“It sounds like some dream I might have had years ago. I can’t make it real,” he said deprecatingly. “It’s no use—I can’t remember. Indeed, I almost believe you are chaffing me. But—it’s really too serious a thing to joke about. You will tell—Una,” he added, addressing Sajipona, “how long I’ve been here, how kind you’ve been to me ever since I came back, so ill I could scarcely look out for myself.”
“Ever since you came back?” repeated Una, seizing upon the clew. “Then you have not always been here? You know the world outside of this cave? You were here once before, and then went away? Where were you? Try to remember.”
“Why, yes,” said David, mystified more than ever; “of course I’ve been away. I remember moving about a great deal, visiting many countries, seeing many people. But I don’t remember who any of them were—I can’t recall a single thing plainly, not a name, not a face. Sajipona has tried to help me. She’s very patient about it. But, so far, it has been no use—and it’s painful, I can tell you, trying to remember these things. I feel comfortable, entirely at peace, only when Sajipona sings. There’s nothing like her singing. I could listen to her forever, forgetting even to try to remember—if you know what that means.”
“But I want you to remember,” interrupted Sajipona. “You must try—never mind how painful it is. You know how much depends on that for both of us.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I try. I believe that when I am entirely well again it will all come right. All those dark dreams and things that bother me now will be cleared away and I will be completely myself. Then it will be as you say. We will be perfectly happy together.”
Involuntarily the two women looked at each other. David, standing between them, calmer than before, remained silent, unconscious of the effect of his words.
“You must explain what you mean,” Sajipona said to him firmly, after a moment of irresolution.
Aroused from his revery, he looked in perplexity from one to the other. Then his brow cleared and he laughed softly.