Treating Simon Greenwood

I open my eyes to silence and blackness. I can see and hear nothing but the sound of my breathing and movement. Who am I? I don't know my name, age, occupation or marital status? I can recall nothing. My body is heavy and tired but I try to resist the urge to go back to sleep. I try to recall something.
"Good Morning John," a soft female voice is saying. I do not know if she is addressing me. I don't think I'm John. I open my eyes and a nurse is standing over the bed. She is young, with big round eyes and neatly tied back brunette hair.
"How are you, this morning?" she smiles.
"Groggy and confused," I reply.
"The night staff had to give you a pretty strong sedative. It can leave you feeling that way."
"It seems to have wiped my memory."
"I'm afraid you've had that problem for a little while."
"What's caused it?"
"We don't know. Sit up, and let me arrange you're pillows behind you. Your breakfast will be along soon."

As I finish breakfast the nurse announces "Your wife is here to see you, John."
A slim, very pretty blonde in her late twenties comes into the room. She doesn't have the sort of face or body many men would easily forget, yet I do not feel the least flicker of recognition. She kissed my mouth and still I felt nothing. I am attracted to her. I desire her in the way men desire actresses or glamour models but not as a man desires his wife.

I stop myself from saying "I'm not John and you're not my wife." Recalling the total darkness and silence I sense that it might not be safe to do so. I know there is something seriously wrong. As "my wife" draws back from me I notice that her hairstyle and the nurse's are both exactly the same. Neither of them has a hair out of place.

"Do we have any children?" I ask.
"No. We plan to. For now we have a wire-haired terrier called Edric." I can't even picture what a wire-haired terrier looks like.

"So what do you remember?" the psychologist asks me.
"Nothing."
He scribbles something on his pad.
"When was the Battle of Hastings?"
"1066."
"The American Declaration of Independence?"
"1776"
"You remember dates."
"What is the chemical composition of water?"
I am stumped. "I don't know," I say.
"It is a letter, then a number, then a letter."
I still don't know.
"H2O" he says.
I repeat what he has said but while I recognize the dates I do not recognize this.
What do the letters stand for?" I ask.
"Let's not worry about that now."

In my neat home I still recall nothing and nothing seems right. On the internet I type in H2O. The message that comes on screen is "Restricted Knowledge". So why was I asked about it?

Sarah is at work. I look around my faultless home. Everything is in its place. There are photographs and certificates which purport to tell me who I am. There is nothing that lets me feel who I am. Maybe I am going mad. There are a stack of photos and certificates and letters confirming that I am who my wife says I am and not a single piece of evidence to contradict it. There are probably good security reasons for restricting knowledge to substances such as H2O. My concern with it all might just be a symptom of my condition. I don't remember teaching History but there is plenty of evidence to suggest I did. I should stop tormenting myself. It is madness to keep on disbelieving everything.

On the screen a bright-eyed man is declaring that "Faith is the only truth. The disease of heresy has been almost completely eradicated." Edric comes bounding into the room, his tail wagging. As I pat him he knocks over the class of water I have on the carpet. The water runs under the writing bureau. I need to move it to get the cloth at the water. As I move it back a piece of newspaper drops out. Picking it up I am astounded. There is a picture of me and another man under the headline PHYSICISTS SHARE NOBEL PRIZE. I read the article and can't begin to understand why we had won the award. I am a scientist who knows nothing about science. I was right in all my distrust.

None of this makes sense. I can remember history but nothing of science. Scientific knowledge appears to have been banned. I look at the other name. Professor Giles Brough. I know I need to find him. The article gives his university. I ring and ask to speak to him. I am told that the only member of staff of that name is in the Department of Cultural Correction.

It is possible that he too has had his scientific knowledge removed but they have allowed him to keep his name. I get through to his secretary and say I want to discuss a cultural survey with Professor Brough. She gives me a fifteen minute appointment to see him.
On seeing him I can see he is the same person in the photo. He shows no evidence of recognising who I am. I tell him I am researching how changes in cultural identity have an effect on knowledge.
"That could lead you into restricted areas," he says.
"Like Science?"
"No, not science, wrong science, non scriptural science. And the other forms of superstition our society has been cleansed of."
"But I want to understand how we were cleansed?"
"That is restricted knowledge."
"Who restricts it?"
"Scripture does. It is a matter of faith. I cannot continue with this conversation if you question. You need help I can't give. You must understand that everything equates to mental control. Square that with your questions. I'll see you out."
In my pocket was the clipping with the photo of us winning the Nobel Prize. We must have worked together for years and yet we did not know each other and he was accusing me of heresy. As we walk I want to show it to him. I want to jog something inside him but It is too public. As we reach the door in the foyer he grabs my coat sleeve and looks directly in my eyes.
"How can I get you to understand what I mean when I say everything equates to mental control. Square that. I hope I've made myself clear. You need to understand me. Now go."

As I leave his office and walk towards the Metro I notice that there are a lot of police about. I wonder what is happening. I am cornered by four of them. They ask me if I am John. I say I am.
"Don't worry John, we aren't going to hurt you," one of them says. "We're just concerned you get the help you need."
"We understand you have been asking restricted questions." another one says.
I am pressed against a wall and searched.
"What is this?" the sergeant asks holding up the clipping.
"Wasn't Physics one of the old superstitions?" a burly cop asks.
"Don't worry re-education doesn't hurt. You're a very sick man John. You've lost the faith. We'll take you to where you can get the help you need. We're just trying to help you."

Doctor Chambers holds the cutting up. "You see what's happened here. You've been duped. Your face has been superimposed in the pictures and the headlines and story have been changed. There are sinister forces at work John. They pick on good people like you and try and deceive them with terrible lies. They are a dark force of evil." He shakes his head pointing at the clipping. "You do know what they've done, don't you John?"
"Yes I see what you're saying."
"What upsets me John is you were doing so well. This seems to have set you back. We're going to need to keep you here for a little while until we're happy you're over this."
He crunches the paper up and hurls it into a bin. "That was such a cruel prank to play on you, John. I really find it very upsetting. These people are so twisted. You didn't really fall for it did you?"
"It confused me."
"But you didn't think that your name was Simon Greenwood?"
"I was just confused."
"Look, John I don't want you to worry. We will get you right, even if it takes several more mind release treatments. I'm determined to get you to a fit and healthy state."
"Thank you."

It is dark and silent. I have been sedated and feel very tired. As I drift off Brough's words "everything equates to mental conduct, so square it" are on my mind. The phraseology seems so odd. I can't figure out why these words haunt me. An image of a redheaded woman is in my head. "E equals MC squared," she says. She is laughing as though there is some private joke in this odd combination of letters, the same letters Brough used. I know I love this woman and if she isn't my wife I know I want or have wanted her to be. But the letters mean nothing. Struggling to stay awake I re-arrange them in my head. They make no sense but I'd die for the look on her face as she uttered them. She's teasing me in the way only a lover does. I wonder if Brough knew his words would bring her back. I can no longer fight the sedative.

"How are you this morning, Darling?" Sarah asks. She smiles down at me and caresses my forehead.
I say nothing.
"Did you have any more nightmares?"
"I don't remember."
"Good,"
She kissed my forehead. "I just want you to be ok, darling. You do know that."
"Yes, of course."
"The doctors say you are making progress."
Sarah is very attentive. She is there every time I wake up and comes back to see me in the evening after she finishes work. Yet she doesn't feel like my wife. I don't know why that is.

I've been chanting "Faith is the only Truth." This is an important part of my treatment. It doesn't seem possible that I was ever a heretic, who doubted scripture. I can't have been a practitioner of forbidden knowledge. I am dedicated to the Faith. To deny it is illness.
On the screen, in the day room, it is announced that a heretic has been captured. They show footage of the arrest of the unfortunate woman. Police are placing handcuffs on her.
"She is being treated with the deepest compassion," one of the nurses assures us.
She is shouting "Energy equals mass times the velocity of light squared."
The poor woman's curly red hair is all I can see of her. I decide to prayer for her. She must be very lost and confused. She turns her head to the camera and I can see her face. How can someone so deranged look so beautiful? I know it is an unfaithful thought but I think it. Where did she get such gibberish from? I hope she can be helped.

I don't understand why that face haunts me. I keep recalling her meaningless words. There is no poetry or beauty in them. Yet in moments of doubt I think they are in some way significant. This is heresy. They come from the ranting of a lunatic. They are not from scripture, nor are they based on any aspect of the Faith. They have no more meaning than a nursery rhyme and yet some peculiar twist of my mind imbues them with a value I cannot fathom. I keep picturing that beautiful redhead. Why were these words more important to her than her liberty? Why was that? I need to be careful that I don't slip back into illness myself. The terrible truth is this illness attracts me. There are times when it seems more real than the world I know. It is illness to want forbidden knowledge.

Though I have been home for some time I am not well enough to work. Sarah and I have a comfortable life. She's beautiful but owing to my condition we still have not returned to the intimacy she assures me our relationship once had. I have plenty of history to read. I had hoped my memory for it would have returned by now but so much of it seems so unfamiliar. How can I have forgotten about the great periods of revelation and enlightenment?

Edric and I have become great friends. He sits at my feet when I read and we go for walks together. He loves to fetch sticks and roll in the mud. He's very friendly. I need to drag him off strangers. I'm forever apologising for him.
I hurl the stick and off he goes. He charges with all his might. Instead of bringing it back to me he carries it to a red headed woman in a black coat. She's kneeling down and petting him.
"Simon, Simon," she says softly as I approach.
"His name's Edric," I say.
"That's a nice name."
"Thank you." I couch down to join her petting Edric.
"Do you recognize me?" she asks.
I pause because I do not know how to answer. I can't possible say if I know her or not.
"I haven't been very well," I say." This isn't something I'd normally tell people but for some reason I want to tell her. I have no idea who she is but there is something familiar about her. Though we have just met I feel comfortable with her.
"Have you had memory problems?" she asks.
"Yes terrible ones. How did you know?"
There are tears in her eyes. "Oh Simon I wish..." she stops herself.
"Am I Simon?"
"Yes. You're my husband Simon Greenwood. I'm Helen your wife."
And I know I am and as I touch her hand I know that this red headed stranger means more than the world to me.

"This is too dangerous. I'm going to have to go." she says. "Keep coming to this park and remember everything equates to mental conduct, so square it. E equals MC squared. I love you."
"I love you." Our lips briefly touch as she gets to her feet.

I hug Edric as she walks away and I can still smell her perfume.
It is dark and silent and I know what they are taking from me. I hold on to the image of her face and hair and to the memory of her soft voice and perfume. E equals MC squared represents the truth they are stealing and Helen is the world to me. In small letters on I have written the her name on the tips of the fingers of my right hand and the characters E,=,M,C and 2 on the left. I only hope I understand why I have done that when I wake.