brush.”
“But you’re an accomplished author,” Lloyd said. “Do you still write?”
“Write? What should I write? I haven’t had an original thought in my whole life,” Spalding said in a perturbed tone.
“Let’s not talk about writing,” Mrs. Spalding said.
“I’ve never lived a day of my life!” Spalding shouted, wringing his trembling hands.
“Would you like to see more of Cecil’s paintings, Dr. Copeland? He sometimes needs a minute to himself to… settle.”
Beverly Spalding led Lloyd to a door at the end of a corridor. She took a key from a pocket of her house-skirt and unlocked it. “It’s not safe for Cecil to go to the basement,” she said in an apologetic tone.
Lloyd followed her down the wooden steps and was quite unprepared for what he saw when he reached the bottom. Stacked against the cinder block walls of the basement were canvases of various sizes, too numerous to count. Each canvas portrayed the same bucolic scene from precisely the same vantage point: a mountain lake with a stone staircase emerging from deep blue waters, a terrace with two marble columns, an archway and in the distance, the silhouette of mountain peaks.
Lloyd picked up a canvas lying on its side, righted it and lifted it for inspection. “When did you last travel to Lake Como?” he asked.
“Some thirty years ago, I’d say.”
“So he’s able to retrieve old memories.”
“Only just a few. He remembers next to nothing of the year leading up to the illness. As for the time after the infection… Well, he still thinks our grown son is eight years old. Doesn’t even recognize him when he visits. Which isn’t very often anymore.”
“Yes, Dr. O’Keefe told me. So he can’t form any new memories?” Lloyd carefully set the canvas down.
Beverly Spalding shook her head. “He won’t recognize you when we go back upstairs. It’s as if… I think of it as if his life is the bow of a ship, slicing through the water, and the only thing he can experience is that very water he is parting. The wake that he leaves, the entire ocean surrounding him, he has no way to experience. He’s trapped in the present. I call it, the never-ending happening.”
“I’ve never heard it put quite that way,” Lloyd said peering into her eyes.
“So, Dr. Copeland. Can you help my Cecil?”
Lloyd averted his eyes. “It’s not so simple. I have a potential treatment –”
“Yes, I know. Dr. O’Keefe told me,” she smiled. “I don’t usually allow doctors to come to the house, not lately at least. It’s all been so disappointing. But I understand you hold a fresh promise.”
The image of the white mouse, stiff and still at the bottom of the plastic bin flickered in Lloyd’s mind. “It’s never been tried on humans.”
“Dr. O’Keefe already explained that to me too,” she said. “Honestly, Dr. Copeland, who would be a better candidate to be your first human subject than my husband?”
“There are risks involved,” Lloyd said.
“Please don’t patronize me. Every moment of every day for the last sixteen years has been a torment. How much worse can it possibly get?”
Lloyd paused. “I only just received FDA approval for testing in human volunteers but the trials haven’t started yet.”
“And I understand you’re looking for research subjects to enroll. So when do we
“But you’re an accomplished author,” Lloyd said. “Do you still write?”
“Write? What should I write? I haven’t had an original thought in my whole life,” Spalding said in a perturbed tone.
“Let’s not talk about writing,” Mrs. Spalding said.
“I’ve never lived a day of my life!” Spalding shouted, wringing his trembling hands.
“Would you like to see more of Cecil’s paintings, Dr. Copeland? He sometimes needs a minute to himself to… settle.”
Beverly Spalding led Lloyd to a door at the end of a corridor. She took a key from a pocket of her house-skirt and unlocked it. “It’s not safe for Cecil to go to the basement,” she said in an apologetic tone.
Lloyd followed her down the wooden steps and was quite unprepared for what he saw when he reached the bottom. Stacked against the cinder block walls of the basement were canvases of various sizes, too numerous to count. Each canvas portrayed the same bucolic scene from precisely the same vantage point: a mountain lake with a stone staircase emerging from deep blue waters, a terrace with two marble columns, an archway and in the distance, the silhouette of mountain peaks.
Lloyd picked up a canvas lying on its side, righted it and lifted it for inspection. “When did you last travel to Lake Como?” he asked.
“Some thirty years ago, I’d say.”
“So he’s able to retrieve old memories.”
“Only just a few. He remembers next to nothing of the year leading up to the illness. As for the time after the infection… Well, he still thinks our grown son is eight years old. Doesn’t even recognize him when he visits. Which isn’t very often anymore.”
“Yes, Dr. O’Keefe told me. So he can’t form any new memories?” Lloyd carefully set the canvas down.
Beverly Spalding shook her head. “He won’t recognize you when we go back upstairs. It’s as if… I think of it as if his life is the bow of a ship, slicing through the water, and the only thing he can experience is that very water he is parting. The wake that he leaves, the entire ocean surrounding him, he has no way to experience. He’s trapped in the present. I call it, the never-ending happening.”
“I’ve never heard it put quite that way,” Lloyd said peering into her eyes.
“So, Dr. Copeland. Can you help my Cecil?”
Lloyd averted his eyes. “It’s not so simple. I have a potential treatment –”
“Yes, I know. Dr. O’Keefe told me,” she smiled. “I don’t usually allow doctors to come to the house, not lately at least. It’s all been so disappointing. But I understand you hold a fresh promise.”
The image of the white mouse, stiff and still at the bottom of the plastic bin flickered in Lloyd’s mind. “It’s never been tried on humans.”
“Dr. O’Keefe already explained that to me too,” she said. “Honestly, Dr. Copeland, who would be a better candidate to be your first human subject than my husband?”
“There are risks involved,” Lloyd said.
“Please don’t patronize me. Every moment of every day for the last sixteen years has been a torment. How much worse can it possibly get?”
Lloyd paused. “I only just received FDA approval for testing in human volunteers but the trials haven’t started yet.”
“And I understand you’re looking for research subjects to enroll. So when do we
Similar Books
