Herman looked at him. Although his figure had a disquieting tendency
to quiver and flow, so that it was hard to judge, he seemed to be
about eight feet tall. He was dressed in what would have seemed an
ordinary dark-blue business suit, with an equally ordinary white shirt
and blue tie, except that all three garments had the sheen of polished
metal. His face was bony and severe, but not repellently so; he looked
absent-minded rather than stern.
The other Person, whose suit was brown, had a broad, kindly and rather
stupid face; his hair was white. He sat quietly, not looking at
Herman, or, apparently, at anything else.
Herman sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. "All right," he said
with helpless defiance. "What's it all about?"
"I'm glad we can come to the point at once," said the Person. He
paused, moving his lips silently. "Ah, excuse me. I'm sorry." A second
head, with identical features, popped into view next to the first. His
eyes were closed. "It's necessary, I'm afraid," said head number one
apologetically. "I have so much to remember, you know."
Herman took a deep breath and said nothing.
"You may call me Secundus, if you like," resumed the Person, "and this
gentleman Primus, since it is with him that you will have principally
to deal. Now, our problem here is one of amnesia, and I will confess
to you frankly that we ourselves are totally inadequate to cope with
it. In theory, we are not subject to disorders of the mind, and that's
what makes us so vulnerable now that it has happened. Do you see?"
A fantastic suspicion crept into Herman's mind. "Just a moment," he
said carefully. "If you don't mind telling me, what is it that you
have to remember?"
"Well, Doctor, my field is human beings; that's why it became my duty
to search you out and consult with you. And there _is_ a great deal
for me to carry in my mind, you know, especially under these abnormal
conditions. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say it is a
full-time job."
"Are you going to tell me," asked Herman, more carefully still, "that
this--gentleman--is the one who is supposed to remember the Earth
itself? The rocks and minerals and so on?"
"Yes, exactly. I was about to tell you--"
"And that the planet has disappeared because he has amnesia?" Herman
demanded on a rising note.
Secundus beamed. "Concisely expressed. I myself, being, so to speak,
saturated with the thoughts and habits of human beings, who are, you
must admit, a garrulous race, could not--"
"Oh, no!" said Herman.
"Oh, yes," Secundus corrected. "I can understand that the idea is
difficult for you to accept, since you naturally believe that you
yourself have a real existence, or, to be more precise, that you
belong to the world of phenomena as opposed to that of noumena." He
beamed. "Now I will be silent, a considerable task for me, and let you
ask questions."
Herman fought a successful battle with his impulse to stand Up and
shout "To hell with it!" He had been through a great deal, but he was
a serious and realistic young man. He set himself to think the problem
through logically. If, as seemed more than probable, Secundus, Primus,
Hairy, Four-eyes, and this whole Alice-in-Wonderland situation existed
only as his hallucinations, then it did not matter much whether he
took them seriously or not. If they were real, then he wasn't, and
vice versa. It didn't make any difference which was which.
He relaxed deliberately and folded his hands against his abdomen. "Let
me see if I can get this clear," he said. "I'm a noumenon, not a
phenomenon. In cruder terms, I exist only in your mind. Is that true?"