A man returned home early from work one afternoon after a burst water pipe forced his office to close. He was pleased by the unexpected break. For once, he could surprise his wife, eat lunch at home, and perhaps spend a peaceful afternoon doing absolutely nothing.
As he walked up the front path, however, he noticed something unusual. The bedroom curtains were drawn, even though the day was bright. A bicycle he did not recognize leaned against the side fence, partly hidden behind a hedge.
He paused.
The bicycle might have belonged to a delivery worker, he thought. Or perhaps one of the children’s friends had left it there. There was no reason to be suspicious.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
The house was strangely quiet.
“Hello?” he called.
No answer.
He placed his briefcase beside the hallway table and noticed a man’s jacket hanging over the back of a chair. It was not his jacket. It was expensive, dark blue, and several sizes too small for him.
He frowned.
Perhaps his brother-in-law had stopped by. Perhaps a neighbor had come to repair something. There were many reasonable explanations, and he was determined not to become the sort of man who imagined disasters before knowing the facts.
Then he heard a loud thump upstairs.
The ceiling shook slightly.
A second thump followed, then the hurried sound of footsteps.
“Are you all right?” he shouted.
There was a brief silence.
Then his wife called from the bedroom, “Don’t come up!”
That was not a reassuring answer.
He ran up the stairs two at a time and pushed open the bedroom door.
His wife was spread out across the bed, puffing and panting. Her hair was messy, her face was red, and she looked as though she had just finished running a marathon. The blanket had been pulled up to her shoulders, although the room was warm.
She stared at him with wide eyes.
“You’re home early!” she gasped.
“The office closed,” he replied. “What are you doing?”
“Doing?”
“Yes. Why are you lying there like that?”
She glanced toward the wardrobe, then quickly looked back at him.
“I… um… I think I’m having a heart attack.”
His suspicion vanished instantly.
“A heart attack?”
“Yes,” she said, pressing one hand dramatically against her chest. “A terrible one.”
He rushed to the bed.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
“Is the pain moving down your arm?”
“I think so.”
“Which arm?”
She looked at both arms as though trying to choose.
“The left one,” she said finally. “No, the right. Perhaps both.”
He became pale.
“Stay calm. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No!” she cried.
He froze. “Why not?”
“I mean… yes. Of course. Call one. But do it downstairs. The telephone in here is not working.”
He looked at the phone beside the bed. The receiver was slightly crooked.
“I used it this morning.”
“It broke after that.”
He reached for it.
“Don’t touch it!” she shouted.
He pulled his hand back.
“Why?”
“It might give you an electric shock.”
He stared at the telephone. “The telephone cord is not even plugged in.”
She blinked.
“That is how badly it is broken.”
Before he could question her further, the bedroom wardrobe made a faint creaking sound.
He turned his head.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That noise.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“It came from the wardrobe.”
She sat up too quickly, then remembered she was supposed to be having a heart attack and fell back against the pillows.
“It was probably the wood expanding.”
“In the middle of the afternoon?”
“It has been a very stressful day for the furniture.”
He narrowed his eyes.
Another sound came from inside the wardrobe. This time, it was unmistakable—a muffled sneeze.
The husband took a step toward it.
His wife clutched the blanket.
“Please,” she said, “don’t leave me alone while I’m dying.”
He stopped immediately.
“You’re right. I’m wasting time.”
He rushed from the bedroom and raced downstairs to call for help.
At the bottom of the stairs, he nearly collided with his young son, who had just come in from the garden.
“Go next door and ask them to call an ambulance!” the husband shouted. “Your mother may be having a heart attack!”
The boy stared at him.
“But what about the naked man hiding in your wardrobe?”
The hallway became silent.
The husband slowly turned his head toward the ceiling.
“What did you say?”
“There’s a naked man in your wardrobe,” the boy repeated. “I saw him run upstairs when you came through the gate.”
The husband’s face changed.
Fear disappeared.
Concern disappeared.
In their place came a deep, dangerous fury.
He charged back upstairs, with the boy following at a safe distance. His wife heard him coming and pulled the blanket higher.
“What happened?” she asked nervously. “Did you call the ambulance?”
He ignored her and marched directly toward the wardrobe.
“Don’t open that!” she cried.
He grabbed the handles.
“The hinges are broken!”
He pulled the doors apart.
“The clothes might fall!”
He pushed the hanging shirts aside.
At the back of the wardrobe stood a terrified man wearing nothing but socks. He was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a winter coat.
The husband stared at him.
The man in the wardrobe stared back.
The wife held her breath.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then the husband pointed an angry finger at the naked man.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!”
The man covered himself with the winter coat.
“I can explain.”
“Explain?” the husband shouted. “My wife is lying on that bed having a serious heart attack, and you are running around my house without clothes, hiding in wardrobes and frightening the children!”
The naked man blinked.
The wife’s mouth fell open.
Even the boy looked confused.
“I’m sorry,” the man said cautiously.
“Sorry is not enough!” the husband continued. “What kind of neighbor behaves like this during a medical emergency?”
The man looked toward the wife, hoping she might help, but she quickly closed her eyes and placed a hand over her chest again.
The husband pulled a dressing gown from a hook and threw it at him.
“Cover yourself and get out. We have enough problems without you behaving like a fool.”
The man wrapped himself in the gown and hurried from the room. He ran down the stairs, out the front door, and disappeared so quickly that he left one sock behind.
The boy watched him go.
Then he looked at his father.
“Aren’t you angry that he was hiding in the wardrobe?”
“Of course I’m angry,” the husband replied. “The man has no sense of timing.”
Upstairs, the wife remained motionless, uncertain whether she had escaped disaster or entered a much stranger one.
Her husband returned to the bedroom carrying a glass of water.
“How is your heart now?” he asked.
She studied his face carefully.
“Better,” she said.
“That is good.”
“You’re not going to ask why he was in the wardrobe?”
He placed the glass beside her.
“No.”
She swallowed nervously. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said calmly, “I already know.”
Her face turned pale.
He picked up the unfamiliar jacket from the chair, removed a wallet from its pocket, and held it up.
The wife stared at him.
The husband smiled without humor.
“I may be slow,” he said, “but I am not silent furniture.”
He turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To call an ambulance.”
She touched her chest. “For me?”
“No,” he replied. “For the man outside. When I finish talking to him, he may actually need one.”