Tomy and the Planet of Lies (19 page)

…Ebet said nothing for the moment and tried to catch her breath. Then Tomy held out his left hand, too, pointing to the mole on the back of his hand.

…“I'm genuine, see? Erich must have told you how I came into being.”

…I grabbed a chair from a neighboring table and pressed Tomy gently into it. Elisabeth grabbed hold of Tomy's left hand and began stroking it gently. She stared constantly into his eyes. Then she took his right hand as well and pressed it firmly. Then I knew: she had dealt with the shock.

…“Tomy, welcome to our world,” were her first words and then—typical Elisabeth—she jested, “But how am I supposed to tell which one of you is my husband? Erich could have traveled through time. He is friends with the strangest people: maybe one of them sent him into the past. And maybe you, Tomy, are really my Erich, while he,” she pointed playfully at me, “doesn't really exist at all. What are we going to do with the old fellow?”

…The two of them laughed loudly at this uproarious humor: I stood speechless to one side.

…Later, Ebet insisted that Tomy should come and live with us. He couldn't stay here in the hotel, she said, it would just lead to too many complications. We would make up a guest room for him and, for the time being at least, would introduce him to nobody. Except for our very closest friends and even then only after carefully preparing the ground beforehand. Back then—1987, as you recall—the American TV series
Alf
was extremely popular.

…This situation strongly reminded me of Alf, a strange-looking beast that had somehow made its way from space to our planet and ended up living with a stereotypical American family, learning English very quickly in the process. But Alf couldn't be shown to the neighbors, let alone the rest of humanity. Alf, a hilarious TV show, stretched the bounds of reality. Alf was a fictional character—Tomy was real. We talked about it, laughed about it, too.

…But Tomy assured us that he was grateful just to be allowed to live in just one room and maybe occasionally stroll around the garden. He didn't need to travel and he certainly wouldn't be a burden on us for long.

…Elisabeth's answer to this was that he could stay for the rest of his life if he wanted: he would certainly never be a burden for us. She really seemed to enjoy Tomy's company and if I hadn't known that Tomy—after his one and only sexual encounter with Chantal—felt no desire for physical relationships, I might have even been jealous. So we packed everything into the car and drove on to Feldbrunnen on the outskirts of Solothurn. The house where we lived was a roomy three-story villa with a small park and a large meadow behind the house.

…It was shortly before midnight when we arrived home. Ebet reached for her keys and let us in quickly as a biting wind was chilling us to the bone. Inside the house, our three dogs barked loudly: a small white Highland Terrier, a black Tibetan Highland Mastiff and our imposing Great Dane who—when she laid her great paws on my shoulders—was much bigger than me. A fabulous, friendly, giant beast that put the wind up practically every stranger to visit the house. All three dogs protected my wife jealously; what would they make of Tomy?

…The house door was barely open a crack before Neptune, the Great Dane, was out greeting Elisabeth enthusiastically and leaping up and licking my face and wagging his tail like a loon; he ended up doing exactly the same with Tomy as if he had always been a part of the family. Even the little white Terrier bounced excitedly around us all. Only the Tibetan Mastiff, who never liked being stroked anyway, kept its emotions in check.

…Finally lying in my own bed, I was looking forward to a good, long, peaceful sleep. But the next morning at seven o'clock everything was no longer all right with the world. A long, high-pitched scream split the air, accompanied by the clatter of falling crockery. I ran downstairs, still clad in my pajamas. There stood our 19-year-old housemaid, Edith, as if glued to the spot, a tray of broken plates and saucers on the floor beside her. Two meters away stood Tomy, dressed only in his underpants. Edith's face was distorted with fear and when she saw me her knees finally gave way and she sank, deathly pale, to the floor in a faint.

…By now Elisabeth was also on the scene. We carried Edith into her room. Ebet fetched some cold wet cloths and a bottle of some foul-reeking substance that she held under Edith's nose. Tomy disappeared into his room to put on some clothes. Elisabeth sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke gently to the traumatized girl. When Edith had finally calmed down a little, my wife explained that the strange man who had frightened her so very much was, in fact, my youngest brother. My father had only been twenty when I was born and thirty years later Tomy had been a bit of a surprise. Thank heavens Tomy wasn't around to hear this white lie!

…As soon as Edith felt up to it, we invited Tomy to come into the room. He behaved like an enchanting young prince, begged forgiveness for his unexpected appearance, and scolded us that we hadn't warned him that we had such a delightful young lady in our service. This was true. We had simply forgotten to mention it. Elisabeth went red with embarrassment, but I already saw the next problem looming on the horizon of human emotions. At breakfast, which I normally do without, Elisabeth informed us that Neptune, the Great Dane, who for years had slept by her door, had now found a new resting place in front of Tomy's room. Even now he was lying at Tomy's feet.

…It would have been a waste of time taking Tomy around the large house to show him all the different rooms: my library, the archive with its 80,000 slides, the correspondence from readers, the four bathrooms in the villa, the garden. Since that wondrous night in the Sheraton when Tomy had taken me over he knew everything that I knew.

…And now he moved around the house as if he had lived there all his life. And he cooked just like me, too! That evening he cooked—much to my wife's amazement—spaghetti bolognaise exactly the way I always prepare it. Even the salad sauce, my unique creation, was no secret to him as if he ate it every day back on his home planet.

…Whenever Edith was present, we avoided talking about Tomy's origin or special talents. We didn't want her to find out who Tomy really was: Tomy agreed, and although he couldn't lie, he would simply say nothing on the subject. Then he asked us if we could lock him in his room: he wanted to remain undisturbed during his ‘travels.' Elisabeth didn't think that that was such a good idea, but instead looked around and found one of those ‘Do not disturb' signs that you get in hotels. She said she would tell Edith not to go in whenever the sign was hanging on the door. It wasn't a good idea to lock him in, she said, because if he needed to get out of his room, for whatever reason, and neither of us was around, he would be trapped.

…“Just imagine: what if the house was on fire?” Annoyingly, Tomy's door wouldn't let itself be locked from the inside—the lock was from the 18th century and showed no inclination of changing its mind—so we were left with the sign as the only option. Tomy shook his head and glanced up at me. We knew that nothing would happen to him.

…The Villa Serdang, where we were living, was right on the main road from Solothurn towards Olten. Every day, thousands of cars drove by—in both directions. In addition, there were a set of rails embedded in the asphalt on which “the Green Lisa”—as we called our local train—rattled by the house every half hour or so. The noise wasn't actually that bad as we were separated from the road by a thick stone wall and the 18th century villa had very solid walls.

…Next to the villa was a small park containing a few trees and a small pond, home to a colony of frogs. Behind the house, there was a meadow as large as a football field. The ground floor of the villa included the kitchen, a toilet, the well-lit conservatory with its large glass windows, and two living rooms with high stucco ceilings. One of these rooms contained my library, a book collection featuring all of the mysteries of this world plus reference works on space travel, genetics, and religious philosophy. We used the second room as a living room—it was equipped with upholstered armchairs, a television, and an open fireplace that was so big you could roast a piglet in it. Upstairs, there were several bedrooms and bathrooms: the whole house consisted of 26 rooms, but we didn't use all of them. The other part of the house was lived in by my sister Leni and her family. Unlike TV families, who are constantly plagued by arguments and feuds, the von Däniken household was very harmonious.

…It was obvious to Elisabeth and me that we were going to have to introduce Tomy to Leni and her two children sooner or later. How were we going to explain Tomy? We discussed the problem at length. Tomy, as usual, would not accept any solution, which did not consist of the whole truth and assured us that when he met my sister he would tell her everything.

…Man proposes and God disposes, I thought, when it finally did happen. Leni had a key for our half of the house so she could bring her dogs through the house and exercise them on the meadow. Because it was Edith's night off, Tomy was helping us by clearing up in the kitchen after dinner when Leni suddenly walked in to fetch the dogs' collars from the hook where they always hang. Tomy and Leni managed to walk right into each other. With great presence of mind, Tomy said: “Excuse me, I'll just go and get Erich.” Leni plunked herself down onto the nearest stool in stunned amazement.

…She looked extremely confused and her face was extremely pale as I came in. Valiantly, she pressed her lips together and managed a wan smile. Leni, you need to know, is my oldest sister. She has a generous and warm character, and she cooks better than any top chef in the world. Her husband, a high-ranking police officer, had died a few months earlier and her two grown-up children had moved out. Really, Leni deserved a bit of peace in her old age -time to relax, to go to concerts, or to just be alone. But all the family business and her friends kept her on her toes. Now she was sat on the stool, nervously wringing the dog leashes in her hands.

…“Erich, who is this man?” she asked. “Tell me, who
is
he?”

…I sat down next to her and Ebet came over and joined us. I answered her straight: it was a long story, but she needn't worry, it had nothing to do with sex, illicit behavior or anything illegal, more to do with the kind of things my books were about. This was pretty much the truth. Hesitantly and somewhat unsure about everything, Leni followed us into the living room. Tomy stood up, courteously and offered his hand, which she took with a sigh. Then we uncorked one of America's best red wines, an Opus One from the vineyards of Robert Mondavi.

…Robert—his friends call him Bob—and I had met several years ago in Acapulco. I had been the guest speaker at a seminar given by a U.S. oil company. Managers from various different professional walks of life were invited to give talks about their diverse specialties. Bob and I were among them. At the bar, he had explained to me that the majority of his countrymen knew little of wine. Even when tucking into a fine prime rib of beef, they would rather drink water. I could confirm that from my own experiences in the restaurant trade. Back in the 60s I had been appalled by American table manners. They would hardly have sat down at their tables, before they started munching bread and gulping down water.

…I had endured the traumatic experience of watching Americans enjoy our national dish, the cheese fondue, while slurping down hot chocolate! Awful! Bob Mondavi—whose wife is Swiss, by the way—was complaining back then about his father who owned a huge vineyard in California which only mass-produced second-rate wine. Until Bob met up with the Frenchman Baron Philippe de Rothschild, that is. The Rothschilds ran one of world's most famous vineyards in Bordeaux, which had been producing fine quality wines for decades. Bob Mondavi and Baron Philippe de Rothschild became firm friends. Together they managed to create a phenomenal wine by combining the years of knowledge and experience of the Rothschilds with an originally French grape, now ripened to perfection under the Californian sun. The wine was called Cabernet Sauvignon Opus One—a fine drop that is only served on very special occasions. The label displays, to this day, only the profiles of the two wine growers and their signatures. Back in Acapulco, Bob had presented me with an entire case of Opus One.

…My sister Leni is one of those select few, who really know something about red wines. She watched appreciatively as I brought out the bottle, but her gaze flicked constantly back to Tomy as I poured out four glasses of the precious drink. Licking my lips in anticipation, I swilled the wine around in its bulbous crystal wine glass. The open fire and a few lighted candles enhanced a tranquil and yet tense atmosphere. It ended up being a long night. At the end of it, four bottles of Opus One stood empty on the mantelpiece. Leni had interrupted my story infrequently with short questions, such as: “Is there such a thing?” “How is that possible?” and “Did you really go through all that?”

…Leni knew Marc from his frequent visits to Villa Serdang with his mother. “Marc was there from the very beginning!” I insisted, “Call him, if you don't believe me!”

…In view of Tomy's presence, calling Marc wasn't really necessary. Leni slowly became accustomed to seeing him there, and even attempted to joke around with him a little. She still repeatedly stared at him in amazement, though, grasping his hands and even stroking his hair.

…“I knew you as a lad, Erich. We grew up together…” Leni didn't know if she should look at me or Tomy. “Seeing you again like this is some kind of miracle! The voice, those buckteeth—it's all exactly like it was thirty years ago. Unbelievable!”

…“What do you think I went through?” said Ebet wryly to her. “And still do, when I look at this handsome young fellow, smell him or hear him talking exactly like my husband from thirty years in the past!”

…Then the two women raised the subject that I had put to the back of my mind: We shouldn't be so naïve as to think that the secret services would ever leave us alone. Did we think that the Turks would just forget Ercan's murder? That the Iranians would simply put Tomy's amazing abilities out of their minds?