Resurrected memory (Short Story)

"Mom, I want to ask you something very important."

"What is it, son?"

"Do you remember the name of that bank?"

"Which bank?"

"The one where daddy left... well, do you remember what was left there?"

An absent-minded smile replaced the momentary effort on Julia's face.

"I have left, my boy, only the longing of the future from the dump of the past."

"Why are you saying it, mom? We are with you. Everyone loves you, I, Mildred, and the children."

"Yes, yes. You, and Jeff, and Abi and grandchildren... Attention. The attention of mercy."

Julia spoke these words in a hushed voice, shaking her head slowly from side to side.

"It is sometimes a pleasant warmth, but sometimes it weighs on your neck like a yoke.
But don't worry, my dear," Julia stroked Paul's face, "it's not your fault. I've just become alien to the form of the modern sound. I can't feel time. It rustles near but outside of me and has begun to circumvent me. It is enclosed in the form of a different sound. Friends, colleagues, suitors, your father, it's all left in that other time, like a child's piggy bank. Remember, this poem - my favorite."

Julia proclaimed.

I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.
I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.
I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt–
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth–
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

"What's next? I can't remember," she shook her head, "I forgot, forgot about important things, forgot everything... And you ask me about some bank."

Silently listening to her monologue, Paul asked:
"Mom, what do you want for breakfast, eggs and bacon or croissant?"
"I don't have an appetite. I'll just sit with you and drink some coffee."

---

"I don't understand why you brought her here in the first place." Mildred sat leg over the leg in a deep armchair and smoked, "she was living over there in Connecticut with George, and I thought she was quite content with life. Certainly, I don't mind. She's your mother and all; I just don't understand your logic."

Paul shook his head in annoyance, staring at the landscape outside the window.

"It's only for a while. There is a good doctor nearby. He is a dementia specialist. Maverick. I hope he cures her."

Mildred nodded in understanding and shook her head to the beat of an internal melody.

"By the way, we'll have a Zoom session with him in five minutes." If you want, you can stay and listen. Just sit far away so he can't see you.

"All right," Mildred stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, rose from her chair, and sat down in the next.

---

An image appeared on the screen. Dr. Stark seemed to be a man in his fifties. He had a lean, elongated face, vertical wrinkles on his cheekbones, and a somewhat cold expression in his eyes, peering out from under his drooping eyelids. After mutual greetings, the Doctor glanced over his papers and raised his eyes to Paul.

"So you suspect that your mother has dementia. Why?"

"You see," Paul said, from time to time drumming his fingers on the table, then raising his hands to his face and, as if he was, brushing a mote from his nose, "my mother began to forget. She's forgetting where she put her keys, where hangs her coat, forgetting about her appointments at the doctor's," he stopped to think back, "she began to forget the poems she had known all her life and often recited. Here, you know, she starts reading, reads the first few lines, and stops."

"I see. Well, bring your mom to our office, and we'll check her out. And, if your suspicions are confirmed..." the Doctor smiled, but only with his mouth, "we will treat her."

"Tell me, doctor, if she really has Alzheimer's, what can be done?"

"We will advise her on a proper regimen and set of exercises that will ease the symptoms and delay," here he trailed off, considering his answer, "unpleasant consequences."

The Doctor rummaged through his papers, pulled out one, and ran his eyes over it.
‒ That's about all you can do with your mom's insurance.

"Hmmm..." drawled Paul, "and what if money is not an object?"

The Doctor stretched his lips wide, showing beautiful false teeth, and drew air through them as if confirming the situation's complexity.

"What can I tell you? As of today, there are no one hundred percent solutions. There is, however, one experimental method that gives excellent results as far as memory recovery is concerned, but" the Doctor sucked through his teeth again.

"But what?"

"This method may cause side effects."

"What kind - life-threatening?" Paul frowned.

"No, not life-threatening. It's just that the side effects have not yet been fully studied, and it's hard to know what kind of consequences to expect."

"But these consequences do not affect memory, right?" Paul insisted on clarifying.

"No."

"What is that method, doctor?"

Dr. Stark lowered his head and shook his clasped fingers several times.

"Do you know what causes this disease?"

Paul shook his head negatively.

"Alzheimer's disease is a neurodegenerative disease in which neurons lose their functions, especially in the cerebral cortex. There are several theories to explain this disease. I will focus on the most likely one, the amyloid."

"Doctor," Paul interrupted him, "it's all very interesting, but you know, I forgot all the biology, which, to be honest, I didn't know well at school either. And you already scared me with the word "amyloid," he laughed. The Doctor smiled too.

"But if I don't tell you what causes the disease, then you won't understand the essence of the beta-secretase blockade method."

Paul only brushed it off with feigned horror.

"Explain it to me as if I were a child."

"OK then. We do a little surgery. An organic chip is inserted into the brain, the logic of which monitors and suppresses the attempts of beta-secretase to begin work on the elimination of APP and its blocking, and at the same time, attacks accumulations of beta-amyloid plaques, dissolving them and thus removing obstacles to the signal path in neurons."

"Wow, that's for a pretty damn smart child," Paul chuckled again.

"Simply put," the Doctor spread his arms and smiled broadly again with his mouth, "we block the cause of the disease."

"But, then, why are there undesirable consequences?"

The Doctor shook his head, and his eyes made a small radius circle again.

"You see, the purpose of beta-secretase is not yet fully understood. It is possible that in addition to the undesirable consequences of their activity, such as the creation of amyloid plaques, they perform other functions in the brain. And by blocking beta-secretase action, we are blocking something else."

The Doctor spread his hands as if to confirm the powerlessness of science at this stage of social knowledge. Paul nodded understandingly.

"But it's not life-threatening, and the memory is surely restored?" He added, curling his fingers.

"You're right, and that's the best I can offer you. Excuse me, of course; I mean your mother."

"I see," Paul nodded. Meeting his eyes with the Doctor, he said. "How much is the operation?"

The Doctor answered, and Paul whistled.

"That's a bit steep."

Noticing how Paul's eyes went to the side and settled on the floor, the Doctor said somewhat ingratiatingly.

"There's one more possibility."

"What is it?"

"If you agree to have the results of the procedure applied to your mother published as data in a scientific experiment, we can reduce the price of the operation," he looked at the sheet lying on his desk, "by almost four times."

"Is that so," Paul looked up at the Doctor again, "that's too expensive, too. Can't you do less?

"Unfortunately, no," now the Doctor looked away.

"All right," Paul agreed, "Let's do it. Shall I bring her to your office?"

"Not yet. I can interview your mom right here."

"All right, then, I'll bring her in now."

"Wait. What is your mother's name?"

"Julia."

The Doctor nodded, and soon she appeared on the screen. Julia was thin, with a short haircut framing an oblong face with the corners of her mouth sadly drooping, especially on the right side, and deeply sunken, sad, faded, once blue eyes. She wore a gray wool dress with a turtleneck that covered the wrinkles.

"Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Stark. May I call you Julia?

She nodded.

"How are you feeling today?"

"I'm a little nervous."

"Why?"

"Everyone thinks I'm crazy."

"Oh, no." The Doctor smiled encouragingly. "Not at all. Your son just said that your memory has deteriorated. It happens to people often, and it's not crazy at all. And today, I want to test your memory. OK?"

Julia nodded.

"What year is it?"

"God, what year is it? I don't even know. What difference does it make? Inwardly, I still feel that my origin is much earlier.
I'm probably a creature of the nineteenth century. Imagine long dresses and corsets. You get up in the morning with a cup of coffee and read a novel. So, according to my gut feeling, I am now living in the year 1885."

"And what month?"

"Now, there are puddles on the sidewalk. It must be spring, April. What does it matter, my good man? Every day is precious, especially when you owe it to time. Ah, time, time... what else do you expect and want from me?"

The Doctor nodded as he continued to take notes.

"Now, Julia, tell me where you live."

"Where do I live? Oh my goodness. The time had passed when I lived in my dreams. The longer I live, the fewer there are, and the more there are memories and longings to come. That's where I, my darling, live. And also... Remember this?

"Life is partly an attempt to defend the sovereignty of the soul: to yield neither to temptation nor threat." Who said that? I don't remember anymore. But I think it's true.

"Very well, well said. Now, Julia, could you count for me from twenty back to one."
Count down from twenty? It's just like a silly nursery rhyme. Don't you remember?

Twenty fat sausages frying in a pan
All of a sudden - one went "BANG"!
Nineteen fat sausages frying in a pan
All of a sudden - one went "BANG"!
Eighteen fat sausages frying in a pan
All of a sudden - one went "BANG"!

Then finally

One fat sausage frying in a pan
All of a sudden – it went "BANG"!
No fat sausages frying in a pan.

Those sausages. They are from there, from my childhood. Probably, every person has a favorite space on earth, which he rarely visits, but always remembers and often sees in his dreams. That's how I am. I often visit the junkyard of the past.

"Very interesting," Dr. Stark continued his neuropsychological testing.

---

After the session on Zuma ended, Dr. Stark continued to sit in his chair for some time, massaging his closed eyes with his fingers. When the secretary, summoned by intercom, entered the office, he said:

"Peggy, please see if you can squeeze the patient in next week for a Beta-Amyloid blockade and mark the patient as going on the grant.

"Oh, Dr. Stark, congratulations! So, you're getting more material for your article."

"Yes, Peggy, thank you," the Doctor smiled happily, "a very good case."

"So I'll mark that the surgery as free of charge."

"No, Peggy," said Dr. Stark even more cheerfully, "I did manage to squeeze twenty-five thousand out of that sucker," and he laughed loudly and curtly.

---

"Twenty-five thousand? Are you out of your mind?" cried Mildred, "she has insurance!"

"Her insurance doesn't pay for the surgery Mom has to have."

"You know? Your mom's mother is already an elderly person, and she could have all kinds of problems and illnesses. And if you spend twenty-five grand every time, it's gonna leave our family budget in the lurch. I don't understand where you're going to get that kind of money. We don't have that kind of money in our bank account."

"I'll take out a loan."

"A loan? You're out of your mind!"

"No. You see, I'm going to tell you something that no one knows, not Jeff, not Abby... and no one should know." Paul crouched down and lowered his voice, even though there was no one in the office but his wife," About five years before his death, my father bought gold.

"Gold mining stocks?"

"No.

Actual gold, bullion, gold bars."

"Why?"

"Why, why?" Because. That's the kind of man he was. Gold went down in value a lot back then, and he always said, "The secret of wealth is to buy when it's cheap, sell when it's expensive." Paul mocked his father's voice, "Every fool knows that. Nonetheless."

"How much did he invest?"

"At least a couple of million, I think."

Mildred whistled.

"Then now they worth," she said, a mischievous bunny flickering in her eyes as if she were mentally calculating.

"Exactly," Paul raised his hand warningly, "you don't have to go on.

We all know how to count, thank God."

"Where are the bars?"

"In some bank, of course. Do you think he buried them in the backyard?"

"In which bank?"

"Honey, do you think if I had known, you and I would be sitting in this shithole?" Paul looked around his office again with an unkind glance, "the old man trusted no one but my mother. He always said, "We know friends when we're in trouble, brothers and sisters when we share an inheritance, and children when we're old." He skipped the part of the proverb where "a wife is recognized in a divorce."

He put mother above everyone else his whole life, including Jeff, Abby, and me, and followed her every whim... He told her, "Your mother is a being of a higher dimension."

"What did he say about you?" Mildred shook the ash from her cigarette into the glass ashtray on the coffee table.

"About us, he said that nature rests on us."

Mildred chuckled.

"Well, well... So you brought her here... I understand." She shook her head.

"No, not only because of what you think," Paul waved his finger in protest.

"Don't even go there!"

"Well, yes, of course, of course. I love Julia too. She's so sweet and special."

There was a silence, which Mildred interrupted after a moment.

"So Julia knows."

"You mean she 'knew.' I'm sure she knew. Until, you know, this stupid dementia happened.

Mildred's face twitched.

"What were you thinking about before?"

"Use your brains, sweetheart. If I had asked her then, George would have known about it and that scumbag Cliff. (Cliff was the husband of Paul's sister Abby).

---

"Doctor, why do they give me anesthesia? Is the procedure painful?"

"No, not really. It's just that it's going to be, how shall I put it, a little strange for you. Like it's not happening to you. And it's better if you will receive anesthesia. Trust me on this. OK?"

"Gosh, why fix it if it ain't broken? All right, then. Where's my son?"

"He's in the next room. Don't worry.

As soon as the procedure is over, you'll be able to see him right away. See, I don't even call it an operation. It's a procedure, just a procedure."

Julia leaned back on her pillow and began muttering a Shakespeare sonnet quietly until the sleeping pills kicked in.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

---

"Good afternoon Julia, do you remember me?"

She nodded.

"I remember you, Dr. Stark."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine."

"Wonderful!. Tell me, Julia, what year is it?"

"Two thousand and sixty-second."

"Fine, fine."

"And the month?"

"April."

"And where do you live?"

"100 W Middle St Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA, Earth."

"Beautiful, beautiful. Now, Julia, could you count for me from twenty back to one."

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen," Julia counted to one and stopped.

The Doctor continued the exam and was delighted with the result.

He asked the nurse to get Julia ready to go home and invite his son to come into his office.

When Paul entered and sat down in his chair, Dr. Stark said with a smile.

"The memory is completely restored," he showed Paul the OK sign. Your mother answered all the questions on the test perfectly.

"What about undesirable consequences?"

"I haven't noticed. But as the person closest to her, you should be the judge. And if you indeed notice any abnormalities, please let us know.

In the meantime, you can take your mom home." The Doctor held out his hand to Paul, who shook it respectfully. "Thank you so much, Doctor! It means so much to us!"

Joyful, Paul walked out of the office and leaned toward his mother, sitting quietly in the chair and looking straight ahead.

"Mom, you have no idea how happy I am! Let me call Mildred. Maybe she'll join us at the restaurant. I want to celebrate. Which one do you want to go to, Chinese, Italian, or Indian?"

Julia continued to sit upright. Her gaze, as if penetrating the walls of the reception room, was staring off into space.

"If Chinese, then Peking duck, if Italian, Florentine steak, and if Indian, Tunde Kebab. It's important that all the food groups are present. The body needs a balanced diet."

"Weird," flashed through Paul's mind. "I don't recall Mom ever talking about a balanced diet.
Not even before the onset of dementia."

---

The car smelled like an air freshener, Paul was driving, and Julia was sitting next to him.

"Mom, this might not be a good time for this conversation. You need to rest after your procedure. However, there's one question that's really bothering me, and I want to ask you this. Do you remember the bank?"

"I do," Julia responded instantly.

"Wait, you probably don't even know which bank I have in mind."

"The one where Herbert left the gold."
Paul inwardly rejoiced. He wanted to stop the car and jump, but he restrained himself and, continuing in the same tone, said:

"That's fine. What kind of bank is this?"

"It's not a bank; it's a depository."

"All right, a depository. Where is this depository?"

"It is where it needs to be."

Paul's head jerked back slightly. He paused as he continued driving.

"But Mom, you see, it's very important for me to know where this depository is located," Paul turned his head toward his mother and, seeing that she was not going to answer, continued, "now the price of gold is high, and it is very important to sell the bars. Then we'll all be able to be financially independent and go anywhere we want, to Pennsylvania or even to the Maldives."

"All right. We'll sell the bars. Only you won't get the money now," and answering Paul's questioning, involuntary goggle, Julia said, "only after my death."

Without waiting for Paul to object, she added.

"You all will receive equally: you, Jeff, Abby, and the Pennsylvania Young Poets Contest Fund. However, in the event of my unexpected death, the Pennsylvania contest fund will get everything.