[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction September 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
There is nothing at all like having a sound
mind in a sound body, but Dan Merrol had too
much of one--and also too much of the other!
"Sorry, darling," said Erica. She yawned, added, "I've tried--but I
just can't believe you're my husband."
He felt his own yawn slip off his face. "What do you mean? What am I
doing here then?"
"Can't you remember?" Her laughter tinkled as she pushed him away and
sat up. "They said you were Dan Merrol at the hospital, but they must
have been wrong."
"Hospitals don't make that kind of mistake," he said with a certainty
he didn't altogether feel.
"But _I_ should know, shouldn't I?"
"Of course, but...." He did some verbal backstepping. "It was a
bad accident. You've got to expect that I won't be quite the same
at first." He sat up. "_Look_ at me. Can't you tell who I am?" She
returned his gaze, then swayed toward him. He decided that she was
highly attractive--but surely he ought to have known that long ago.
* * * * *
With a visible effort she leaned away from him. "Your left eye does
look familiar," she said cautiously. "The brown one, I mean."
"The _brown_ one?"
"Your other eye's green," she told him.
"Of course--a replacement. I told you it was a serious accident. They
had to use whatever was handy."
"I suppose so--but shouldn't they have tried to stick to the original
color scheme?"
"It's a little thing," he said. "I'm lucky to be alive." He took her
hand. "I believe I can convince you I'm _me_."
"I wish you could." Her voice was low and sad and he couldn't guess why.
"My name is Dan Merrol."
"They told you that at the hospital."
They hadn't--he'd read it on the chart. But he had been alone in the
room and the name had to be his, and anyway he _felt_ like Dan Merrol.
"Your name is Erica."
"They told you that too."
She was wrong again, but it was probably wiser not to tell her how he
knew. No one had said anything to him in the hospital. He hadn't given
them a chance. He had awakened in a room and hadn't wanted to be alone.
He'd got up and read the chart and searched dizzily through the closet.
Clothes were hanging there and he'd put them on and muttered her name
to himself. He'd sat down to gain strength and after a while he'd
walked out and no one had stopped him.
It was night when he left the hospital and the next thing he remembered
was her face as he looked through the door. Her name hadn't been on the
chart nor her address and yet he had found her. That proved something,
didn't it? "How could I forget you?" he demanded.
"You may have known someone else with that name. When were we married?"
Maybe he should have stayed in the hospital. It would have been easier
to convince her there. But he'd been frantic to get home. "It was quite
a smashup," he said. "You'll have to expect some lapses."
"I'm making allowances. But can't you tell me something about myself?"
He thought--and couldn't. He wasn't doing so well. "Another lapse,"
he said gloomily and then brightened. "But I can tell you lots about
myself. For instance, I'm a specialist in lepidoptera."
"What's that?"
"At the moment, who knows? Anyway, I'm a well-known actor and a
musician and a first-rate mathematician. I can't remember any equations
offhand except C equals pi R squared. It has to do with the velocity
of light. And the rest of the stuff will come back in time." It was
easier now that he'd started and he went on rapidly. "I'm thirty-three
and after making a lot of money wrestling, married six girls, not
necessarily in this order--Lucille, Louise, Carolyn, Katherine, Shirley
and Miriam." That was quite a few marriages--maybe it was thoughtless
of him to have mentioned them. No woman approves her predecessors.
"That's six. Where do I come in?"
"Erica. You're the seventh and best." It was just too many, now that he
thought of it, and it didn't seem right.