You don’t have to look so scared.”
“You’re lying!” I said in a voice I didn’t know was my own.
“Here, take your cigarette,” he said. “Relax. Let’s go over this thing together and see if we
can make some sense of it.”
I wouldn’t take the cigarette. I was feeling sick. I had a sudden urge to jump out of bed and
run before they could put me in a padded cell. I didn’t believe he was lying: and yet I had to
believe it.
“You told “me this car hit you on the night of July 29th,” he went on mildly. “The smash
you were in took place on the night of September 6th. I’ve seen the cop’s notebook. The
hospital records say the same thing. Well, now, what do you make of that ?”
“I don’t make anything of it. All I know is we hit that car after my fight with the Miami
Kid, and that was on July 29th. I’m telling you the truth!”
55
“You think you are. I’m sure of that, but it didn’t happen that way. I told you I’ve been
busy. I have. I think I’ve got the key to this business. I’ve talked it over with the doc. He
thinks I’m on the right track. Maybe it’s going to be difficult for you to accept the
explanation, but let me put it to you. The doc says it may take weeks for you to get your
memory back. You’ve had a brain injury, and until things settle down you are likely to get all
kinds of odd ideas into your head. You mustn’t worry about them. The doc says so, and he
knows what he’s talking about. Now will you try to accept what I’m going to tell you? Get
your mind in a receptive mood if you can. It’ll make things easier for us both. Think you
can?”
I licked my dry lips.
“Go ahead and tell me.”
“There was a car smash on the night of July 29th, a few miles outside Pelotta. Two cars
going in opposite directions and travelling at high speed nudged each other and both turned
over. One of them was a black Bentley which caught fire. The driver of this car was a guy
named Johnny Farrar, a boxer. He was killed.”
That really got me going. I struggled up.
“Are you crazy?” I shouted. “I’m Farrar! I’m Johnny Farrar! What are you trying to do?
Send me nuts or something?”
He parted my arm.
“Take it easy, boy. You and me have got to work this out together. Give me a chance, will
you? You’ll see where I’m heading if you’ll let me tell you without getting excited.”
I dropped back on the pillow. I was sweating and scared and shaking.
“The accident was fully reported in the local papers,” he went on. “They gave every detail.
You can see the report in a moment. It’s obvious to me you must have read about that smash
in the paper. It made an impression on your mind. Five weeks later you get into a smash
yourself. You get concussion. You have a brain injury. Unconsciously you have identified
yourself with Farrar. When you recovered consciousness you are sure you are Farrar. You’re
sure it was you who had the smash on July 29th. Do you get the idea? It’ll take a few weeks
for you to get over this delusion, but you will. The doc says so, and he ought to know. All
you’ve got to do is to take it easy and rest. It’ll come back the way it happened if you don’t
worry about it. But what you’ve got to get out of your mind is you’re Farrar. You aren’t. You
weren’t in that smash with the other car on July 29th. You’re not a boxer, and you never
fought the Miami Kid. Get that through your head and you’re three-quarters home.”
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“Do you think for one moment I believe a yam like that?” I said through clenched teeth. “I
know I’m Farrar! I did fight the Kid! I’ve got friends who can prove it! There is a guy in
