The Bumblebee Flies Anyway by Robert Cormier

hugging him—and he wassuddenly restored to the world, he knew who he was, he was little Bunny Snow and his mother loved him and he was safe and secure in her arms.
    “Control is the key, Barney,” the Handyman said. “The experiment will be conducted in controlled circumstances by a scientist who is one of the world’s leading theorists in the field. We’re not abandoning you to the mercies of a rogue chemical, Barney. You have seen our processes here. Rest assured that we keep your welfare in mind at all times, and we must proceed as always according to the rules and regulations of experimental medicine.”
    Barney was afraid his hands, pulsing with the blood now, were going to drop like fruit to the floor.
    “We have four tests indicated for you, Barney, each affecting certain aspects of memory, each providing us, we anticipate, with more knowledge to further studies in the field. It is a pioneering effort, and you are one of the pioneers.”
    “Tell me one thing, doctor,” Barney said.
    “Anything you want to know that will put you at ease.”
    “Can you guarantee that my memory will come back? That the part you block out will return? Once you said there are no guarantees in the work you are doing. When you were talking about Billy and Mazzo and Ronson and Allie Roon—you said there were no guarantees.”
    “But we are dealing with disease in their cases, Barney. Terminal illness. Irreversible conditions. Their diseases control their lives and even affect the tests. With you, it’s different.
We
have control. In dealing with memory study, we are setting the rules, establishing the conditions, determining the patterns.”
    “Can you tell me what memories you’re planning to blot out?” Barney asked, lifting his hands to the arms of thechair, letting them rest there, letting the blood flow free again through his body.
    “I prefer not to, Barney. Any preknowledge on your part might affect your thought processes at the time of the experiment.”
    “How about this expert? Who is he?”
    “His name is Dr. Emile Croft, and he is eminent in his field. He will administer the chemical and observe your reactions, but I will be involved personally with you in the procedure. While you are under the influence of the drug, I will be your contact, interrogate you, be a link between Dr. Croft and you. This is one of the reasons we brought you here early, before commencing the tests. We wanted someone—in this case, myself—with whom you are familiar to be involved.”
    Barney was tired suddenly, not a physical tiredness but a weariness of his mind, as if he’d been doing too much thinking.
    “We will talk again before the test begins, Barney. In the meantime, follow your usual routine. Take advantage of our relaxed rules. Try to get some fresh air. Try to relax. You don’t need any particular physical preparation and no advance medication. Perhaps a light diet, mostly liquid, within twelve hours of the beginning. And we will suspend your evening sessions with what you call the Machine, until later.”
    “Fine, doctor,” Barney said, rising, conscious that the Handyman was terminating the conversation. The inside of Barney’s cheek was raw and stinging. He hadn’t realized he had done that much chewing.
    “This will be a great adventure, Barney,” the Handyman said, flashing one of his stingy smiles.
    It wasn’t until he was in the corridor that Barney realizedhe hadn’t mentioned the incident on the fence, how the nightmare of the car had become a daylight nightmare, if such a thing was possible.
    He hesitated, almost went back, but didn’t.
    Maybe the new chemical would take the nightmare away.

 5 
    P ERCHED on the fence, knees pressing the weather-roughened wood, Barney focused on the MG, marveling at the sleek low lines and the gleaming scarlet hue. It looked out of place in the junkyard, an alien among the disreputable wrecks surrounding it. He squinted against the sun, narrowing his eyes. Movement