“Don’t you know your old friend Bill?”
The man lifted his head just a little, but his arms still covered his face. He spoke slowly, more distinctly now, measuring his words. “I’m not acquainted with anyone named Bill. And I don’t have any old friends.”
“But this is Bill Kerrigan. You remember Bill Kerrigan.”
“I don’t remember anybody,” the man said. “I don’t like to remember people. All the people I’ve known I’d rather forget.”
“Is it that bad?” Kerrigan wondered if he could really make contact with this man.
“It isn’t bad at all,” the man said. “It’s delightful. It’s positively delightful.”
“What’s delightful, Johnny?”
“The calendar,” the man said. “The calendar with the picture of the girl on it. She wore an ermine wrap and it was unbuttoned and she didn’t have anything on underneath. That’s what I was dreaming about when someone wakes me up and starts calling me Johnny. It so happens my name isn’t Johnny.”
“What was the name of the girl?”
“What girl?”