“Biologically, yes, you are correct madam. I should not be drinking. But chronologically speaking, I can drink as much as I want whenever I want.” The professor poured himself another glass of sherry. The tan beret he had found in his closet slipped a little further to the right, a few sizes too big for his smaller head.
Natalie sat across from him at the kitchen table, looking uneasy. “I’m sorry, but I still find all this just a little hard to believe. You mean to say you have the memories of the professor, that the doctor somehow put them into Miguel’s brain so the professor can continue his research? Is that right?”
“Yes, or at least most of those memories. I don’t know yet. Time will tell. So what’s so hard to believe?” He picked up his glass and took a sip as he stared at her.
She gasped. “I’ve just never heard of such a thing, that’s all. I know there have been some remarkable advances in medicine recently, some of which I just don’t understand, but really . . .”
“But what? Memory transfer wasn’t one of them? Why, they’re transferring memories left and right, madam, even the ones of arrogant jackasses such as myself. Didn’t you know that?”
Natalie’s hands flew to her mouth as she giggled. “Oh Percival, you—” She stopped when she realized what she had said.
“Good. We’re making progress here. You finally called me Percival, which is who I am. More sherry, madam?” He picked up the bottle, pouring her another glass before she could answer. “You know, I remember how we used to drink together like this when you first came here years ago.”
She picked up her refilled glass and took more than a sip. “Yes, those were the good . . . wait a minute. How did you know that? Did the professor tell you or the doctor?”
“Natalie, Natalie, Natalie.” He pretended to shake his head sadly. The beret slipped down a little more. “What is it going to take to convince you that I am Percival and not some silly boy who found out much too late what was really at stake when he ‘volunteered’’’—he scratched at the air with two fingers from both hands—“to give up any future he might have had?”
Natalie hiccupped and took another drink. “That poor boy.” She looked puzzled. “If it’s all true, why didn’t the doctor tell me about it? He just told me the boy was here to eventually take the professor’s place.”
“Which, in a way, is true enough. Actually, he didn’t feel the time was right to tell you the whole truth. I respectfully disagree. However, he will undoubtedly be furious when he finds out I told you without bothering to consult him.”
She looked at the nearly empty sherry bottle. “You think that’s bad?
Wait till he finds out you’ve been drinking.”
“Oh, piss on old Doc Dorning. He’s an old-fashioned, German-precision sauerkraut. He wouldn’t know how to have a good time if his life depended on it.” He took another sip. “Besides, we’ve been drinking, madam, not just me.”
Natalie giggled again and drank some more then looked down into the nearly empty glass. “Yes, we certainly have. In fact, I think I’ve already had too much.” She rubbed her temple. “I can’t drink like we used to.”
“Now that’s better. Like we used to. Have I finally convinced you I am who I say I am? Or do you need more proof?” He poured the remainder of the sherry into her glass.
“More proof.”
“Fair enough. Let me think. Say, by the way, do you like my hat? I think it makes me look positively debonair.”
She sputtered a bit in her sherry, amused. “It’s very nice.”
“I know. I have to think of something only you and I would remember, no one else. Would that do the trick?”
“Yes. Then I’ll be convinced.”
“All right. I have something.” He leaned across the table to whisper to her, taking her hands in his. “When you first came here, drinking wasn’t the only thing you and I used to do. Remember the time on the patio?” He gazed into her eyes. “You’re still an attractive woman, Natalie. I don’t think there’s anyone out on the beach tonight if you’d like to visit the patio again with me.”
She put a hand to her mouth to contain her laughter. “Oh, Percival! Do you really think we should risk…”
She stopped, freed her hands and immediately stood up, a look of horror on her face. “No, this can’t be. This isn’t right. You might be the professor, but you’re also just a boy. I can’t, Professor, don’t ask me to. I can’t . . .”
She spun around to run from the room. The back of her hand hit her glass of sherry, tipping it over and sending a red river racing across the stark white tablecloth.
The professor leered after her as she went, his vision in one eye partially obscured by the beret.
“I’ll be right here when you change your mind,” he called out loudly after her.
The front door slammed.
He sat there calmly sipping his sherry, waiting for her to return as he was sure she would, eventually.