“Do I have to go through this again?” Miguel asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Dorning replied.
Miguel buried his head in his arms, weary of all the professor’s things and of going through them over and over. He hardly understood any of the books, could barely read the handwritten letters with their faded, florid handwriting, and thought the mementos the professor owned—diplomas and proclamations and brittle newspaper clippings—were boring and meant nothing to him. The doctor kept promising that reading and handling all these things would eventually make him as smart as the professor, but he was beginning to have his doubts.
Ever since that one dream three days ago, no other memories of the professor had surfaced, and Miguel knew the doctor was worried once more.
“Come, come. The sooner you’re done, the sooner you can go out and play.”
The boy sighed, then decided it was best to just get it over with. “All right. What do I do?” He sat up straight behind the professor’s old wood desk.
“Good question. Let’s see.” Dorning tapped his chin as he looked around the crowded room. “I think we should try going through the medals again. Certainly they held special meaning for the professor—since he kept so many—and may have the best chance for triggering an old memory.”
Miguel resisted a groan. “Okay.”
Dorning reverently took the Nobel Prize medal out of its glass case on the wall and carried it over to the desk. “Are your hands clean?” he asked, eyeing Miguel’s fingers.
Miguel nodded and held out his hands to prove it and take the medal.
Dorning put the medal in the boy’s open palms. “Remember now, be very careful with this one. It is the Nobel Prize, after all.” He sat down across from the boy and pulled his chair up close. “If any one thing was especially significant to the professor, this has to be it. I can’t help but believe this will eventually trigger some truly wonderful memories.”
Miguel turned the medal over several times.
Dorning grinned with anticipation. “Well? Anything?”
The boy shrugged. “It’s kind of heavy. But I don’t remember anything about it.”
Dorning’s expectant look faltered. “You mean you don’t remember his short yet pithy acceptance speech, the formal dinner afterwards with the king, the bumpy flight home through bad weather that made the professor quip it might be his last award ever?”
Miguel shrugged again before handing the medal back. “No. Nothing like that. Sorry.”
Dorning frowned in disappointment, then took the medal back to the case and hung it up again. “Odd. I really thought this would do it.” He closed the small glass door. “Well, let’s see what else we can try.”
He looked around, saw the pile of lesser medals on the nightstand, scooped them up and dumped them in a heap in front of the boy. He noticed they were nearly all of different metallic colors and caught a whiff of their heavy, tarnished odors clinging to his fingers.
He lowered his hands from his face. “I have an idea. Look at each one like you did before, but this time I want you to try something new. I want you to smell them.”
Miguel looked up at the doctor in disbelief. “Smell? You’re kidding me. Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. Smell is often a powerful memory trigger. Certain smells remind me of my own childhood back in Germany. Roast duck, fresh cut hay, horse sh—well, you get the idea.” He handed the boy a small brass award and sat down again. “What they smell like exactly should vary by their composition, what they’re made of. Even a subtle odor could make a big difference. It’s called a sense memory, I believe, if I’m remembering my psychology correctly. Try it. It can’t hurt you.”
Miguel sighed, knowing it was useless to resist. He raised the first medallion to his nose, sniffed it and put it aside.
He tried hard to keep a straight face but failed miserably.
The doctor straightened up with sharp interest. “Yes? What is it? Are you remembering something?”
The boy kept laughing to himself as he shook his head. “No, it just seems funny, that’s all.”
Dorning sat back, annoyed. “There’s nothing funny about it. This is quite serious. I don’t care if you do laugh; keep trying.”
Miguel picked up medal after medal, smelling each one in turn. Tears welled in his eyes, and his shoulders shook from the absurdity of the task.
He tried not to giggle but couldn’t prevent it. “This is too silly.”
“Don’t tell me that. Tell me instead what memories you smell.”
He pulled one medal after another from the shrinking collection, weeping and shaking with laughter, setting each one aside after a cursory glance and a pass under his nose.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, Cambridge, nothing, nothing—”
“Stop!”
Miguel froze. “Why?”
Dorning was on his feet. “Don’t move.” He selected one of the medals from the pile of discards next to the boy’s elbow and examined it closely, saw it was a first place finish medallion from the 1930s for some unnamed swimming event.
“This one. Smell it again.” He thrust it in the boy’s face.
Miguel sniffed it several times.
“Nothing.”
“Again.”
He did.
“Nothing.”
“Once more.”
He complied.
“Nothing. No. Wait. Let me see that.” He took the medal from the doctor’s hand and stared keenly at it.
His gaze grew hazy, and his eyelids fluttered. “Cambridge, nineteen thirty-eight,” he said quietly, the words measured and precisely spoken just as the professor used to speak, the cadence identical, the inflection unmistakable. “It says Cambridge. That’s what I said, didn’t I, and I hadn’t even read it.” His mouth hung open. “I remember this medal. I was so proud to win it, so very proud. My first one. I wore for days, even to class. I guess the ribbon must have fallen off. It had a red and white ribbon, you know.”
Miguel shook his head and dropped the medal. It rang out when it hit the desktop and the boy blinked as if the spell it had over him was broken.
“Wow! Was that strange! For just a moment I thought I was the professor, even more than when I had that dream.” He stared at the medal but didn’t touch it. His voice was his own again, although he seemed unaware it had changed. “I guess the operation worked after all. That was really freaky.” He looked up at the doctor.
“No.” Dorning’s eyes shone in victory. “That was wonderful.”