with frustration at me and she resisted at first, but after a while she turned her head and nested her face against my shoulder. She said nothing. I listened to the night insects, and watched the flashing lights on the distant sea.
When her breathing had steadied, I said: 'I'm sorry, Seri. I love you, and I've no reason to be angry with you.'
'Don't say any more about it.'
'I've got to, because I want to explain. All I can be is what you and Lareen have made me. I've no idea who I am on where I came from. If there's something you haven't shown me, or told me about, on given me to read, then I can never become that.'
'But why should it make you angry?'
'Because it's frightening. If you've told me something untrue I've no power to resist it. If you've left something out I've no way of replacing it.'
She drew away from me and sat facing me. The soft light from the window lit her face. She looked tired.
'The opposite is true, Peter.'
'The opposite of what?'
'That we're keeping something from you. We've done everything we can to be honest with you, but it's been almost impossible.'
'Why?'
'Just now . . . I told you that you've been made into an athanasian. You hardly reacted.'
'It means nothing to me. I don't _feel_ I'm immortal. I am what you've made me believe I am.'
'Then believe me about this. I was with you before you took the treatment, and we talked about now, about what would happen after the operation. How can I convince you? You didn't want the treatment because you were scared of losing your identity.'
I suddenly had an insight into myself before this had happened: frightened of what might happen, frightened of this. Like those delirious images it was temptingly coherent. How much of him, myself, remained?
I said: 'Does everyone go through this?'
'Yes, it's exactly the same. The athanasia treatment causes amnesia, and all the patients have to be rehabilitated afterwards. This is what Lareen does here, but your case has given her special problems. Before you came here you wrote an account of your life. I don't know why you wrote it, or when . . .
but you insisted that we use it as the basis for restoring your identity. It was all a rush, there was no time. The night before the operation I read your manuscript, and I found you hadn't written an autobiography at all! I don't know what you would call it. I suppose it's a novel, really.'
'You say _I_ wrote this?'
'So you claimed. You said it was the only thing that told the truth about you, that you were defined by it.'
'Is this manuscript typewritten?' I said.
'Yes. But you see, Lareen normally works with--'
'Is that the manuscript Lareen brings every morning?'
'Yes.'
'Then why haven't I been allowed to read it?' Something I had written before my illness; a message to myself. I had to see it!
'It would only confuse you. It doesn't make sense . . . it's a sort of fantasy.'
'But if I wrote it then surely I would understand it!'
'Peter, calm down.' Seri turned away from me for a few seconds, but she reached back to take my hand. Her palm was moist. Then she said: 'The manuscript, by itself, doesn't make sense. But we've been able to improvise.
While we were together, before you and I got to this island, you told me a few things about yourself, and the Lotterie has some details on file. There are a few clues in the manuscript. From all this we've pieced together your background, but it's not completely satisfactory.'
I said: 'I've got to read the manuscript.'
'Lareen won't let you. Not yet, anyhow.'
'But if I wrote it, it's my property.'
'You wrote it before the treatment.' Seri was looking away from me, across the dark grounds and into the warm scents of flowers. 'I'll talk to her tomorrow.'
I said: 'If I can't actually read it, will you tell me what it's about?'
'It's a sort of fictionalized autobiography. It's about you, or someone with your name. It deals with childhood, going to school, growing up, your family.'
'What's fictional about that?'
'I can't tell you.'
I thought for a moment. 'Where does it say I was born? In Jethra?'
'Yes.'
'Is it called Jethra in the manuscript?'
