The Best of Fredric Brown

The M. E. picked up the paper he'd been reading and then put it down again without even looking at it. "Ever hear of Ellsworth Joyce Randolph?"

"Head of the asylum? Hell yes, I^'ve met him. Casually."

"How'd he impress you?"

He was aware that the managing editor was staring at him intently, that it wasn^'t too casual a question. He parried. "What do you mean: In what way? You mean is he a good Joe, is he a good politician, has he got a good bedside manner for a psychiatrist, or what?^"

^"I mean, how sane do you think he is?"

He looked at Candler and Candler wasn't kidding. Candler was strictly deadpan.

He began to laugh, and then he stopped laughing. He leaned forward across Candler's desk. "Ellsworth Joyce Randolph,^" he said. ^"You^'re talking about Ellsworth Joyce Randolph?^"

Candler nodded. ^"Dr. Randolph was in here this morning. He told a rather strange story. He didn't want me to print it. He did want me to check on it, to send our best man to check on it. He said if we found it was true we could print it in hundred and twenty line type in red ink." Candler grinned wryly. "We could, at that."

He stumped out his cigarette and studied Candler^'s face. "But the story itself is so screwy you're not sure whether Dr. Randolph himself might be insane?^"

^"Exactly.^"

^"And what^'s tough about the assignment?^"

"The doc says a reporter could get the story only from the inside."

"You mean, go in as a guard or something?" Candler said, "Something."

"Oh."

He got up out of the chair and walked over to the window, stood with his back to the managing editor, looking out. The sun had moved hardly at all. Yet the shadow pattern in the streets looked different, obscurely different. The shadow pattern inside himself was different, too. This, he knew, was what had been going to happen. He turned around. He said, ^"No, Hell no.^"

Candler shrugged imperceptibly. "Don't blame you. I haven't even asked you to. I wouldn't do it myself.^"

He asked, ^"What does Ellsworth Joyce Randolph think is going on inside his nuthouse? It must be something pretty screwy if it made you wonder whether Randolph himself is sane."

^"I can't tell you that, Vine. Promised him I wouldn^'t, whether or not you took the assignment."

"You mean-even if I took the job I still wouldn't know what I was looking for?"

"That's right. You'd be prejudiced. You wouldn't be objective. You'd be looking for something, and you might think you found it whether it was there or not. Or you might be so prejudiced against finding it that you'd refuse to recognize it if it bit you in the leg."

He strode from the window over to the desk and banged his fist down on it.

He said, ^"God damn it, Candler, why me? You know what happened to me three years ago."

"Sure. Amnesia.^"

"Sure, amnesia. Just like that. But I haven^'t kept it any secret that I never got over that amnesia. I'm thirty years old-or am I? My memory goes back three years. Do you know what it feels like to have a blank wall in your memory only three years back?

"Oh sure, I know what's on the other side of that wall. I know because everybody tells me. I know I started here as a copy boy ten years ago. I know where I was born and when and I know my parents are both dead. I know what they look like-because I^'ve seen their pictures. I know I didn't have a wife and kids, because everybody who knew me told me I didn't. Get that part everybody who knew me, not everybody I knew. I didn't know anybody.

"Sure, I^'ve done all right since then. After I got out of the hospital-and I don't even remember the accident that put me there-I did all right back here because I still knew how to write news stories, even though I had to learn everybody^'s name all over again. I wasn^'t any worse off than a new reporter starting cold on a paper in a strange city. And everybody was as helpful as hell."

Candler raised a placating hand to stem the tide. He said, "Okay, Nappy. You said no, and that^'s enough. I don't see what all that^'s got to do with this story, but all you had to do was say' no. So forget about it."

The tenseness hadn't gone out of him. He said, "You don't see what that's got to do with the story? You ask-or, all right, you don^'t ask, you suggest-that I get myself certified as a madman, go into an asylum as a patient.

When-how much confidence does anyone have in his own mind when he can^'t remember going to school, can't remember the first time he met any of the people he works with every day, can^'t remember starting on the job he works at, can^'t remember anything back of three years before?^"

Abruptly he struck the desk again with his fist, and then looked foolish about it. He said, "I'm sorry. I didn^'t mean to get wound up about it like that.^"

Candler said, "Sit down.^"

"The answer^'s still no.^"

^"Sit down, anyway."

He sat down and fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket, got it lighted.

Candler said, "I didn^'t even mean to mention it, but I^'ve got to now. Now that you talked that way. I didn't know you felt like that about your amnesia. I thought that was water under the bridge.

"Listen, when Dr. Randolph asked me what reporter we had that could best cover it, I told him about you. What your background was. He remembered meeting you, too, incidentally. But he hadn't known you^'d had amnesia."

^"Is that why you suggested me?^"

^"Skip that till I make my point. He said that while you were there, he^'d be glad to try one of the newer, milder forms of shock treatment on you, and that it might restore your lost memories. He said it would be worth trying."

"He didn't say it would work."

^"He said it might; that it wouldn't do any harm."

He stubbed out the cigarette from which he'd taken only three drags. He glared at Candler. He didn't have to say what was in his mind; the managing editor could read it.

Candler said, "Calm down, boy. Remember I didn^'t bring it up until you yourself started in on how much that memory-wall bothered you. I wasn^'t saving it for ammunition. I mentioned it only out of fairness to you, after the way you talked."

^"Fairness!"

Candler shrugged. "You said no. I accepted it. Then you started raving at me and put me in a spot where I had to mention something I^'d hardly thought of at the time. Forget it. How's that graft story coming? Any new leads?^"

"You going to put someone else on the asylum story?"

^"No. You're the logical one for it.^"

^"'What is the story? It must be pretty woolly if it makes you wonder if Dr. Randolph is sane. Does he think his patients ought to trade places with his doctors, or what?"

He laughed. ^"Sure, you can^'t tell me. That^'s really beautiful double bait. Curiosity-and hope of knocking down that wall. So what^'s the rest of it? If I say yes instead of no, how long will I be there, under what circumstances? What chance have I got of getting out again? How do I get in?"

Candler said slowly, "Vine, I'm not sure any more I want you to try it. Let's skip the whole thing."

"Let's not. Not until you answer my questions, anyway.^"