with chicken bones.'
'Robert,' I say hesitantly.
'Half a chicken, Maarten. In the morning, on an empty
stomach, you ate half a chicken. And a can of liver pâté. And several pineapple rings and a packet of cookies.'
'A healthy appetite for an old man, that's all I can say.'
'It's no laughing matter, Maarten. But Dr Eardly says we can do something about it together. And he's given me tablets for you, for the night.'
'I sleep very well, actually.'
'Sometimes you get up in the middle of the night. You get dressed. You don't know the difference between day and night any longer.'
'It's all because of this damned winter,' I mutter. I look at her earnestly, almost severely, as if wanting to persuade her. But what I am really doing is begging her to understand something I do not understand myself. Something that suddenly comes over me and vanishes equally suddenly, leaving a dark shadow of panic behind, which slowly ebbs away until only that slight sense of unease remains that I now feel almost the whole day.
'I know what the trouble is,' I say, 'Chauvas said the same to me at a meeting the other day. "My dear Maarten," he said, "don't you remember we discussed that in detail at our last meeting? Look it up in your own minutes." I've been a bit forgetful for a long time.'
'It was four years ago you last went to an IMCO meeting,' she says.
'Sure, sure,' I say. 'Did you really think I didn't know that?'
'You should take it easy, Dr Eardly said. You should stay indoors for the time being. Your memory is a bit confused. We must steer the past back into its proper channels. Together. Our past, Maarten.'
'Don't look so sad, Vera,' I say. 'There are lots of things I do remember.'
'I can help you,' she says softly. 'We've been together almost fifty years. Dr Eardly said it can all come all right again.'
'What does this Dr Eardly know about me? I've been to see him twice maybe in all the years we've been living here.'
'Don't get excited. He promised to call in one of these days.' 'Doctors,' I sneer. 'Especially in this country with its obsession with health. They do nothing but keep the pharmaceutical industry on its feet, the pill manufacturers.'
'Don't excite yourself so.'
'That's what you said before.'
'I know.'
'What should I do, then?' My voice sounds dull and timid, as though admitting I am sick. Therefore I say, by way of compensation, 'Out of sight, out of mind' (a subtle reference to my condition, because I have guessed all along what this Dr Eardly thinks of me).
'Tell me what you have been doing this morning.'
I mustn't panic. Start from here. From where I am sitting now. The snow outside. The room. This table edge, which I am holding with both hands.
'Take your time thinking about it.'
'Nothing special,' I say. 'Same as usual. Get up, wash, dress, shave, drink coffee, eat breakfast.'
'Chicken?'
'Chicken? No, just the usual slice of toast and marmalade, from that yellow jar with the black lid, you know.'
'You ate half a cold chicken from the refrigerator. A can of liver pâté, a couple of pineapple rings and a packet of cookies.'
'I am finding this a painful account. In broad outline I cannot agree with it.'
'Who are you talking to?'
'Vera,' I say, quickly, and panting slightly, 'listen carefully to me. I don't hurt a fly. I went for a walk this morning, with Robert. Down the path. In the Stevens' yard there was a pick-up truck from Salem. A red one without wheels. You can go and look for yourself. The usual junk. I didn't see Pat. Robert was chasing after some crows. We went to the beach. Into the wind. The white scent was all around me. But I thought that only because other people always talk about the salty sea air. Even Pop does, he always talks about the salty sea air, too.'
'Your father died in 1956.'
I pick up a book that is lying on the table between us and turn it over with a furious bang.
'Did you imagine I didn't know that? To sum up, as Bahr always says at the end of a meeting, I walked
'Robert,' I say hesitantly.
'Half a chicken, Maarten. In the morning, on an empty
stomach, you ate half a chicken. And a can of liver pâté. And several pineapple rings and a packet of cookies.'
'A healthy appetite for an old man, that's all I can say.'
'It's no laughing matter, Maarten. But Dr Eardly says we can do something about it together. And he's given me tablets for you, for the night.'
'I sleep very well, actually.'
'Sometimes you get up in the middle of the night. You get dressed. You don't know the difference between day and night any longer.'
'It's all because of this damned winter,' I mutter. I look at her earnestly, almost severely, as if wanting to persuade her. But what I am really doing is begging her to understand something I do not understand myself. Something that suddenly comes over me and vanishes equally suddenly, leaving a dark shadow of panic behind, which slowly ebbs away until only that slight sense of unease remains that I now feel almost the whole day.
'I know what the trouble is,' I say, 'Chauvas said the same to me at a meeting the other day. "My dear Maarten," he said, "don't you remember we discussed that in detail at our last meeting? Look it up in your own minutes." I've been a bit forgetful for a long time.'
'It was four years ago you last went to an IMCO meeting,' she says.
'Sure, sure,' I say. 'Did you really think I didn't know that?'
'You should take it easy, Dr Eardly said. You should stay indoors for the time being. Your memory is a bit confused. We must steer the past back into its proper channels. Together. Our past, Maarten.'
'Don't look so sad, Vera,' I say. 'There are lots of things I do remember.'
'I can help you,' she says softly. 'We've been together almost fifty years. Dr Eardly said it can all come all right again.'
'What does this Dr Eardly know about me? I've been to see him twice maybe in all the years we've been living here.'
'Don't get excited. He promised to call in one of these days.' 'Doctors,' I sneer. 'Especially in this country with its obsession with health. They do nothing but keep the pharmaceutical industry on its feet, the pill manufacturers.'
'Don't excite yourself so.'
'That's what you said before.'
'I know.'
'What should I do, then?' My voice sounds dull and timid, as though admitting I am sick. Therefore I say, by way of compensation, 'Out of sight, out of mind' (a subtle reference to my condition, because I have guessed all along what this Dr Eardly thinks of me).
'Tell me what you have been doing this morning.'
I mustn't panic. Start from here. From where I am sitting now. The snow outside. The room. This table edge, which I am holding with both hands.
'Take your time thinking about it.'
'Nothing special,' I say. 'Same as usual. Get up, wash, dress, shave, drink coffee, eat breakfast.'
'Chicken?'
'Chicken? No, just the usual slice of toast and marmalade, from that yellow jar with the black lid, you know.'
'You ate half a cold chicken from the refrigerator. A can of liver pâté, a couple of pineapple rings and a packet of cookies.'
'I am finding this a painful account. In broad outline I cannot agree with it.'
'Who are you talking to?'
'Vera,' I say, quickly, and panting slightly, 'listen carefully to me. I don't hurt a fly. I went for a walk this morning, with Robert. Down the path. In the Stevens' yard there was a pick-up truck from Salem. A red one without wheels. You can go and look for yourself. The usual junk. I didn't see Pat. Robert was chasing after some crows. We went to the beach. Into the wind. The white scent was all around me. But I thought that only because other people always talk about the salty sea air. Even Pop does, he always talks about the salty sea air, too.'
'Your father died in 1956.'
I pick up a book that is lying on the table between us and turn it over with a furious bang.
'Did you imagine I didn't know that? To sum up, as Bahr always says at the end of a meeting, I walked
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