He knew he existed—even to the point of
knowing his own name. But to really exist you
have to have a body—and he couldn't find his!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"So what if I did spend this week's household allowance getting drunklast night!"
I stared at the woman. For a brief second I had felt that she was mywife. But I had never seen her before. I looked at her. She was a strawblonde, rather pretty in a way.
"Give me some more money, you cheapskate," she sneered. "I don't knowwhy I ever married you. I could pick up a half a dozen any night thatare more fun than you ever were."
She couldn't be talking to me. I looked around to see who she wastalking to. I was standing on the rug of a living room. No one elsewas in the room except us.
"All right," I heard myself say. My voice startled me, it was so quiet,so calm and patient. I'd heard someone speak just that way once. Whowas it? I remembered suddenly. It was when I was six years old. I wasin the neighborhood store when it was held up. The hold-up man hadpointed a gun at Mr. Kaseline. Mrs. Kaseline had run into the storefrom in back and screamed at the man with the gun. He had shot her,then ordered Mr. Kaseline to hand over his money. I had been crouchedagainst the wall, watching. Mr. Kaseline had looked down at his deadwife. Then he looked at the hold-up man, and said, "All right," in thatsame tone. Then he had opened the cash register and from somewhere inits depths brought out a gun and started firing at the man. He had kepton shooting until his gun clicked on an empty chamber....
"How much do you want?" I asked.
She blinked at me, a worried frown creasing her forehead. I senseda stab of fear go through her. She averted her eyes uncomfortably."Whatever you want to give me," she said sullenly.
It was weird. I had never seen her before in my life. I had no idea whoshe could be. Whoever she was, I didn't like her.
I looked about the room once more. I couldn't recognize a single thing.I tried to. I studied things like the davenport, the pictures on thewall. Nothing was familiar.
I became conscious of her eyes studying me with a mixture of expectancyand fear, tinged with a little finger of contempt that was ready to runif I looked her way. Anger and irritation flooded into me. I had to getout, to think.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, starting toward the front door.
"Where are you going?" she asked sharply.
I stopped and turned toward her slowly. That calmness was in my voiceagain as I listened to it. "To try to borrow some money," I said.
I opened the front door and went out, closing it gently behind me. Iwas on a porch of red enameled concrete. There were three steps down tothe walk. I had never seen them before.
It was evening. Somewhere down the block a woman was calling someonenamed Johnny. Across the street a man was going up the walk to thehouse from his car. Next door a skinny man with a large Adam's applewas mowing the lawn. He saw me and waved at me. A nervous smile flittedover his lips.
"Hi, Orville," he called.
But my name wasn't Orville, and I had never seen these houses, thesepeople. I had never before been in this neighborhood.
Or had I? Was it possible to have amnesia while in familiarsurroundings