The Last Gentleman

coiling veins, took the patient’s arm and began massaging it absently. The doctor gave himself leave not to talk and not to focus his eyes. The hand was absent-minded too, felt its way into the boy’s armpit, touched the angle of his jaw. What I am doing is of no importance, said the hand. Nothing was important but an unfocused fondness which seemed to hum and fill the room. Now, while the hand went its way, browsing past bone and artery and lymph node, the doctor leaned over to read the title of the book the boy had closed on his finger.
    â€œTractatus Log—” he began, and exchanged glances with his assistant, a chesty little house physician with a mustache and a row of gleaming pencils and penlights clipped in his pocket. The doctors gazed at each other with thunderstruck expressions which made everybody laugh. Again the youth’s eyes narrowed and his legs began to thrash about. Again the big damp hand went about its business, this time gliding to the youth’s knee and quieting him. Why, he’s seriously ill, thought the sentient engineer, watching the monitory hand.
    â€œIt’s not too hard to read,” said the patient, his voice all squeaks and horns. “Sutter gave it to me,” he told the Handsome Woman, who was still gazing dry-eyed and had taken no notice even of the doctors.
    â€œWhat a wonderful man,” cried the engineer when the doctors left. “I envy you,” he told the patient.
    â€œYou wouldn’t envy me if you had to live in this room for five weeks.”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind at all,” said the engineer earnestly.
    They looked at him. “How long have you been up here?” Mrs. Vaught asked.
    â€œFive years. Seven, including my two years at Princeton. All my immediate family are dead. Do you know this is the first time I have talked to a, ah, family in years. I had forgotten—” he broke off and rubbed his forehead. He saw that he was expected to give an account of himself. “No, really. I don’t think it is bad to be here. It reminds me of a time I was in the hospital—for three months—and it wasn’t bad at all! In fact I felt better in the hospital than anywhere else.”
    â€œWhat was the matter with you?” Jamie asked him.
    â€œI had a nervous condition, nothing very serious, an episode of amnesia, if you want to know the truth.”
    â€œAmnesia,” said Kitty, looking at him for the first time.
    â€œYes. I didn’t know my own name, but I knew enough to put myself in the hospital. It was caused by a toxic condition.”
    â€œYou committed yourself,” said Mrs. Vaught.
    â€œYes ma’am. I went to a very expensive place in Connecticut and was soon much better.”
    â€œHow did you recover your memory?” Kitty asked him curiously.
    â€œThat was the strangest thing of all. For two months I remembered nothing. During this time I had gotten into the habit of playing Chinese checkers with another patient, a girl with a more serious condition than mine. She had not spoken to anyone for two years—she had not uttered a single word—even though she had received shock treatment. There was something familiar about her. Perhaps that was why I was attracted to her—that and the fact that I too was shy about talking and since she—”
    They all laughed and he looked startled. “Yes, it’s true. I was shy! I don’t know why I’m not shy now. Anyhow she said nothing and I remembered nothing, and so it wasn’t bad. You asked me how my memory came back. It was very simple. One night as we played Chinese checkers I looked at her and remembered who she was. ‘Aren’t you Margaret Rich?’ I asked her. She said nothing. ‘Didn’t your family have the cottage next to ours in Monteagle ten years ago?’ (That was before we started going to Mentone.) Still she said nothing. ‘Why, I remember the dress you wore to a dance,’ I told her (I always remember the remote past first). ‘It was an orange-colored cotton twill sort of material.’ ‘That was my piqué,’ says she as normally as you please.” For some reason he flushed and fell silent.
    â€œDo you mean that she spoke normally after that?” asked Kitty presently. She had swung around and was searching his face with her bold brown eyes.
    â€œNo, not normally, but it was a beginning,” he said, frowning, feeling