The Man Without a Shadow. Joyce Carol Oates

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СКАЧАТЬ he remember her? Margot is beginning to believe yes, the amnesiac definitely remembers her.)

      “We have some very interesting tests for today, Eli. I think you will like them.”

      “‘Tests’—yes. I am good at tests—it seems.”

      E.H. rubs his hands together. His smile is both anxious-to-please and hopeful.

      It is true, E.H. is very good at tests! And when E.H. fails a test, it is sometimes nearly as significant (in terms of the test) as if he had not failed.

      Before they begin, however, E.H. insists that Margot try his favorite “brainteaser” puzzle, which fits in the palm of a hand, and consists of numbered, varicolored squares of plastic which you move around with a thumb until there is an ideal conjunction of numerals and colors. E.H. is something of a marvel at the Institute where no one on the staff, not even the younger, male attendants, can come near his speed in solving the puzzle; others, including most of the women, and certainly Margot Sharpe, are totally confused by the little puzzle, and made to feel like idiots desperately shoving squares about with their thumbs until E.H. takes it from them with a bemused chuckle—“Excuse me! Like this.”

      And within seconds, E.H. has lined up the squares, to perfection.

      Margot pleads with E.H., please no, she doesn’t want to try the maddening little thing, she knows there is a trick to it—(obviously: but what is the “trick”?)—and she doesn’t have time for such a silly game; but E.H. presses it on her like an eager boy, and so with a sigh Margot takes the palm-sized plastic puzzle from him and moves the little squares about with her thumb—tries, tries and tries—and fails, and fails—until her eyes fill with tears of vexation at the damned thing and E.H. takes it from her with a bemused chuckle—“Excuse me! Like this.”

      And within seconds, E.H. has lined up the squares, to perfection.

      His smile is that of the triumphant, just slightly mocking pubescent boy.

      “HEL-lo!”

      “Eli, hello.”

      Does he remember her? Margot is certain that he does—in some way.

       He doesn’t understand that he is an experimental subject. He is data. He thinks—

      (But what does E.H. think? Even to herself Margot is reluctant to concede—The poor man thinks he is one like us.)

      E.H. has been told many times that he is an “important” person. He believes that this fact—(if it is a fact)—both predates his illness (when he’d had a position of much responsibility in his family’s investment firm and had been a civil rights activist) and has something to do with his illness (if it is an “illness” and not rather a “condition”)—but he isn’t certain what it entails.

      The “old” Elihu Hoopes—a man of considerably higher than average intelligence, achievement, and self-awareness—cohabits uneasily with the “new” Elihu Hoopes who feels keenly his disabilities without being able to comprehend them.

      “Good that our hunting rifles and shotguns are kept at the lake,” E.H. has said to Margot Sharpe, with a sly wink. “And good that such weapons are not kept loaded.”

      What does this mean? Margot feels a frisson of dread.

      More than once the amnesiac subject has made this enigmatic remark to Margot Sharpe but when she asks him to explain it, E.H. simply smiles and shakes his head—“You’re the doctor, Doctor. You tell me.”

      MARGOT REPORTS TO Milton Ferris: “I think that—sometimes—unpredictably—E.H. is ‘remembering’ things in little clusters that, so far as we know, he shouldn’t be able to remember. For instance, last week we watched a short film on Spain, and while E.H. has forgotten having seen the film, and has forgotten me, he seems to be remembering some fragments from the film. He’s been ‘thinking of Spain,’ he told me, out of nowhere. And I think he remembers some of the Spanish music from the film, I’ve heard him begin to hum when we’re working together. And he’s been making sketches that are different from his usual sketches—‘They just come to me, Doctor. Do you know what they are?’—and they are scenes that look vaguely Spanish. An exotic building or temple that resembles the Alhambra, for instance …”

      It is like a tightrope performance, speaking to Milton Ferris.

      There is the content of Margot’s words, and there is the tension of speaking to him.

      “Very good, Margot. Good work. Keep records, we’ll see what develops.”

      Laying his hand on Margot’s shoulder lightly, to thank her, and also to dismiss her. For Milton Ferris is a busy man, and has many distractions.

      Margot pauses feeling a sensation like an electric current coursing through her body. Margot swallows hard, her mouth has gone dry.

      Between them, a moment’s rapport—sexual, and covert.

      But soon then, disappointingly, E.H. seems to forget Spain. He stops humming Spanish-sounding music when Margot is near, and he returns to his familiar sketch-subjects. When Margot carefully pronounces “Spain”—“Spanish”—“Alhambra”—E.H. regards her with a polite, quizzical smile and no particular recognition; when she shows him photographs of Spanish settings, he says, “Either Spain or a South American country—though I guess that must be the Alhambra.”

      “Did you ever visit the Alhambra, Eli, that you can remember?”

      “Well! I can hardly say that I’ve visited the Alhambra that I don’t remember.”

      Pleasantly E.H. laughs. Margot sees the unease in his eyes.

      In fact, Margot knows that E.H. has not visited Spain. Surprisingly for a man of his education, social class, and artistic interests, E.H. has not traveled extensively abroad; the energies of his young manhood were focused upon American settings.

      “Were you there, with me? Are these photographs we took together?”—E.H.’s remark is startling, and difficult to interpret: flirtatious, belligerent, ironic, playful.

      Margot understands that the amnesiac subject tries to determine the plausible answer to a question by questioning his interrogator. At such times his voice takes on an almost childlike mock-innocence as if (so Margot speculates) he knows that you are onto his ruse but, if you liked him, you might play along with it.

      “Yes, Eli. We were there together, you and me. For three weeks in Spain, when …”

      It is wrong of Margot Sharpe to speak in such a way, and she knows it. But the words leap from her, and cannot be retrieved.

      “Were we! And were other travelers with us, or—”

      E.H. gazes at her plaintively, yearningly.

      Margot regrets her impulsive remark, and is grateful that no one is close by to overhear.

      “—were you my ‘fiancée’—is that why we were together?”

      “Yes, Eli. That is why.”

      “Or was it our honeymoon? Was that it?”

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