beside his bed which he surely knows how to use. As Margot approaches the bed Eli glances up at her in surprise and bewilderment—no doubt he expected one of the nursing staff since he can see that this is a hospital setting. What is painfully clear is that he has never seen Margot Sharpe before in his life. Eli lowers the newspaper and tosses the pencil aside. At once his expression is eager, hopeful. His bloodshot eyes seem to lighten. It is the identical expression (Margot is certain) she saw

Margot assures the anxious woman: Eli Hoopes’s condition has not “worsened.” Mrs. Adams has welcomed Margot Sharpe into her house—she has answered the doorbell herself, though Margot sees that there is a housekeeper or a maid in the background. Surprised at the sight of Margot—(was she expecting someone who looked older, more authoritarian? More “clinical”?)—nonetheless Mrs. Adams has ushered her into an elegant room that might be described as a “library”—(floor-to-ceiling cherrywood

here your poor mother has tried to call you too, and you never call back—Margot? Trembling badly Margot doesn’t call her brother Ned—(whom she has always feared and disliked, he is such a bully)—but instead calls her aunt Edie, her mother’s younger sister who is Margot’s favorite aunt, and she is hoping that Edie won’t pick up the phone so that she can leave a message but Edie picks up the phone on practically the first ring—“Margot! Thank God.” Upset to hear that her mother is not “doing so

enough. Poor Eli! Margot yearns to embrace him again but dares not in this public place. Haltingly E.H. says, “I have some problem with my memory—I think. I forget things I used to know—I think that is the problem.” But he seems doubtful, as if hoping he will be contradicted. “How long do you think you’ve had this problem, Eli?” “I think—maybe—six months?” E.H. speaks uncertainly, watching Margot closely. He is sensitive to something in her face for he quickly amends, “Maybe more like

E.H. has run through numerous sketchbooks in the years Margot has worked with him. In her amnesia logbook Margot will speculate: How do we know who we were, if we don’t know who we are? How do we know who we are, if we don’t know who we were? Margot escorts E.H. from the sleep lab on the first floor of the Institute to the more familiar fourth floor. When they walk together in this public place, E.H. seems to take the lead—definitely, you would not guess from E.H.’s stride that he has not the