That night I walked into my parents’ garden, which suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger. Or maybe I had turned smaller? I looked around. The flowers almost looked like trees, towering high above me, with their brightly colored petals. I made my way through the trunks, some of which were wider than I was. The further I walked, the larger the flowers became and the closer they grew together, like an impenetrable jungle. The smell of all those blooming plants was overwhelming. Then I saw an open field in between the trunks. I heard a buzzing noise somewhere far away, which slowly became louder and louder.
In the middle of the open field, there was a fountain. I cupped my hands under the stream of water pouring out of it and drank from the water, which tasted fresh and remarkably sweet. It took some time before I finally noticed that it was not water, but nectar. I pulled a few scraps of paper out of the pocket of my trousers. Rhodiola, I read on one of the notes. Phosphatidylserine, another scrap of paper said. I threw the pieces of paper in the air, where they soon turned into colorful butterflies. First very small ones, but then they quickly grew until they were five times as big as I was. They drank from the nectar, before they flew away, flapping their beautiful wings. The buzzing became even noisier and was now really loud. It turned out to be a huge bee, which landed next to me and looked questioningly in my direction. In the spur of moment, I jumped onto its back. It immediately flew off. With the loud buzzing noise in my ears, we soared over the flowers. To our right and left, other people were also flying on the back of bees. I recognized Els, Veerle, Maggy and a girl I had been close friends with during primary school, but whose name I had forgotten. I waved enthusiastically. They cheerfully waved back. In the distance, at the end of the sea of flower, I could just barely discern the Cathedral and the Boerentoren.
I felt exceptionally cheerful that morning. Vaguely, I remembered the dream about very large flowers. Whistling, I baked an omelet, which I ate with three big slices of brown bread. I was still in a perfectly good mood when I was surprised by a rain shower during my morning walk in the city park. I had taken off my wet clothes and was just about to get in the shower, when my phone rang. It was Koen. Without thinking twice, I picked up the phone.
‘You have my book about Vespa motorcycles.’
It was typical for Koen to start a conversation in such a boorish way. Good manners were not for him. I moved my phone to my other hand while skipping on one leg, as I tried taking of my soaked sock. ‘Why would I have your book?’
‘Because I don’t have it. So it has to be over there somewhere.’
Typical Koen-logic. ‘I don’t have any stuff of yours anymore.’
He sighed audibly. ‘I need that book. I want to buy Laura a Vespa.’
Laura. I still felt a stab in my stomach when I heard that name. Laura was the ten year younger woman whom he started a relationship with about a week after we had broken up. Vespas were not my sort of thing at all, and therefore I was absolutely certain that I didn't have the book lying around, but he stood firm, so I promised him that I would look for it. He was just about to hang up when something crossed my mind. ‘Koen?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you remember when you saw me at the MAS?’
It took a while before he answered. ‘Yes.’
‘That man, who was with me...’
‘What man?’
‘The man who was sitting across from me, when we were busy talking.’
It was quiet on the other side of the line for a while. ‘There was no one sitting across from you.’
I felt as though he had just stomped me in the gut. ‘Of course there was.’
‘Nope. I’m perfectly certain you were sitting at that table by yourself.’
I stared at my naked body in the bathroom mirror. By going walking more often, I had lost a kilo or two. It looked good on me.
‘What did you want to ask, Carine?’
‘Oh, nothing. Forget about it.’
‘All right... don’t forget about my book.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ I got dressed in a hurry and walked down the stairs, towards the cupboard in the living room. I opened the top drawer. In it were the notes of J.P. and the grinning joker.
I paced through the room. What was going on, in God’s name? Was I just imagining all of it? But how did I get the pieces of paper then, the playing card, the knowledge about the supplements? Was I going mad? I had to track J.P. again. He couldn’t just have disappeared off of the face of the earth. Maybe I should hang out at the places where we had met. The terrace at the MAS, the RAZ, the Central Station where he was secretly watching people so often. Sooner or later, he had to show up again.
I stood stock-still. He lived somewhere around here, in this city, not even that far away from where I lived. I turned on my laptop, surfed to the online telephone directory and entered J.P. and Antwerp as keywords. I took a deep breath before I hit enter. More than 2000 results for J.P. in Antwerp and vicinity. I scrolled through the impressive catalogue of names and addresses that had appeared on my screen. Was he somewhere between them? And how was I supposed to know if it was him? Some addresses showed two names. I could already scratch those. If J.P. had a wife, he would probably not meet up with strange women just like that. His wife would find out in no time. There were also some addresses that were some distance outside of the city center. It had to be close by.
My breath caught. While every other address also showed a last name, there was one address that only had the initials J.P. next to it. I stared at the address. A cold hand wrapped its fingers around my heart. I walked outside, without my wallet, phone or even turning off my laptop. Only at the last moment did I think of taking the keys to my house with me.