Then we put a stop to his game by simply phoning him back after one of his vicious calls. But it didn't happen: none of it happened. It's just a screen memory, like the story of the six weeks in Florence that never happened. (After I realized that I had not actually been there that long, I began to believe another story, that I had gone to Russia and then to France. and been caught in the French strikes of 1968-without reference to the fact that they ended two months before I crossed France.) But why do I need these absurd stories? They are not lies: when I tell them. I myself believe them. I don't lie. Perhaps I tell them to myself when I tell them to others. so that I can hide from myself whatever has made me a refugee in my own life.

A year passed in the Village. quite pleasantly and uneventfully. Then came what we called the incident. of the "white thing." It took place in the apartment and began with the most down-to-earth member of our family. Anne. One night she woke up screaming and reported that something had poked her in the stomach. She had seen it. too: It was translucent white and about three feet tall. She was greatly agitated. Naturally, we took this to be a nightmare. Nothing more was said about it. Certainly, nothing was said to our son.

The next night at about ten I was sitting up and reading. Anne had just turned over to go to sleep. Suddenly I was struck on the arm. As I turned I saw a small, pale shape withdrawing into the hall. I jumped up and followed it, only to find the hall empty. It hadn't been our son: He was peacefully asleep in bed. Again, Anne and I hardly discussed the incident. When she asked me why I'd gotten up, I muttered something about her nightmare being contagious. The next morning I noticed a distinct bruise on my arm, but assumed that I must have banged into a table or something.

A few nights later our son suddenly began screaming the house down. I leaped up out of bed and went to him. He was terribly frightened. He said that "a little white thing" had come up to his bed "and poked me and poked me."

Neither Anne nor our son showed any physical evidence of injury.