The Returned Dead. Rafe Kronos

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СКАЧАТЬ then?”

      He must have sensed my doubt; but he’d have to be made of wood if he didn’t.

      “Look, I know this sounds crazy but just let me finish. Next time I came round Debby was there -- though I didn’t know she was Debby then. No, there was just this gorgeous, dark haired woman there, sitting by my bed and gazing at me. When she saw I was conscious she reached out and took my hand and smiled at me. Such a beautiful smile, you’ve no idea. Then she leaned over and stroked my hair and she whispered something to me.”

      “Whispered what?”

      He looked uncertain. “That’s just it. I can’t remember. I mean I’ve tried often enough but I just can’t remember.”

      “Have you asked Debby?”

      “Of course I’ve asked her, of course I have.” The question had annoyed him; that was interesting.

      “What does she say?”

      “She says she can’t remember but it must have been something like ‘welcome back’ or ‘thank God you’re back,’ something like that.”

      “And then?”

      He shook his head again as if he was still trying to clear away something that was troubling him.

      “Well, a couple of weeks later she took me home -- we live out near Neston.”

      He might as well have said “we’re rich,” I thought. Part of Neston, out on the Wirral Peninsular, was as full of money as a honey comb is full of honey. He was still talking.

      “What you have to understand is that at that point my mind was still pretty much a complete blank: my memory had gone. I was physically much stronger by then, I was able to walk, all that sort of thing, but I still couldn’t remember who I was, what I’d done before, where I lived. I couldn’t remember anything. By then Debby had explained she was my wife, that I was Roddy Baxendale, that I’d been terribly ill, that the illness had affected my memory. But despite what she told me about myself I still couldn’t remember anything.”

      He looked at me. I hid my scepticism and signalled him to continue.

      “It was bad, really bad at first. When we got home I couldn’t even find my way around our house: Debby had to guide me, tell me where everything was.” He paused and his face was grim. “It was terrible, it was as if I’d had no life before I woke up in that hospital bed. Nothing. My mind was completely empty, all my memories had been wiped out, gone.”

      He was clasping and unclasping his hands again and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

      I didn’t believe him but I saw no point in showing it, not yet. We’d see how things developed before I took that step. Besides, I was thinking about how good it might be to have all one’s memories wiped out, to start with a clean sheet. If only it could be done. If.

      “I can see it must have been terrible,” I told him, “But surely you were able to remember some things? You say you knew the room was a hospital room and presumably you also knew how to feed yourself, shave, read, write, tie your shoe laces, turn the lights on and off, those sorts of thing? Surely you could remember those things?”

      “Yes, yes, all those little things, all the little things that come automatically. You don’t have to remember anything to do them, you just do them, that’s all,” he said impatiently. “But I couldn’t remember anything important. Nothing about me as me; nothing about me as Roddy Baxendale. I felt completely lost because I was unable to remember anything about myself, to recall my life before I woke up in that hospital. I had no past, nothing. I wasn’t me, I wasn’t anyone. You’ve no idea what that’s like. Not being able to remember anything is terrible, just terrible.”

      “Without my memories I wouldn’t exist.” I tried to remember who had said that: Freud? Proust? Or was it Memo the Memory Man? But were they right? Memories could destroy. Sometimes it would be better to have no memories.

      “OK, that was then, that was all some years back,” I said, “but now you are Roderick Baxendale and from what you say you have a beautiful wife and you’re very rich. Have I got that right?”

      “Yes. No. Yes, I’m Baxendale. That’s who Debby and other people have told me I am; they’ve taught me to be Baxendale. They’ve taught me that I was born forty-seven years ago and then, about eight years back, I suffered a severe viral illness. I had an infection of my brain that destroyed my memory and I was in a coma for nearly six months.”

      “But you came out of the coma, right? That was when you woke up in this hospital?”

      “This private hospital, yes,” he said. Now why did he say that? Was it just another way of telling me how rich he was, that he didn’t need the NHS?

      “Eventually I came out of the coma. And once I was out of hospital Debby and others helped me rebuild, reconstruct my past. They filled my mind with all the things I’d done, things I would have been able to remember if the coma hadn’t wiped them out. I suppose you could say they’ve taught me my own history; they’ve helped me to recreate my lost past. They’ve rebuilt my memory for me. And I’ve lived my life, Baxendale’s life, since I came out of that hospital; I’ve lived it for over seven years.”

      He gave a tight little smile that somehow made him look both nervous and pleased at the same time. “What you have to understand is it’s a good life, a very good one. I mean I really like being me; you have to understand that I have a great life. I like being Roddy Baxendale. I have a gorgeous wife, three houses, good cars, I fly business class, all that stuff. I have everything I could want. Except, now….”

      After a few moments silence he sighed and seemed to shrink in on himself.

      “But now,” he tried to speak, stopped and then gasped in air, “Look, Mr Dawson, since the hospital everything has been fine except that, well, very recently I’ve begun to realise I’m Jack Rankin: the dead Jack Rankin. But I’m not dead and I am Jack Rankin and I’m Roddy Baxendale at the same time. Can you imagine how that feels? How can it be? Christ, it’s a hell of a situation. It’s driving me mad. I’m desperate. That’s why I’ve come to you, I need your help. I need you to find out what’s been happening to me. I’ve got to know.”

      I thought about all this for a minute or two and said, “Look, why don’t I get us some coffee while we talk. How do you take it?”

      “White, one sugar.” He suddenly grimaced, angry. “No! No! I mean black, no sugar.”

      “Is that Roddy and Jack?” I asked.

      “Yes. At moments like this I suddenly remember how I used to take my coffee: black. White with one sugar’s how I – Roddy -- take it now.”

      “Confusing for you,” I said, struggling to keep any trace of doubt from my voice.

      “Confusing? Of course it’s confusing, of course it is; you have no idea how bloody confusing it is. It’s like there are two of me, both of them inside my body, both inside my mind, both at the same time.” He grimaced, “I can’t go СКАЧАТЬ