"Why?"
"Because my mouth was pasty, and after I did that I felt better."
"You see? You recorded the element most directly associated with your emotions, your desires, your goals. You have emotions again."
"Its a nice emotion, brushing your tongue. But I dont recall having ever brushed it before."
"Well get there. Now, Signor Bodoni, Ill try to explain all this in plain language, but its clear that the incident has affected certain regions of your brain. And even though a new study comes out every day, we dont yet know as much as wed like to know about cerebral localizations, especially as regards the various forms of memory. Id dare say that if what has happened to you had happened ten years from now, wed have a better idea how to manage the situation. Dont interrupt, I understand, if it had happened to you a hundred years ago youd already be in a madhouse, end of story. We know more today than we did then, but not enough. For example, if you were unable to talk, I could tell you exactly which area had been affected"
"Brocas area."
"Bravo. But weve known about Brocas area for more than a hundred years. Where the brain stores memories, however, is still a matter of debate, and more than one area is certainly involved. I dont want to bore you with scientific terms, which in any case might add to the confusion you feel-you know how, when the dentist has done something to one of your teeth, for a few days afterward you keep touching it with your tongue? Well, if I were to say, just for instance, that Im not as concerned about your hippocampus as I am about your frontal lobes, and perhaps the right orbital frontal cortex, you would try to touch yourself there, and its not like exploring your mouth with your tongue. Endless frustration. So forget what I just said. And besides, every brain is different from every other, and all brains have extraordinary plasticity, so that over the course of time yours may be able to assign the tasks that the injured area can no longer perform to some other area. Do you follow, am I being clear enough?"
"Crystal clear, keep going. But first are you going to tell me that Im the Collegno amnesiac?"
"You see? You remember the Collegno amnesiac, which is a classic case. Its only your own, which isnt classic, that you dont remember."
"Id rather have forgotten about Collegno and remembered where I was born."
"That would be more unusual. You see, you identified the toothpaste tube immediately, but you dont recall being married-and indeed, remembering your own wedding and identifying the toothpaste tube depend on two different cerebral networks. We have different types of memory. One is called implicit, and it allows us to do with ease various things weve learned, like brushing our teeth, turning on the radio, or tying a tie. After the toothbrushing experiment, Im willing to bet that you know how to write, perhaps even how to drive a car. When our implicit memory is assisting us, were not even conscious of remembering, we act automatically. And then theres something called explicit memory, by which we remember things and know were remembering them. But this explicit memory is twofold. One part tends nowadays to be called semantic memory, or public memory-the one that tells us a swallow is a kind of bird, and that birds fly and have feathers, but also that Napoleon died in whenever you said. And this type seems to be working fine in your case. Indeed, I might even say too well, since all I have to do is give you a single input and you begin stringing together memories that I would describe as scholastic, or else you fall back on stock phrases. But this is the first type to form even in children. The child quickly learns to recognize a car or a dog, and to form general categories, so that if he once saw a German shepherd and was told it was a dog, then hell also say dog when he sees a Labrador. It takes the child longer, however, to develop the second type of explicit memory, which we call episodic, or autobiographical. He isnt immediately capable of remembering, when he sees a dog, say, that a month earlier he saw a dog in his grandmothers yard, and that hes the person who has had both experiences. Its episodic memory that establishes a link between who we are today and who we have been, and without it, when we say I, were referring only to what were feeling now, not to what we felt before, which gets lost, as you say, in the fog. You havent lost your semantic memory, youve lost your episodic memory, which is to say the episodes of your life. In short, Id say you know all the things other people know, and I imagine that if I were to ask you to tell me the capital of Japan"
"Tokyo. Atom bomb on Hiroshima. General MacArthur"
"Whoa, whoa. Its as though you remember all the things you read in a book somewhere, or were told, but not the things associated with your direct experience. You know that Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, but try to tell me the name of your mother."
"You only have one mother, your mother is still your mother But as for my mine, I dont remember her. I suppose I had a mother, since I know its a law of the species, but here again the fog. Im sick, doctor. Its horrible. I want something to help me go back to sleep."
"Ill give you something in a moment, Ive already asked too much of you. Just lie back now, good To repeat, these things happen, but people get better. With a great deal of patience. Ill have them bring you something to drink, perhaps some tea. Do you like tea?"
"Maybe I do and maybe I dont."
They brought me tea. The nurse had me sit up against my pillows and placed a tray in front of me. She poured some steaming water into a cup with a little bag in it. Go slow, she said, it burns.
What do you mean, slow? I sniffed the cup and detected the odor, I wanted to say, of smoke. I wanted to see what tea was like, so I took the cup and swallowed. Dreadful. A fire, a flame, a slap in the mouth. So this is boiling tea. It is probably the same with coffee, or chamomile, which everyone talks about. Now I know what it means to burn yourself. Everybody knows you are not supposed to touch fire, but I did not know at what point you could touch hot water. I must learn to recognize the threshold, the moment when before you couldnt and after you can. I blew mechanically on the liquid, then stirred it some more with the spoon, until I decided I could try again. Now the tea was warm and it was good to drink. I was not sure which taste was the tea and which the sugar; one must have been bitter and the other sweet, but which was the sweet and which the bitter? In any case, I liked the combination. I will always drink my tea with sugar. But not boiling. The tea made me feel peaceful and relaxed, and I went to sleep.
I woke again. Perhaps because in my sleep I was scratching my groin and scrotum. I was sweating under the covers. Bedsores? My groin is damp, and when I rub my hands over it too energetically, after an initial sensation of violent pleasure, the friction feels very unpleasant. Its nicer with the scrotum. You take it between your fingers-gently I might add, without going so far as to squeeze the testicles-and you feel something granular and slightly hairy: its nice to scratch your scrotum. The itching does not go away immediately, in fact it gets worse, but then it feels even better to continue. Pleasure is the cessation of pain, but itching is not pain, it is an invitation to give yourself pleasure. The titillation of the flesh. By indulging in it you commit a sin. The provident young man sleeps on his back with his hands clasped on his chest so as not to commit impure acts in his sleep. A strange business, itching. And my balls Youre a ballbuster. That guys got balls.
I opened my eyes. A woman was standing there. She was not all that young, over fifty I would guess, with fine lines around her eyes. But her face was luminous, still youthful. A few little streaks of white hair, barely noticeable, as though she had had them lightened on purpose, coquettishly, as if to say, Im not trying to pass for a girl, but I wear my years well. She was lovely, but when she was young she must have been stunning. She was caressing my forehead.