again and put me back in the freshly made bed. He tucked the clothes around me and stood, grinning. I resented being thought so funny.
“Jah?” he asked questioningly.
I assumed he was asking me if there was anything else I wanted.
“A cigarette,” I said.
He looked blank.
“Smoke.” I lifted my left hand to my lips and puffed an imaginary cigarette.
His face instantly darkened. He shook his head vigorously. He was mad all of a sudden. I remembered then that Selena had told me he neither smoked nor drank. That’s what Mr. Moffat and my father had liked about him.
On a sudden impulse, I said: “I am Gordy Friend, aren’t I?”
“Jah?”
I pointed at myself. “Gordy Friend?”
He grinned. It was a deliberately foolish grin, indicating that he didn’t understand.
“Let it go,” I said.
He stood a moment, his eyes sliding up and down me, checking up, making sure everything was okay. Then, tossing the blond lock back again, he put a huge hand on my shoulder, nodded and went away.
I had started to brood again over Netti’s admissions when my mother came in, followed by the lounging figure of Dr. Croft.
My mother came up to the bed and smiled. “Well, darling, Jan has fixed you up. Those pajamas. You always looked so attractive in them. Doesn’t he look attractive, Doctor Croft?”
The young doctor had strolled by her side. He was looking down at me from his liquid, caressing eyes.
“Hi, Gordy. I was passing, thought I’d drop in and say hello. I got the wheel chair, by the way. It’ll show up tomorrow. How’re we coming?”
I noticed a certain tenseness in my mother. I was almost sure that the doctor’s visit was not as casual as he made out. Quickly, my mother put in:
“He had a funny feeling this afternoon, doctor, a feeling that he wasn’t himself, if you see what I mean. That he wasn’t my Gordy.” She patted my hand. “Tell the doctor about it, darling.”
Her frankness in bringing that out should have disarmed me, but it didn’t. For some reason, my suspicions flared up again. Almost psychopathically sensitive, I seemed to feel a falseness in my mother and in the quiet unconcern of the doctor.
“It’s nothing,” I said evasively.
“No, tell me, Gordy,” said Dr. Croft.
“Okay,” I said. “I felt I wasn’t Gordy Friend. I still feel it.”
My mother sat down on the edge of the bed. “You mean, dear, that you think we’re lying to you?” She laughed. “Really, baby, isn’t that rather strange? That your mother and your wife and your sister and...”
Dr. Croft raised his hand. He was staring at me steadily. “No, Mrs. Friend, don’t laugh. It’s perfectly understandable. Perfectly normal.” He smiled at me vividly. “Listen, Gordy, there’s a certain split in your mind. The result of the concussion. Now maybe there’s a lot of memories that you subconsciously don’t want to have back. I guess that would apply to all of us. Part of your mind is fighting against remembering. A mind can be a pretty sly thing, Gordy. One of its ways of fighting is by trying to invent other plausible memories. A scrap maybe from here, a scrap from there—ingeniously the mind links them together and tries to present you with a completely false identity… Say your dog’s called… Peter. Say you had a vivid recollection of—oh, a town where you had a good time, a boy maybe who you palled around with at school. Your mind can suddenly forge them into something and seem to give it an immense significance. It’s worrying to you, of course, but I can assure you it’s all an illusion.”
He moistened his lips with the tip of a sharp pink tongue. “Get it, old man?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“No, Gordy. Come clean. If you don’t get it, tell me.”
My mother was watching me anxiously. What Nate said was plausible. What Nate said always was. Maybe I was convinced.
“Sure I get it,” I said. I turned to my mother. “Where was I for the weeks
“Jah?” he asked questioningly.
I assumed he was asking me if there was anything else I wanted.
“A cigarette,” I said.
He looked blank.
“Smoke.” I lifted my left hand to my lips and puffed an imaginary cigarette.
His face instantly darkened. He shook his head vigorously. He was mad all of a sudden. I remembered then that Selena had told me he neither smoked nor drank. That’s what Mr. Moffat and my father had liked about him.
On a sudden impulse, I said: “I am Gordy Friend, aren’t I?”
“Jah?”
I pointed at myself. “Gordy Friend?”
He grinned. It was a deliberately foolish grin, indicating that he didn’t understand.
“Let it go,” I said.
He stood a moment, his eyes sliding up and down me, checking up, making sure everything was okay. Then, tossing the blond lock back again, he put a huge hand on my shoulder, nodded and went away.
I had started to brood again over Netti’s admissions when my mother came in, followed by the lounging figure of Dr. Croft.
My mother came up to the bed and smiled. “Well, darling, Jan has fixed you up. Those pajamas. You always looked so attractive in them. Doesn’t he look attractive, Doctor Croft?”
The young doctor had strolled by her side. He was looking down at me from his liquid, caressing eyes.
“Hi, Gordy. I was passing, thought I’d drop in and say hello. I got the wheel chair, by the way. It’ll show up tomorrow. How’re we coming?”
I noticed a certain tenseness in my mother. I was almost sure that the doctor’s visit was not as casual as he made out. Quickly, my mother put in:
“He had a funny feeling this afternoon, doctor, a feeling that he wasn’t himself, if you see what I mean. That he wasn’t my Gordy.” She patted my hand. “Tell the doctor about it, darling.”
Her frankness in bringing that out should have disarmed me, but it didn’t. For some reason, my suspicions flared up again. Almost psychopathically sensitive, I seemed to feel a falseness in my mother and in the quiet unconcern of the doctor.
“It’s nothing,” I said evasively.
“No, tell me, Gordy,” said Dr. Croft.
“Okay,” I said. “I felt I wasn’t Gordy Friend. I still feel it.”
My mother sat down on the edge of the bed. “You mean, dear, that you think we’re lying to you?” She laughed. “Really, baby, isn’t that rather strange? That your mother and your wife and your sister and...”
Dr. Croft raised his hand. He was staring at me steadily. “No, Mrs. Friend, don’t laugh. It’s perfectly understandable. Perfectly normal.” He smiled at me vividly. “Listen, Gordy, there’s a certain split in your mind. The result of the concussion. Now maybe there’s a lot of memories that you subconsciously don’t want to have back. I guess that would apply to all of us. Part of your mind is fighting against remembering. A mind can be a pretty sly thing, Gordy. One of its ways of fighting is by trying to invent other plausible memories. A scrap maybe from here, a scrap from there—ingeniously the mind links them together and tries to present you with a completely false identity… Say your dog’s called… Peter. Say you had a vivid recollection of—oh, a town where you had a good time, a boy maybe who you palled around with at school. Your mind can suddenly forge them into something and seem to give it an immense significance. It’s worrying to you, of course, but I can assure you it’s all an illusion.”
He moistened his lips with the tip of a sharp pink tongue. “Get it, old man?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“No, Gordy. Come clean. If you don’t get it, tell me.”
My mother was watching me anxiously. What Nate said was plausible. What Nate said always was. Maybe I was convinced.
“Sure I get it,” I said. I turned to my mother. “Where was I for the weeks
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