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victim’s ear. He saw the article — of dubious scientific quality — as a kind of confirmation. Not just of the motive behind some of his wife’s caresses, but also of the theory he’d been nurturing. One day, while waiting for the bathroom to be vacated, a strange matinal mosquito was droning at the entrance to his left ear. At any other time, Antonym would have merely grumbled and swatted the air. But at that hour of the day, when a healthy man has his batteries fully charged, the drone of the insect inspired a quick, though not unreasonable, formulation. After squishing the mosquito against the wall, Antonym realised that it was through their ears, rather than their eyes, that men were seduced. The ear canal connected a man’s body and spirit. Caress the eardrums of the most mediocre of beings with words of praise, and he will believe himself to be a wise man; nibble, even just slightly, the earlobe of a wise man, and he is reduced to nothing. Armed with this principle, one could even write, for example, an essay on the harmful aspects of constructive criticism. But Antonym would never do that. He would be caught up in ordinary events that would lead to the extraordinary.
    It was nothing more ordinary than a marriage break-up. The relationship had lasted ten years, and would have lasted even longer had Bernadette not plucked up courage and decided to leave, after giving him a long and civilised explanation of her decision.
    â€˜I need to be around normal people,’ she said in conclusion, before picking up her bags, which were already packed, and going to stay with a girlfriend from work.
    The sterility of the scene made Antonym proud. His wife had perfected the ability to control noisy reactions.
    â€˜Can I ask you one last thing?’ asked Antonym.
    â€˜?’
    â€˜Did you ever think of killing me?’
    Bernadette got into the lift.

II
    The change in Antonym’s marital life had an immediate effect on his work. He was unable to come up with enough witty ideas to maintain a good flow of opinionated articles, and his reporting became substandard — even for the third-rate newspaper he worked on, he was forced to admit. His lack of productivity allowed the editor to start detecting lumps in his velvety style, which up until then had been a source of pride for the editor, who believed he had ‘discovered the kid’. Whenever he heard him trot out this phrase, it struck Antonym that editors-in-chief were like pimps — always keen to find new talent. It was a shame that that was a cow he couldn’t milk any more.
    â€˜An article in the first person, Antonym? That’s not done in contemporary journalism.’
    â€˜Antonym, please go lighter on the “howevers”. Your texts are full of crutches.’
    â€˜Listen, Antonym. Why don’t you use the first person? It’s more contemporary.’
    â€˜A crutch wouldn’t be so bad here, Antonym.’
    â€˜I think you should have some time off to reflect on life, Antonym. No hard feelings, OK?’
    Antonym was out of the game. Since he’d made countless enemies on all the other newspapers and magazines, he wasn’t likely to find work again on a big publication.
    Well, at least a lot of people will be happy now , he murmured to himself, as he closed his car window in the face of a kid begging for money. No self-indulgence, no indulging others. No hard feelings, OK? That was how he had to be.
    In theory, it’s possible to love thy neighbour. But from a distance. Close up, it’s almost impossible . He remembered that this was what Bernadette had always said whenever she saw him cursing the vagrants that had taken over the city.
    Before he went home, it occurred to him to call someone who could keep him company during his first dinner as an unemployed person. And it was only then, and not without some perplexity, that Antonym understood in reality (which is quite different to