question.

James said, "You're having second thoughts... I thought you said Reilly was the simplest introduction..."

Hans nodded. "Yes, yes..but...yes. Right. Reilly. We'll stick to Reilly's... good idea!"

James had stared. Hans had been teaching that course for nearly fifteen years, and he always used O'Reilly's book.

Lehmann said carefully, "We'll put that aside for the moment then. Well, in light of your history..."

"Yes?"

"It could be a recurrence of your epileptic condition..."

James had been diagnosed petit mal epileptic when he was eleven. At nineteen, the condition disappeared completely. That was twenty years ago.

"It has been twenty years -"

"I am aware of that," Lehmann said without taking his eyes up from James's records. "But I feel you have to understand that our knowledge of epilepsy is extremely cloudy... and, in the literature, it is genuinely surprising to see the variety of symptoms petit mal patients experience...."

James felt weak. Hans dead... epilepsy again. Back to that.

Lehmann read his expression. "The stress... the fact we must hold before us is that the recurrence of petit mal epilepsy after very long periods of time has been recorded. It would seem if there was a concrete medical condition that had the result of your..." he chose the next word carefully, "confusion... then I really believe that's an avenue we would do well to explore."

He was writing. A CAT scan and EEG, immediately, down the hall, in fact. Some perceptual tests. An hour at most...

"Could epilepsy do that-"

"Oh, one can never rule out the effects of epilepsy, James. An interesting condition, too."

Dr Lehmann went out, muttering that he would have to book the machine immediately.

James sat back.

Hans soon woke up from his confusion about the Aristotle course James was to take. "But let us forget about Aristotle for he's dead and you fuck off home and relax with the sexy Yael and her fine tits," he said seriously, sticking his unlit pipe in his mouth.

Dr Lehmann came back in, sat down and stared at James.

"Nice to see you again James. Now, you weren't specific on the phone but you sounded anxious. So, perhaps you might tell me the problem. You say you're... confused?"

He drove down the highway, his car sweeping through lanes of traffic. Car horns blared but he didn't notice. All he could think about was getting home to Yael.

What could she do for him?

Everything. Get a doctor.

"You've already seen one," he said aloud, swerving his Volkswagen past a garbage truck. "You've already seen a fucking doctor, there's no need to go to another one. Just hope he doesn't charge you twice!"

He started laughing wildly. Charge you twice. That was a good one.

And to see his face when he got up and ran out!

The car phone beeped. Yael. Thank God! Why didn't he think of phoning her?

"Oh God James you had us so worried. Where are you?"

"I'm just after the clinic -"

Panic came into her voice. "The clinic! James! Are you alright? Are you hurt? When you didn't ring... couldn't get an answer from your phones anywhere..."

"I'm okay honey. I'm okay The shock of Hans... I can't believe he's dead. Is he dead?"

"Dead? Hans? Of course not. I was just speaking to him. He says he hasn't seen you all day as well. Everybody was worried. When he said you didn't come in this morning."

He rolled down the window and threw out the phone. Yael's voice shot away into the traffic and billowing horns.

He started laughing maniacally again. He thought, "If this gets on any worse I'll have to book a slot on Ricki Lake."

He drove for hours, put of the city, though the empty countryside, past the shells of houses, a gas station. Drove on, his gas tank draining, up into the mountains. He came to a stop. He felt very tired. He let back the seat and closed his eyes and fell asleep. He woke up in his room.

He sat up. He could make out Yael's sleeping form beside him.

"Weird," he said, lying back down. "Weird."

Yael got up just before dawn. Her nursing shift was to start at six.

He hadn't slept. He saw her form in the darkness. The rustle of a bathrobe. He

Wearing Yael's bathrobe, was a purple thing, with arms and legs, looking very like a man.

James bolted up and then was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming calmness. He lay drowsily back on the bed.

The thing grinned. "Surprised? " He collapsed into breathless laughter. He laughed so long and hard James thought cloudily, maybe he might just die.

The thing regained its composure. It looked as if it were wiping tears away.

"You thought-you thought I was Hans! Yes? And Lehmann Yes!" and he started to scream with laughter again.

When he was ready, he said. "Look, I'm sorry. I can't resist messing around sometimes. I get into trouble but, natural joker, that's me. Well, all set?"

James nodded.

"Let's go."

James followed the creature towards the window. The creature stopped and looked around.

"And you really thought I was Yael! And Hans-did I do Hans well?"

James nodded dreamily.

The creature laughed again.

"I'm just a natural kidder, that's me, for sure. I'm sorry. I get into trouble a lot."

As he climbed out the window James heard him say, "Joe was the easiest. Everybody can do Joe."