when you say people .  you mean living people, . behind an old oak desk, the hospital's director glances over to its chief of medicine, dr. kaufman, with a look that seems to wonder, as opposed to what?
i ' m here for the research * position . . . in your neurology * lab.
earthworms. the director isn't sure he heard right.
it was an immense project. " i was trying to extract a decigram of myelin from four tons of earthworms.
i was on it for five years. i was the only one who really believed in it. the rest of them said it couldn't be done. t
well, i know that now. i proved it. the director offers a slow tentative nod before consulting the resume again.
pigs brains . . . theyre quite similar to human brains.
oh, yes . . . three years. as the director retreats back to the resume, hoping against hope of finding in it something germane, sayer glances away to a window. he wishes he were outside it. he has no business being here. he should leave.
excuse me, i made a mistake coming here. clearly you're looking for someone with more of a clinical background. he stands up to leave. kaufman stands to see him out. but the * director keeps searching the resume.
i guess not. as they pass an old patient in a wheelchair -
i think i am. sayer extends his hand. instead of shaking it -
mrs. cohen?
i 'm here. to examine you.
excuse me. mrs. cohen's son. he's coming today?
according to the neighbors, * she's never set foot outside her * apartment, has no other living * relatives, and has always been the * way she is now - without any * comprehension or response. *
and yet . . . without any warning whatsoever sayer tosses a tennis ball at her. her hand suddenly jerks up out of her lap and catches it. and stays there, stiff, still. sayer is delighted but the expression on kaufman's face is that of one who has long ago learned and tired of simple card tricks. dismissing the phenomenon --
if she batted it away i might call that a reflex. she doesn't bat it away, she catches it.
i'm sorry, if you were right i'd agree with you. kaufman, understandably, takes some offense at the comment. sayer, however, is unaware that he has caused any.
it's as if . . . having lost all will of her own on which to act, she borrows the will of the ball. awkward silence. eventually--
one . . . . * two . . . three . . . four . . .
what'd i forget?
thank you . . . he glances to his rear view mirror and can see her walking away toward her car. to the reflection --
thank you very much.
what did the voice say?
did you recognize it as belonging to a person? or was it just a voice? sidney considers sayer suspiciously .  then smiles slyly. * *
* me? sayer is taken aback. as is sidney. one of them, and sidney believes he knows which, is lying or crazy. ' '  * sayer ' . i do deny it. it wasn't me. it wasn't real. we've only just now met, sir.  sidney, suddenly completely disoriented, withdraws.
ye .  s sayer glances up at them, having paid attention to nothing they've said, and nods at some other thought.
did you see me when-1 "spoke?" sidney thinks about it, tries to remember, to summon back the moment in question, to picture it exactly as it happened, or didn't happen.
you see me now though.
there must be more recent files we missed somehow. "part twos" to their medical histories. in some other filing cabinet somewhere. . .
one would think that after a point enough atypical somethings would amount to a typical something. but a typical "what?" miss costello, no doubt, has less of an idea than sayer what the "what" could be.
ah . . . normally i'd say yes . . . only i've made other plans . . . she nods quickly. she seems, strangely, relieved.
yes.
good night. they veer apart to their respective cars.
p e s . '- lae the waiter leaves. sayer glances back into the fish tank at the eel behind the rock, its rock, its home.
they all survived encephalitis years before they came here. in the 1920' s . he taps a finger at the files - the patients' medical histories prior to admission - forms listing childhood diseases and ailments. the janitor, having no idea of course what he means, retreats with his pail and mop, closing the door. 36a. ext. medical library, new york - establish - day 36a. 37. int. medical library, new york - day 37. sayer displays what he has written on the back of his hand to * an assistant librarian: nejm 4-6-35.
the new england journal of medicine, april 6th, 1935. *
should i get your nurse?
five. so far. i think there may be more. the old doctor nods. he has the torn look of someone reminded of an unfaithful lover just when he'd managed to forget about her. he wants and doesn't want to know how they're doing. finally --
as you described them. as they were back then. as "insubstantial as ghosts." only i guess most of them were children then.
what must it be like to be them? on the screen, the young man's eyes, entranced, gaze upward as if trying hard to remember something. or trying hard to forget it.
what are they thinking? .
we know that for a fact.
bec use . . . a
sorry. .
quite. it's quite bad. sayer keeps studying it.
did he fail to understand? or was he unwilling to fail? he isn't really asking her to answer, which is fine with her since she doubts equally both hypotheses.
could he be saying, "i can't draw a triangle, don't make me"? could it be willfully bad? she doesn't say it but it's clear she thinks sayer is reading far too much into the "badness" of the patient's scrawl. to himself -
which one is this? he leans closer to see the typed name . . .
he speaks to you in other ways. how do you mean? mrs. lowe i you don't have children.
no. ,
i'd like to examine him again-if that's all right with you. mrs. lowe , he did well.
in a sense.
does this mean anything to you?
what'd he do with himself, mrs. lowe, those nine years he stayed in this room? she smiles to herself, proudly it seems.
living people, yes. patients. mann just stares. he's a scientist, they both are, and the idea of sayer working with living people, rather than expired ones laid out on the pathology table, is inconceivable to him.
it's in the bronx. it's a poor private chronic hospital called m ou nt --
how's hank?
subtract two seconds off his time.
you have them backwards. this is him awake . . . this is him asleep. .-," - . ^  mann thinks sayer is kidding. he isn't.
when there's any brain activity at all, which is infrequent, yes. dreaming or hallucinating.
when he's asleep he manages to create a kind of reality. what we might call reality.
1 don't know. mann studies the "waking" eec he points to its one and only large electrical peak. ;
no. this is the strobe. sayer indicates a flat section of the pattern where there is scribbled in pencil a small "s."
this . . . , .  . . . is me saying his name to him. mann stares rather dumbly at sayer. then at hank the monkey on the floor dealing solitaire.
can you hear me, leonard? i want to hear you speak your name. :
yes, so am i. > the moment fernando takes the record off, rose stops eating, stops moving. the orderly puts on mozart and waits. neither patient moves.
that's not true.
is it a real game i wonder?
yes.
i'll begin moving the pointer toward the "l." for "leonard." once i feel you beginning to move it, i'll stop and you'll take . over. do you understand? leonard, of course, cannot say whether he does or not. the look on his face is "thoughtful." the look on sayer's, hopeful and foolish.
i'm beginning . . . the pointer begins to slowly move past stars and moons. judging from sayer's expression he begins to feel leonard's movement of it and, presumably, stops his own.
yes, good . . . the pointer moves across the letters, but passes the "l" without stopping. it stops on the "r."
no. no, i didn't make myself clear. my fault. i . . . . the pointer begins moving again, "interrupting" sayer. it passes the "l" again, reaches the "i" and stops.
yes. yes. that's what i meant. . "l." good. now the "e." it begins moving again. but not to the "e." to the nk," where it hesitates briefly before moving again.
 . . you're spelling something el e . . . s keeping one hand on the moving pointer, sayer fumbles a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbles on his lab coat what leonard has and is continuing to "write":
thank you. yes. yes, i'm very much interested in your work with this drug. i'm curious if . . .
sayer. i'm curious if you . . .
if jail the compulsions in the parkinson's patient were somehow
with all due respect, i think it's rather too soon to say that. :
did you read the case - the husband who came home to find his wife singing. she hadn't felt like singing in years. kaufman, on the phone, glances to sayer long-sufferingly, lets him wait while he finishes with his call, and eventually sets down the receiver.
what i believe, what i know, is that these people are alive inside.
i know it. sayer doesn't elaborate, but his tone is resolute. and it has the intended effect on kaufman, causing him to consider the possibility that sayer could, somehow, know it as a fact.
all of them .  some of them .  one of them . . .
he asked me to leave. . kaufman nods like, just checking. and -
people with ordinary parkinson's disease sometimes complain that they've "lost their grace . . . " they have to think about the things we just do . . . it has to do with a chemical in the midbrain, or rather the lack of it, called dopamine. l-dopa replenishes this dopamine, making it possible for these patients to move more naturally. he picks up the cup again, gracefully, and sets it down.
i don't know what it'll do for him, if anything.
i don't know.
i hope it'll bring him back from wherever he is.
to the world.
you are here. she ponders that and the enormity of the whole situation, all the while staring at the consent form.
i have no idea. what do you say we ease into it with .  what,  . fifty milligrams? ray begins to measure five milligrams.
let's say a hundred. ray shrugs; it's okay with him. he knifes at the powder, removing all but 100 milligrams.
leonard? your mother's going to give you some juice. there's medicine in it which is why it may taste more bitter than usual. sayer glances to mrs. lowe. it's as if they've rehearsed it all. she holds the glass to her son's lips and gradually drains the liquid down his throat. nothing immediately happens, of course, but they all, with the exception of leonard, look as if they expect it to. mrs. lowe hands the empty glass back to sayer. and they all wait.
or maybe it's not enough. . *  ^,-n . ray tosses sayer a look that says, "don't push it." sayer \0 " n od s .  ."' "
i'll try it in milk.
i'll call if there's any change.
yes, i'll call. they nod "good night" att each other and miss costello leaves. sayer slumps into leonard's wheelchair. land waits.
it's late. everyone's asleep>
no. you're awake. though he nods, it's unclear whether leonard realizes how significant that is. sayer gestures at the piece of paper beneath leonard's hands.
may i? sayer draws the paper across the table. it's covered with what seems imponderable hieroglyphic-like scrawl. but there is order in the chaos. letters. leonard's name.
your mother is here. she appears in the doorway of the room. she's done her hair, her face, she's put on a nice dress, yet she remains unprepared for this reunion. she can do nothing but stare at her "infant son" who is now, "suddenly," a man. as he slowly crosses toward her, she is struck by the fact she must look u in order to meet his eyes. he reaches her. reaches out to her. and she embraces him.
he must.
splendid. sayer makes a note. they are alone in the examination room which, like most of the hospital, has little in it to indicate that it is not the 1930's.
can i see you walk the length of the room? * leonard walks slowly across the room past the perception tests and notes and polaroids cluttering the wall. coming back, he pauses. he's looking at a picture of himself taped there. sayer watches him slowly reach his hands to his face to feel his features. he stares at the photograph of himself, trying to comprehend that which cannot be comprehended. he's not younjg anymore.
 . . you'll sleep. and when you wake up in the morning, it will be the next morning. i promise. sayer's smile tries to assure them both that it will happen just that way. he excuses himself, leaving leonard with his mother, joins miss costello by the door and glances back. mrs. lowe is stroking leonard's head as she hums a lullaby.
i didn't sleep, did you?
do you know if leonard's awake? v she smiles and points toward the adjoining examination room.
been waiting for me long?
some things have happened while you've been away. i thought you'd be interested. leonard opens one carefully, reverently, and begins reading from it to himself.
you don't have to read them now, leonard. they're yours. at your leisure. leonard closes the book but holds onto it and the others like they're gold.
have you thought about what you'd like to do today?
i'm not sure i can arrange that.
let's approach it this way. what . ". x do you think you'd like to do . 1j first? .
yeah. well, five years ago. , sayer shrugs, disappears into the kitchen a moment . . . before ; peeking back in to see what leonard is looking at now: a small i framed photograph of a boy with a toy sailboat and a forlorn expression posed in front of a curtain; the boat obviously a photography studio prop.
me, actually. ' ,," t
i probably was. sayer disappears into the kitchen again. and a moment later
each has a specific purpose.
those are my normal interior glasses. and spare pair. those, i wear outside. two pairs, in case i los.e one. those, those are my daytime reading glasses. and spare. those are for close work. for fine print. those are my nighttime reading glasses -
that's heavy-gauge metal so when i fall asleep and roll over on them i don't wreck them. they're indestructible. leonard returns the indestructible ones to their proper place and considers them all together.
as long as i pretty much know ahead of time what i'll be looking ' at, it works out, i don't have to carry all five pairs around.
walks are a problem. walks are the hardest thing. you just never know. he's absolutely serious, like a man plagued for years by an imponderable dilemma. he retreats back into his kitchen before reappearing again with the pot of tea, two mismatched cups and some saltine% on a tray.
i hope you'll forgive the inelegant presentation. i don't entertain much. .  .
i can date my interest in science precisely, actually. i'd been * sent off to boarding school - a place perhaps not quite as dickensian as i remember it - when i happened to come across the periodic table of elements. i memorized it. which i admit was a rather precocious thing for a seven year old to do. and i remember feeling . . . not so much a sense of accomplishment . . . as comfort. the halogens were what they were. the alkali metals were what they were. each element had its place, and nothing could * change that. they were secure, no * matter what. * leonard nods, perhaps more out of politeness than * understanding. sayer nods too, feeling, perhaps, a little * exposed.
no. he smiles. sips his tea. silence except for the ticking of a * clock somewhere. then, very matter of factly -
i'm not terribly good with people. i like them. i wish i could say i had more than a rudimentary understanding of them. maybe if they were less unpredictable . . . he shrugs. silence again.
-~ eleanor? ^r * leonard miss costello.
oh, yes, of course. she's spoken to you about me? leonard nods. sayer can't imagine why, nor what she might have said. fearing the worst --
what'd she say?
we should be getting back. sayer crosses over to the sideboard, to the pairs of glasses, stares at them for several moments, and picks up two pairs.
about a month.
i was thinking of speaking to the patrons.
well, we'd have to convince them to give more than they*re accustomed to giving.
perhaps if they saw mr. lowe. . .;.  -; ' '' ' : '. :;. .,.-, ' ' "'  ' :
virtually aphonic, mr. lowe could articulate no words, but rather only, with considerable effort, an occasional noise, a kind of, "h .  . " a  in the darkness sit kaufman, the rest of the board of directors, some elderly patrons of the hospital, and, near sayer, miss costello. she hands him a scribbled note. "less scientific" it reads.
isolated circumstances -- the mention of his name, notes of particular pieces of music, the touch of another human being -- managed on occasion to briefly summon him, but these awakenings were rare and transient, lasting only a moment or two. sayer glances to miss costello. she nods, "good, that's better."
the rest of the time he remained in a profoundly eventless place ~ deprived of all sense of history and happening and self -- encysted, cocooned, enveloped in this metaphorical if not physiological equivalent of sleep . . . or death. tight on the screen, on leonard, as he was. looking more like a photograph of a man than a motion picture of one.
this was his condition when first seen by me in a remote bay of this hospital. and the quality of his life for the last 30 years. the "before picture" of leonard on the screen is replaced with the "after" -- his eyes alert, his hands exploring a desk microphone. he glances up and off at something.
wonderful. v 119.
what is it?
lucy, what year is it?
as real as real can be. sidney lowers himself to his knees before lolly and, weeping * quietly, rests his head on her lap. she strokes his head.
ready? *
why? what's wrong?
has someone wandered off?
i've always loved tide pools, haven't you? anthony doesn't answer. he seems troubled.
what is it?
, i come here all the time.
i ' d thought about the opera house. do you think they'd prefer that?
the botanical gardens? anthony looks to miss costello and rolls his eyes.
y5?. well, where else is there?
what are you doing? he peers over leonard's shoulder to read what he's typing, and a slow smile crosses his face.
"respectfully, leonard lowe." -- and listens to the silence. it's a long one.
it's your library. sayer pulls down another sheet and more light spills in.
it'll take some fixing up  obviously. a thorough cleaning to begin with. some desks. books  of course. leonard's glance slowly moves across the dim room, settling finally on sayer, who's smiling.
they agreed to find the money for it. and to my suggestion that you oversee it and select the books.
can i have your hand? lucy \ yes, you can have my hand. take me away from this place. . he smiles uneasily.
i'm your doctor, lucy.
leonard? i
where are you calling from?
stay there. i'm coming over.
i don't know if it's liberation or mania or love.
what he says is absolutely true. we don't really live. . does that mean there's something wrong with him or us? the balance of the pharmaceutical scale wavers like the sword of damocles.
they said it's a dangerous place out there. they said they can't be held responsible for what might happen to you out there. they said no. leonard nods, sips his coffee, seems to take the decision in stride.
they don't have to listen to me.
yes. leonard nods again, philosophically it seems.
i ' m not sure we're out of the woods yet, leonard. i'm not sure this is nothing. i have to be sure you're well. there'll be time enough - leonard gets up out of his chair --
leonard .  leonard ignores him and walks out -- :
where are you going?
leonard . . . leonard ignores him.
leonard . . . leonard disappears around a corner. sayer veers off to a hospital phone and picks it up. into it -
this is dr. sayer . . .
let go of him. the orderlies don't know what to do. they're just trying to restrain leonard but he's making it almost impossible.
leonard, stop fighting. he keeps fighting. he can see the outside through the glass doors, so close, so far.
let ao of him. . they pull him back, away from the doors, into the corridor -w behind them. .
he was catatonic, mrs. lowe. he seems to say it more for kaufman's benefit; regardless, she doesn't care for his tone.
this is a mistake. it's wrong and it's cruel and it should never have happened like this - but you have to understand - nothing quite like this has happened before, no one knows what to do . . . leonard, please don't ignore me. leonard condescends a look to him. a moment and sayer smiles at a thought: ,
i wish you could just walk out like that. i wish it were that simple.
- he's lived for thirty years without the ability to release his anger -
i happen to think his behavior's . more natural than theirs - kaufman t really - and his tics and paranoia? they're more natural - ;
he's in that place.
we wake him up, then lock him up,  that's not "paranoia," that's a fact.
he knows why, hs. wants out.
i'll talk to him, i'll explain t he problem. he'll listen to - without the drug, he's dead. th e sta teme nt do esn 't hav e qui te the p owe r saye r may h av hoped. at least not on kaufman. his eyes seem to go dead . . and then the slightest, slightest shrug.
excuse me.
excuse me.
i'm all right, how are you?
and these gentlemen?  "continued:
someone wants to hurt you? who? leonard glances at sayer with a slight knowing smile.
every patient in this ward thinks there's a plot against him, leonard.
something's wrong.
look at yourself, leonard. r leonard tries to pull his hand away, but sayer's grasp is * stronger.
look at yourself -
the medicine can be taken away. .' that can be done. you. can wake up " in the morning and it won't be there. the remarks seem to have no effect on leonard. he seems not to ' have heard them. but as sayer takes a step closer, leonard, * without warning, lunges. * sayer stumbles back and his glasses fall to the floor. he . ' scrambles to his feet, leaving them, and backs away from * * leonard's bodyguards who are slowly coming toward.him. orderlies get the cage unlocked and hustle sayer out. as it * slams shut again, he glances back in at leonard, and hardly * , * recognizes him.
scared.
they want you back. i want you back. *
he's aware of his appearance. he's less concerned with it than he is with the effect it may have on the rest of us. . he waits for the patients to acknowledge they understand. they nod.
we'll be working with his dosage. he's aware of this, too, and says he's prepared for it. he wants us. to be prepared for it. anthony :
i ' d love to see it.
it's all right, i'll see it some other - i he's interrupted as leonard suddenly goes into an severe oculogyric crisis, his head thrusting back -
good. leonard sits. he seems fine. suddenly his hand jerks up and catches the tennis ball sayer has thrown.
good. the ball, without warning, comes back. sayer lunges at it, but misses. it hits his wrist and rolls across the floor.
well, i wasn't ready, was i. leonard smiles. sayer smiles. they're both so relieved, they can hardly believe it. it seems they're out of the woods, that they've found the "middle ground." tight on leonard's pharmaceutical chart on the desk. sayer's hand comes in and boldly underlines the, dosage - 575 mgs.
what happened?
what happened?
i do think so. she shakes her head 'no.1 she knows what she looks like.
: there's no reason to think any of this will happen to you. you're individuals. and you're all well. aren't you? most nod, but it's without great conviction.
he's fighting, mrs -
 you have not.
you have not.
leonard, i won't sit here and listen to you talk about yourself like this --
you are not. it's over and leonard knows it. and though he won't admit it, so does sayer. leonard barely gets the words out --
you told him i was a kind man .  it's kind to give life only to take it away? there is self-loathing in his voice. on the screen, leonard's trying to operate an electric shaver that seems alive.
why doesn't that comfort me?
do you think you can walk? i
yes? the two doctors stare at one another for several moments. clearly kaufman knows what is happening. clearly sayer knows he knows. eventually -- kaufman , put a coat on him for christ's sake.  he turns around, walks past miss costello and down the corridor- from which he came. miss costello relaxes, turns around and walks away down the corridor. sayer and leonard turn and walk outside.
good night. i she leaves. he-stays. iputs.a -folder in.a.drawer* straightens things on the desk. looks for something more to do. clearly there's nothing more to do. he gets up. wanders slowly around the room. past the medical instruments in the glass cases, the tripod and projector, along tne waii covered with taped and tacked data, notes, polaroids. buried in it he sees leonard's original perception test, and alongside it, the first polaroid of him . . . sayer abruptly moves to the window, yanks at it, but it's jammed shut again. below he can see miss costello crossing toward her car. he fights with the window, finally frees it, slides it open and yells out loudly -
eleanor. she turns to the voice. he turns from the window. tight on the glasses left on his desk.
nothing .  no , i was wo nde rin g . .  w hat ar e y o u d o i n g ? y o u pr o b a b l y h a v e plans . . . or . . .
 maybe we could just . . . go for a walk .  ? he shrugs. that's the best he can do. a slow, slow smile crosses her face.
i ' m sorry to wake you, but there's someone here to see you. leonard remains still. "asleep." and there's a long silence broken only by the sound of pages being turned. and then, from dickens' "the old curiosity shop" --