How It Was When the Past Went Away

“Let’s listen,” Nadia said.

The mayor appeared on the wallscreen, wearing his solemn face, his we-face-a-grave-challenge-citizens face. Montini glanced at him, shrugged, looked away.

The mayor said, “People of the wonderful city of San Francisco, we have just come through the most difficult day in nearly a century, since the terrible catastrophe of April, 1906. The earth has not quaked today, nor have we been smitten by fire, yet we have been severely tested by sudden calamity.

“As all of you surely know, the people of San Francisco have been afflicted since last night by what can best be termed an epidemic of amnesia. There has been mass loss of memory, ranging from mild cases of forgetfulness to near-total obliteration of identity. Scientists working at Fletcher Memorial Hospital have succeeded in determining the cause of this unique and sudden disaster.

“It appears that criminal saboteurs contaminated the municipal water supply with certain restricted drugs that have the ability to dissolve memory structures. The effect of these drugs is temporary. There should be no cause for alarm. Even those who are most severely affected will find their memories gradually beginning to return, and there is every reason to expect full recovery in a matter of hours or days.”

“He’s lying,” said Montini.

“The criminals responsible have not yet been apprehended, but we expect arrests momentarily. The San Francisco area is the only affected region, which means the drugs were introduced into the water system just beyond city limits. Everything is normal in Berkeley, in Oakland, in Mann County, and other outlying areas.

“In the name of public safety I have ordered the bridges to San Francisco closed, as well as the Bay Area Rapid Transit and other means of access to the city. We expect to maintain these restrictions at least until tomorrow morning. The purpose of this is to prevent disorder and to avoid a possible influx of undesirable elements into the city while the trouble persists. We San Franciscans are self-sufficient and can look after our own needs without outside interference. However, I have been in contact with the President and with the Governor, and they both have assured me of all possible assistance.

“The water supply is at present free of the drug, and every precaution is being taken to prevent a recurrence of this crime against one million innocent people. However, I am told that some lingering contamination may remain in the pipes for a few hours. I recommend that you keep your consumption of water low until further notice, and that you boil any water you wish to use.

“Lastly. Police Chief Dennison, myself, and your other city officials will be devoting full time to the needs of the city so long as the crisis lasts. Probably we will not have the opportunity to go before the media for further reports. Therefore, I have taken the step of appointing a committee of public safety, consisting of distinguished laymen and scientists of San Francisco, as a coordinating body that will aid in governing the city and reporting to its citizens. The chairman of this committee is the well-known veteran of so many exploits in space, Commander Taylor Braskett. Announcements concerning the developments in the crisis will come from Commander Braskett for the remainder of the evening, and you may consider his words to be those of your city officials. Thank you.”

Braskett came on the screen. Montini grunted. “Look at the man they find! A maniac patriot!”

“But the drug will wear off,” Nadia said. “Your mind will be all right again.”

“I know these drugs. There is no hope. I am destroyed.” The Amazing Montini moved toward the door. “I need fresh air. I will go out. Good-bye, Nadia.”

She tried to stop him. He pushed her aside. Entering Marina Park, he made his way to the yacht club; the doorman admitted him, and took no further notice. Montini walked out on the pier. The drug, they say, is temporary. It will wear off. My mind will clear. I doubt this very much. Montini peered at the dark, oily water, glistening with light reflected from the bridge. He explored his damaged mind, scanning for gaps. Whole sections of memory were gone. The walls had crumbled, slabs of plaster falling away to expose bare lath. He could not live this way. Carefully, grunting from the exertion, he lowered himself via a metal ladder into the water, and kicked himself away from the pier.

The water was terribly cold. His shoes seemed immensely heavy. He floated toward the island of the old prison, but he doubted that he would remain afloat much longer. As he drifted, he ran through an inventory of his memory, seeing what remained to him and finding less than enough. To test whether even his gift had survived, he attempted to play back a recall of the mayor’s speech, and found the words shifting and melting. It is just as well, then, he told himself, and drifted on, and went under.

Carole insisted on spending Thursday night with him.

“We aren’t man and wife any more,” he had to tell her. “You divorced me.”

“Since when are you so conventional? We lived together before we were married, and now we can live together after we were married. Maybe we’re inventing a new sin, Paul. Post-marital sex.”

“That isn’t the point. The point is that you came to hate me because of my financial mess, and you left me. If you try to come back to me now, you’ll be going against your own rational and deliberate decision of last January.”

“For me last January is still four months away,” she said. “I don’t hate you. I love you. I always have and always will. I can’t imagine how I would ever have come to divorce you, but in any case I don’t remember divorcing you, and you don’t remember being divorced by me, and so why can’t we just keep going from the point where our memories leave off?”

“Among other things, because you happen to be Pete Castine’s wife now.”

“That sounds completely unreal to me. Something you dreamed.”

“Freddy Munson told me, though. It’s true.”

“If I went back to Pete now,” Carole said, “I’d feel sinful. Simply because I supposedly married him, you want me to jump into bed with him? I don’t want him. I want you. Can’t I stay here?”

“If Pete—”

“If Pete, if Pete, if Pete! In my mind I’m Mrs. Paul Mueller, and in your mind I am too, and to hell with Pete, and with whatever Freddy Munson told you, and everything else. This is a silly argument, Paul. Let’s quit it. If you want me to get out, tell me so right now in that many words. Otherwise let me stay.”

He couldn’t tell her to get out.

He had only the one small cot, but they managed to share it. It was uncomfortable, but in an amusing way. He felt twenty years old again for a while. In the morning they took a long shower together, and then Carole went out to buy some things for breakfast, since his service had been cut off and he couldn’t punch for food. A dunning robot outside the door told him, as Carole was leaving, “The decree of personal service due has been requested, Mr. Mueller, and is now pending a court hearing.”

“I know you not,” Mueller said. “Be gone!”

Today, he told himself, he would hunt up Freddy Munson somehow and get that cash from him, and buy the tools he needed, and start working again. Let the world outside go crazy; so long as he was working, all was well. If he couldn’t find Freddy, maybe he could swing the purchase on Carole’s credit. She was legally divorced from him and none of his credit taint would stain her; as Mrs… Peter Castine she should surely be able to get hold of a couple of bigs to pay Metchnikoff. Possibly the banks were closed on account of the memory crisis today, Mueller considered; but Metchnikoff surely wouldn’t demand cash from Carole. He closed his eyes and imagined how good it would feel to be making things once more.

Carole was gone an hour. When she came back, carrying groceries, Pete Castine was with her.

“He followed me,” Carole explained. “He wouldn’t let me alone.”

He was a slim, poised, controlled man, quite athletic, several years older than Mueller—perhaps into his fifties already—but seemingly very young. Calmly he said, “I was sure that Carole had come here. It’s perfectly understandable, Paul. She was here all night, I hope?”

“Does it matter?” Mueller asked.

“To some extent. I’d rather have had her spending the night with her former husband than with some third party entirely.”

“She was here all night, yes,” Mueller said wearily.

“I’d like her to come home with me now. She is my wife, after all.”

“She has no recollection of that. Neither do I.”

“I’m aware of that.” Castine nodded amiably. “In my own case, I’ve forgotten everything that happened to