somewhere, you just have to find it. 'I ... I can't remember,' Josh said, looking up at Kate. Her expression told him that she was suspicious. Her eyes were narrowing, and a frown had started to crease her brow. 'Think,' she said. 'Just relax and think.' Josh shook his head. 'I can't,' he stammered nervously. 'I don't know.' 'Your age, then,' said Kate.
My age, thought Josh. I feel about a hundred and three right now, but that's not it. He attempted to think, taking
37
a moment to try and bring the throbbing in his head under control. Nothing. The memories just weren't there.
'I don't know,' he replied.
'Okay,' said Kate. 'Your mother's name?'
'Nothing,' answered Josh, shaking his head. 'Is that sort of memory loss possible?' he asked, looking back up at Kate. 'Medically?'
'It's rare, except when it is drug-induced,' she said. 'But it can be a consequence of severe injuries. Maybe the bullet wound to your neck has done something to your nervous system.'
Josh closed his eyes for a second. He tried again, stretching the muscles of his mind to see if he could recover anything, but it was like pushing your foot on the accelerator of a car that had an empty petrol tank.
'Can it be fixed?' He looked up at her, scrutinising her reaction.
Kate lowered her eyes, then looked back into his.'Depends,' she said slowly. 'Usually it's just a short-term thing. A few days' rest and recuperation, then it will all start to come flooding back.' A smile suddenly curled her lips. 'A month, and you'll be remembering your second cousin's birthday'
'And unusually?' asked Josh. 'What then?'
'I'm not an expert, so I can't really say,' answered Kate. 'Memory is a very delicate thing. Nobody really understands what memories are, or where they are stored. People forget things all the time, then remember them, then start remembering them slightly differently. Who can say how all of that works?'
'Which means that I might not be okay?'
'Which means that if the memories don't come back naturally in a week or two, then you're into a strange place which doctors don't understand very well.'
Josh lay back on his pillow. He was fighting a desperate urge to rip the bandage from his neck, and start scratching
38
his wound: it was itching, as if pepper had just been rubbed into the raw skin. His leg was aching too, and his eyes were starting to water from the constant throbbing in his head. A fly had come through the window. It flicked past Josh, then landed on the side of his cheek, but he lacked the strength to swat it away. Kate brushed it off for him.
'I know nothing about myself,' he said, speaking as much to himself as to the woman at the side of his bed. 'I don't even know what I do.'
'He's a soldier,' said a man standing in the doorway.
Josh glanced upwards.The man was about sixty, with grey hair combed back over his head, grown long so that it reached the top of his shoulders. He was wearing black jeans and a pale blue linen shirt. His skin was tanned and heavily lined, carved like an old piece of granite. And his nose was long and prominent.
'This is my father,' said Kate. 'Marshall.'
Marshall walked forward, standing next to the bed and examining Josh as though he were a piece of livestock at a cattle market: he was probing Josh's character and worth, without any detectable trace of sympathy.
'You said I was a soldier?' Josh asked.
Marshall nodded. 'Yes,' he replied. 'You have the build and physique of a military man. Seen some action as well, I reckon.' The words were delivered slowly and carefully.
Josh tried to sit up, but the pain in his body was too great: he could command his muscles to move, but right now he could not make them oljey. 'What makes you say that?'
'I was a soldier myself, once,' said Marshall.'Vietnam. Two tours. 1968 to '69. Then 1971 to 72. The worst of it. Saw a lot of men get wounded. So I like to think I can recognise the scars.'
He leaned over, gently removing the cotton sheet that was covering Josh. He
My age, thought Josh. I feel about a hundred and three right now, but that's not it. He attempted to think, taking
37
a moment to try and bring the throbbing in his head under control. Nothing. The memories just weren't there.
'I don't know,' he replied.
'Okay,' said Kate. 'Your mother's name?'
'Nothing,' answered Josh, shaking his head. 'Is that sort of memory loss possible?' he asked, looking back up at Kate. 'Medically?'
'It's rare, except when it is drug-induced,' she said. 'But it can be a consequence of severe injuries. Maybe the bullet wound to your neck has done something to your nervous system.'
Josh closed his eyes for a second. He tried again, stretching the muscles of his mind to see if he could recover anything, but it was like pushing your foot on the accelerator of a car that had an empty petrol tank.
'Can it be fixed?' He looked up at her, scrutinising her reaction.
Kate lowered her eyes, then looked back into his.'Depends,' she said slowly. 'Usually it's just a short-term thing. A few days' rest and recuperation, then it will all start to come flooding back.' A smile suddenly curled her lips. 'A month, and you'll be remembering your second cousin's birthday'
'And unusually?' asked Josh. 'What then?'
'I'm not an expert, so I can't really say,' answered Kate. 'Memory is a very delicate thing. Nobody really understands what memories are, or where they are stored. People forget things all the time, then remember them, then start remembering them slightly differently. Who can say how all of that works?'
'Which means that I might not be okay?'
'Which means that if the memories don't come back naturally in a week or two, then you're into a strange place which doctors don't understand very well.'
Josh lay back on his pillow. He was fighting a desperate urge to rip the bandage from his neck, and start scratching
38
his wound: it was itching, as if pepper had just been rubbed into the raw skin. His leg was aching too, and his eyes were starting to water from the constant throbbing in his head. A fly had come through the window. It flicked past Josh, then landed on the side of his cheek, but he lacked the strength to swat it away. Kate brushed it off for him.
'I know nothing about myself,' he said, speaking as much to himself as to the woman at the side of his bed. 'I don't even know what I do.'
'He's a soldier,' said a man standing in the doorway.
Josh glanced upwards.The man was about sixty, with grey hair combed back over his head, grown long so that it reached the top of his shoulders. He was wearing black jeans and a pale blue linen shirt. His skin was tanned and heavily lined, carved like an old piece of granite. And his nose was long and prominent.
'This is my father,' said Kate. 'Marshall.'
Marshall walked forward, standing next to the bed and examining Josh as though he were a piece of livestock at a cattle market: he was probing Josh's character and worth, without any detectable trace of sympathy.
'You said I was a soldier?' Josh asked.
Marshall nodded. 'Yes,' he replied. 'You have the build and physique of a military man. Seen some action as well, I reckon.' The words were delivered slowly and carefully.
Josh tried to sit up, but the pain in his body was too great: he could command his muscles to move, but right now he could not make them oljey. 'What makes you say that?'
'I was a soldier myself, once,' said Marshall.'Vietnam. Two tours. 1968 to '69. Then 1971 to 72. The worst of it. Saw a lot of men get wounded. So I like to think I can recognise the scars.'
He leaned over, gently removing the cotton sheet that was covering Josh. He
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