Teddy Ulysses Dunkel felt doubtful about the interview—why couldn’t the technician simply remove his memories of her and be done with it? Of course, the FDA was probably behind the formality of the interview process—interfering government agencies were always tramping on the rights of the little man to pursue his measure of happiness. Something he was currently in short supply of—
“‘Ulysses’ is an interesting middle name,” said the thin man with the moustache in an odd accent, possibly Belgian, or perhaps Swedish. Graced with impeccable posture and fine taste in European clothing, he held a small handset on which he occasionally dabbed a silver stylus. “Is there any familial significance to it?”
Teddy—a short, pudgy man, though with a full head of blond hair of which he was inordinately proud—swallowed involuntarily. He sat up in his chair and leaned closer to the thin man’s desk.
“Yes,” he said in a low voice, as if revealing an important secret. “My father thought it might improve my self-esteem as I matured. He was a thoughtful man, though often misguided. Take the accident that killed him—”
“Did it?”
“Did it kill him? Yes, of course, the gelato machine is a brutal—”
“No, no, Mr. Dunkel. Did your middle name improve your self-esteem?”
Teddy puckered his lips. “No, I don’t really think so.”
“A pity. Still, we can’t really expect miracles from primitive programming techniques.”
Teddy, taken aback by what could have been easily interpreted as a slight, decided to return the conversation to his central thesis.
“Then you can erase my memories of her?”
The thin man stroked his moustache thoughtfully, and then laid down his handset.
“My short response is, yes, we can,” he said. “My not so short response is, yes, we can, but should we?”
“But you must!” Teddy felt the need for some measure of passion to properly express his feelings—the last few weeks had been torturous for him. He saw her everywhere, on every street corner, in every reflection, he heard her voice in every conversation, and it was too much. How could she break his heart like this? Did she have no conscience? He held his face in his hands, hoping the pathetic gesture would improve his chances.
“Yes,” the thin man said, reaching for a mint from the art deco bowl on his desk. He sucked the mint into his mouth and spoke around it. “I can see the pain in your expression, and I don’t mean to diminish the impact of the anguish you feel. But—”
Teddy sat up, exposing his face.
“But?”
“But Specified Memory Erasure is not a uncomplicated procedure.”
“It’s not? I thought it was.”
“Oh, the process is. We simply attach your neural pathways to a profoundly intricate series of neurological computers and trace every specified memory to its roots. Then we selectively obliterate every trace of the offending recollection. It is a beautiful, elegant procedure, a masterwork of technology, a veritable Van Gogh of artistic—”
“That certainly sounds simple.”
“The end result of thirty-seven patents. A gorgeous piece of science!”
“Then what is the impediment to erasing my specified memories?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment. But first, I’d like you to explicate for me the indelicate subject in question. That is, I believe your application stated that a particular person of the fairer sex—”
“Thelma Reese. The only woman I’ll ever love! Unless, of course, you remove every memory I have of her.”
“The broken-hearted lover. So typical! So human! So fraught with unseen complications!”
“How is it fraught with unseen complications?”
“Again—explicate. Tell me all about your sweet love, and the multitude of reasons she broke your heart by unceremoniously discarding your affection on the ash heap of complete and total disinterest.”
Teddy blinked several times, uncertain if he really wanted to dredge up so many bad memories. But these were the same memories he wanted to obliterate, so—
“It began about two years ago,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket for a tissue. He dabbed his eyes, trying desperately to control the quaver in his voice. “On that extraordinary day I decided to take piccolo lessons. She was part of the group that showed up at the community center for instruction. Have you ever listened to a well-played piccolo? The sound is a haunting medley of—”
“Please focus on the woman who metaphorically murdered your ability to love.”
Teddy nodded emphatically. “Sorry. Anyway, I sat next to her that day and we struck up a scintillating conversation notation that quickly evolved into mutual ardor.”
“Until the day she expulsed you from her life.”
“Yes, until that day,” Teddy said, frowning. “We dined together, we laughed together, we practiced the piccolo together—it was a classic love affair, filled with mutual respect and adoration. She seemed entranced by my every word, and I doted on her every utterance. I was about to ask her to marry me, too.”
“Your time together sounds idyllic. What happened?”
Teddy pressed his lips together a moment, uncertain of how to voice the details of ‘the incident’. It was really no one else’s business. And though he really didn’t think it was his fault—the mere suggestion of something problematical was slightly embarrassing—
“Mr. Dunkel?”
“The moment of our relationship’s dissolution occurred one night—that is, the first night—well, the first night we were intimate.”
Teddy felt certain the thin man would make comment of his crimson cheeks, but the technician said nothing.
Instead, the thin man said, “So many lovely incarnations of amour have crashed on the rocks of incompatible passions. Such is the irony of life on our little world! All tastes do not run the same, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, well, in the case of my beloved Thelma I believe her distaste was irreconcilable. After a month or so of constant calls, messages, singing telegrams, and even a phenomenally well-done bit of skywriting, I came to the conclusion that we would never again play the piccolo together.”
The thin man pressed his fingers against his chin.
“And you also came to the conclusion that the pain of keeping your memories of her was too much to bear, and so sought our company’s services to flense her from your personal history.”
“Correct. Will you do it?”
“As I said, Mr. Dunkel, there are complications to any, shall we say, medical procedure. While the immediate pain of the memories of such a complete and unrelenting rejection of your affection is most decidedly difficult to live with, there are certain ramifications in removing them.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the effect targeted memory removal will have on your intellectual and emotional development. You are a man of no more than thirty?”
“Thirty-one,” Teddy said guardedly.
“Why, you have a long and convoluted life ahead of you, my friend! Love affairs aplenty! Intimate couplings by the barrelful! Suggestive liaisons by the plethora! But if you do not retain a meaningful frame of reference for these future encounters, I fear you’ll relive the same heartache the rest of your life!”
Teddy didn’t like the direction the conversation had taken. After, all, if he was willing to part with such a large sum of money, certainly there shouldn’t be such potent opposition to his needs. He required a heartfelt plea to slap away the annoying, though quite understandable, presence of liability.
“But this is a once in a lifetime pain,” Teddy countered, certain his logic would win the day. “If I don’t eradicate the agonizing memory of this one relationship, how can I ever hope to love again? My excruciation is such that I wouldn’t even think of asking the fairer sex to coffee, let alone proposing a long-term arrangement. Such an abiding and debilitating grief will only create a hermit of me, a shadow of the man I once was, all the music of my life played eternally on a broken string—”
“Yes, I understand your point. But all pain diminishes over time, even bitterly delivered pain. Your excruciation will soften over the years into mere annoyance. But the wisdom you’ve gained from this one wrenching failure will be there to guide your actions for the rest of your life. Don’t you see how important it is to protect these valuable experiences, even if it does mean suffering a little temporary heartache?”
“I understand your point,” Teddy said, somewhat bruised by the interruption of his verbal eloquence, “but I had yet to reach the crescendo of my argument. If I don’t find release from these memories, I just may take drastic action to alleviate my pain.”
The technician placed two fingers before his lips.
“You don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do. Life is not worth living without my Thelma!”
“Surely your judgment is skewed by unbalanced emotions. Contemplating such a drastic act is a dilemma better suited for a psychologist rather than a technologist. Perhaps I can recommend you to a worthwhile therapist?”
“A therapist would only stir the ashes of my memories! Drive the pain deeper and deeper into my heart, my psyche, and my ego! What good would anyone’s psychological wisdom do a dead man?”
The thin man shook his head resignedly. “Yes, it does no good to impart great wisdom to a lovesick corpse. The corpse itself is without judgment. What possible good could come of it?”
Teddy shrugged, recovered from his passion. “None, really.”
The technician pursed his lips, his moustache rising like butterfly wings.
“You’ve made an excellent argument. And yet, I feel compelled to implore you to wait just a little longer. Your feelings may change for the better. It is possible.”
“I know myself,” Teddy said, wringing his hands. “It’s no use waiting. I won’t be able to live with this pain much longer. It is inevitable.”
“Again, human nature is such that immediate pain often clouds the light of reason—”
“Not in my case,” Teddy said definitively.
The thin man nodded.
“All right then, my friend,” he said, pulling the appropriate contracts from his desk drawer. “Once your signature is acquired—and once the pertinent funds are transferred to my company’s account—we will schedule you for a deluxe Specified Memory Erasure.”
“Thank you!” Teddy said, ecstatic, nay, triumphant. “You don’t know how relieved I am!”
“Yes, I do.”
“You couldn’t possibly know!”
“As you say,” the thin man said as Teddy scribbled his name on several sections of the documents in question. “But I’m afraid I’ve seen too much of human nature in my time.”
“You’ve done me a service you couldn’t possibly appreciate!”
“And yet, I do.”
Teddy glanced up from his writing; this man is such a strange bird, he thought, but certainly an understanding one. He couldn’t wait to forget he was ever there!
Once Teddy Ulysses Dunkel left the office—certain his excruciation was on the verge of extinction—the technician collected the papers and found Teddy’s folder in the drawer. He slipped the new sheets into Teddy’s folder with the old sheets and placed the updated collection back into the drawer. He stroked his moustache dolefully as he thought of human nature, but then he surrendered his philosophical musings to the lateness of the day. Teddy was an excellent client, after all, as were so many others. It was a shame so few actually accepted the logic of his argument.
Still, the key to any successful organization was repeat business.
And business was excellent.
THE END
