Lullaby by Bernard Beckett Read Free Book Online Page A

have been for her to see through me.
    ‘The scan takes visual slices of the brain, each one no thicker than the width of
an individual cell. The connectome is the pattern of connections between those cells.
It defines the way the brain functions, the memories that are held, the dispositions
of thought, the personality, the beliefs. It is…’ I struggled for the right expression.
‘The connectome is us, we are our connectome.’
    He didn’t contradict me. ‘And then?’
    ‘In the case of Theo, his brain has been scrambled, vital connections have been
lost. His connectome is…’
    The fit of words was hopelessly loose, absurd even.
    ‘His connectome is dead. What you are hoping to do is equivalent to the first stage
of the dementia experiment. Theo’s brain is the laboratory recipient. You have developed
a method for reprogramming the brain, for taking my connectome, and re-establishing
it in his head. Because his brain is intact, there’s no need for a transplant, only
the information has to be transferred. If the connectome embeds, then he will function
normally. You will have the evidence you need, that this is a viable research path
to cure dementia.’
    ‘Very impressive.’
    That pleased me. I won’t pretend it didn’t.
    ‘So, I’m capable of giving informed consent?’ I asked.
    ‘It’s not for me to make that judgment. It is important that judging your competence
and performing the operation remain separate functions.’
    ‘Rene.’ Maggie’s face gave nothing away. ‘Your description of the procedure isn’t
complete yet, is it?’
    ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.’
    ‘If the operation is a success,’ she chose her words carefully, ‘nothing will have
changed for you.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘But for…’
    ‘Theo,’ I said. ‘For Theo, a successful procedure means he wakes up with my memories
in place of his own. It means he wakes up from the operation thinking he’s me.’
    ‘And who will he think you are?’ Maggie asked, leading me towards the conclusion
just as a nurse had led me to Theo’s body: gently, but insistent.
    ‘He’ll think he gave me his memories, to keep me alive.’
    ‘And is that why you’d be doing it?’ Maggie asked. ‘To keep him alive?’
    She’d tricked me into saying it, and I couldn’t take it back. How could anyone think
me sane, when my plan was so senseless? He, his connectome, was gone forever. My
throat constricted. Two me’s. My head hurt.
    ‘No,’ I said, denial my only option. But they had noticed, surely, seen the truth
break free.
    ‘That’s not why I would be doing it.’
    And yet they didn’t challenge me. Perhaps Doctor Huxley’s allotted time with us had
simply expired. Perhaps my lie was so clumsy there was nothing more for them to ask.
Whatever his reason, the doctor stood and shook my hand.
    I looked into his eyes. He had about him the measured calm of a man certain of his
own importance, the sort that makes a handshake seem an act of generosity. I felt
inexplicably lucky to have met him.
    ‘Rene, I wish you all the best.’
    ‘Thank you.’

5
    It wasn’t until I was sitting again that I noticed the way Maggie was looking at
me: as if she was expecting me to start crying.
    ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
    ‘I already knew all that,’ I answered.
    ‘It can take a while, to sink in.’
    ‘It’s in,’ I said, but I had to look away.
    ‘You understand the risk this procedure poses to you?’
    I nodded.
    ‘And the benefits are largely for the hospital.’
    ‘And for the people who might one day be cured.’
    ‘Do you feel you have a duty to do this?’
    Now I looked at her. ‘No, it’s not like that. I want to help.’
    I’m sure she knew I was lying. Still, I had no choice, I had to try.
    ‘Tell me how you came to be at drama school,’ she said.
    ‘I already told you.’
    ‘I didn’t believe you. Are you all right?’
    My foot was pulsing, and my knee danced to an unreliable tune. My hands began to
shake and