He knew he existed--even to the point of
knowing his own name. But to really exist you
have to have a body--and he couldn't find his!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"So what if I did spend this week's household allowance getting drunk
last night!"
I stared at the woman. For a brief second I had felt that she was my
wife. But I had never seen her before. I looked at her. She was a straw
blonde, rather pretty in a way.
"Give me some more money, you cheapskate," she sneered. "I don't know
why I ever married you. I could pick up a half a dozen any night that
are more fun than you ever were."
She couldn't be talking to me. I looked around to see who she was
talking to. I was standing on the rug of a living room. No one else
was in the room except us.
"All right," I heard myself say. My voice startled me, it was so quiet,
so calm and patient. I'd heard someone speak just that way once. Who
was it? I remembered suddenly. It was when I was six years old. I was
in the neighborhood store when it was held up. The hold-up man had
pointed a gun at Mr. Kaseline. Mrs. Kaseline had run into the store
from in back and screamed at the man with the gun. He had shot her,
then ordered Mr. Kaseline to hand over his money. I had been crouched
against the wall, watching. Mr. Kaseline had looked down at his dead
wife. Then he looked at the hold-up man, and said, "All right," in that
same tone. Then he had opened the cash register and from somewhere in
its depths brought out a gun and started firing at the man. He had kept
on shooting until his gun clicked on an empty chamber....
"How much do you want?" I asked.
She blinked at me, a worried frown creasing her forehead. I sensed
a stab of fear go through her. She averted her eyes uncomfortably.
"Whatever you want to give me," she said sullenly.
It was weird. I had never seen her before in my life. I had no idea who
she could be. Whoever she was, I didn't like her.
I looked about the room once more. I couldn't recognize a single thing.
I tried to. I studied things like the davenport, the pictures on the
wall. Nothing was familiar.
I became conscious of her eyes studying me with a mixture of expectancy
and fear, tinged with a little finger of contempt that was ready to run
if I looked her way. Anger and irritation flooded into me. I had to get
out, to think.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, starting toward the front door.
"Where are you going?" she asked sharply.
I stopped and turned toward her slowly. That calmness was in my voice
again as I listened to it. "To try to borrow some money," I said.
I opened the front door and went out, closing it gently behind me. I
was on a porch of red enameled concrete. There were three steps down to
the walk. I had never seen them before.
* * * * *
It was evening. Somewhere down the block a woman was calling someone
named Johnny. Across the street a man was going up the walk to the
house from his car. Next door a skinny man with a large Adam's apple
was mowing the lawn. He saw me and waved at me. A nervous smile flitted
over his lips.
"Hi, Orville," he called.
But my name wasn't Orville, and I had never seen these houses, these
people. I had never before been in this neighborhood.
Or had I? Was it possible to have amnesia while in familiar
surroundings?
I considered the possibility, then rejected it. I was positive I had
never been here before. I was certain my name wasn't Orville.
I knew who I was, and I knew my name was Fred Martin. Why, ten minutes
ago I had been....
The man across the street had just opened the door to enter the house,
but now neither he nor the house were there. In their place was
Thordsen's bench. Around me were the dim outlines of the lab.
I tried to remember what I had been doing. I turned to my bench and
groped for the light switch.
Light bathed my bench. I looked at the scattered parts of the computer,
and grunted with relief. Of course! I had come back to the lab after
dinner to work some more.
I started to take off my coat. Sudden doubt made me pause. I went
slowly over to the corner medicine cabinet and looked at my reflection.
My face looked back at me. I needed a shave. But my face was familiar.
It was undoubtedly mine. Still....
I groped in my coat pocket and found it empty. I patted my hip pocket,
and took out my wallet. I flipped it open and searched the driver's
license for my name.
The name written there was Orville Snyder.
In that moment a strange emotion of detachment settled upon me. Almost
disinterestedly I looked at other identifications. Each bore the
signature of Orville Snyder.
Yet I was not Orville Snyder. I was Fred Martin....
"Now look here, Fred," I said aloud. "Something's wrong." I grinned,
but I knew it wasn't funny.
I went to the mirror again and studied my face. It was the same face I
had seen there a minute before. I tried to detach myself, to make it
seem a strange face. I couldn't. It was my own face.
I went back to my bench and frowned down at the scattered parts. Tube
banks, condensors, resistors, switches. I had laid them out myself
before going out to eat, so they would be ready when I returned.
"Now let's see," I said aloud. "I distinctly remember laying them out.
Thordsen was talking to me at the time. We were discussing the feedback
principle in this circuit. Then he left. I went to the supply room to
get that extra tube tank. Then I went out to ... to...."