VI.

The piano continued to play, faintly, as Victor and Victoria sat together on the bench in silence. Expectation was beginning to wear on Victor. He wondered, again, exactly what Victoria was going to tell him. He wished she'd get on with it, but he didn't say anything. Victoria seemed rather uncomfortable, after all, so Victor figured he'd just have to wait. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Victoria straightened her shoulders and began.

"As I said, Victor," Victoria said, sounding as though she were presenting a case to a magistrate, "I think that once I tell you this, you might understand what's going on a bit better. About being...well..."

"Dead?" Victor supplied.

"Yes. But more than that, really. I...oh, how to say this?" The question seemed to be rhetorical, so Victor didn't say anything. He merely leaned toward her a little, in order to hear her better. After a moment, Victoria continued, "You see, I don't remember my death at all, not anymore. I knew what had happened after I arrived here, but at some point I forgot. All I remember is remembering, if that makes any sense." It didn't, but Victor nodded anyway.

"When I first arrived down here, I thought about you and the children all the time. I wondered how you were, I worried about what you all must have been feeling...but after a while, I'm not quite sure when, I just...stopped. It all began to fade away. Then something would happen, or someone would say something that reminded me of my life, and everything would come back again. But never for a long time--only just a moment or two. And the worst part, what I felt very guilty about until I gave it some consideration, was that...well..." Again she paused, and Victor wanted to scream. He understood the feeling that she was talking about--he'd felt it himself. Just not to the extent that she had. Victor wanted to say, "Please go on, you're going to kill me," but that seemed like a bad choice of words. Besides, he didn't want to break Victoria's train of thought. This was rather interesting. But where was this confession of hers? As he wondered, Victoria picked up her monologue again, still speaking in that slightly detached tone.

"What made me feel guilty at first," she said again, "was that it didn't seem to matter that I was forgetting. Being...oh, what's the word...disconnected, I suppose--it seemed almost natural. Yet I kept wondering about how forgetting my husband, and my children, and my family could possibly be natural. The feeling was there, though." Victoria turned fully toward him, and held his hand a little tighter. "Victor, until you walked into the pub today, I'd forgotten all about you."

Victor didn't respond. He couldn't. What was a suitable answer for something like that? He wondered vaguely why he wasn't offended by being forgotten. Part of his mind told him that he probably should be hurt by it, but he wasn't. In life, definitely--an admission like that would have thrown him into a three-day sulk. But now...

"But seeing you again brought it all back," Victoria continued quickly. Even though he didn't say anything, Victor hoped that she hadn't mistaken his silence for anger or hurt feelings. He was just trying to wrap his mind around this incredibly strange conversation they were having. Victoria went on, "I realized how much I'd missed you as soon as I saw you. And how much I loved you. Love you, I mean. But before today, I'd completely forgotten that I was ever in love with anybody. I didn't even remember being married." She looked away from him again, and murmured, "It must sound terrible, I know. And I feel just awful about it. And yet..." Victoria trailed off, apparently changing her mind, and instead finished with, "That's what I wanted to confess. I don't know...I thought perhaps it would give you an idea of how much forgetting one actually does down here."

She seemed to be finished. Victor knew she was waiting for some kind of response, but he still didn't know what to say. Relief was flooding through him. Was that all? he asked himself. For some reason, it really didn't seem to be that much of an issue.

"Oh, please tell me you're not upset." Victoria seemed terribly worried. There was a look of guilt on her face that Victor hated to see. He felt a little guilty as well--guilty for not being more offended by something that obviously had caused Victoria an awful lot of angst.

"No," Victor replied. Then seeing Victoria's hurt look, he rushed on, "No, no, what I meant was 'no, I'm not upset.' It's just...Victoria, you frightened me! For heaven's sake, I thought you were going to come out with some big revelation." He felt Victoria give a little start beside him, but he continued, "Honestly--you remember me now, and I never forgot you, so...I mean..." Victor trailed off. That had more than likely been the wrong thing to say.

Victoria stared at him. "You don't think that my forgetting that we were married is a big revelation?" She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together. Victor looked down at his feet for a moment. Fantastic. Now he'd gotten himself into trouble.

"Well, it is, I suppose..." Victor rubbed his forehead tiredly. "But the way you were building it up, I thought you were going to tell me that you once set fire to an orphanage or were a spy for the Germans during the war or that our children weren't mine or something." He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Don't do that to me," he added, with as much mirth as he could gather. The playful gesture and tone were intended to make Victoria smile, but it didn't work.

He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. But really--all that build-up for a confession that...well, really didn't surprise him, considering his own inability to remember aspects of his life. As he sat wondering just how much he'd annoyed Victoria, Victor ran what he'd just said back through his mind. Against his better judgment, he looked at his feet and asked in an embarrassed tone,

"The children..." He faltered, and then finished in a rush, "they were mine, weren't they?" That last bit came out in little more than a whisper. Victor looked up to see Victoria staring at him with an expression halfway between disbelief and disgust. The effect would have been better had she had more nose to wrinkle, but Victor understood that he had just asked one of his patented Incredibly Stupid and Inappropriate Questions.

She pulled back from him a little, and said, "Victor, are you joking? What a thing to ask me! For heaven's sake...I...you..." Victoria shook her head before meeting his eyes again. "Of course they were! How dare you?"

In spite of himself, Victor was a little relieved. He tried not to show it. Instead, he mumbled an apology and attempted to look suitably chastised.

Victoria didn't say anything more. For a moment they just sat there, Victor's arm around her. That was something--at least she hadn't pushed his arm away. Finally Victor said, "I have a question."

"Is it as good as your last one?" Victoria rarely spoke sharply or sarcastically, but when she did...wow. Victor blanched.

"Yes?" Victoria said in a milder tone. Heartened a bit, Victor pressed on.

"If we're losing memories--and I know I am, I can feel it--how did we manage to have a proper bicker about little things that happened fifty years ago?" It seemed remarkable to Victor that he could have trouble remembering his children, but recall Victoria's problems with potatoes. Equally remarkable that Victoria could forget him, and then remember that incident with the rat. After another pause, Victoria shrugged slightly.

"I haven't any idea, Victor. Odd, the things you recall sometimes. And another odd thing," Victoria reached over and took Victor's hand, "is how natural it feels. To begin to lose it all. Do you know what I mean?" Victor nodded. He still felt slightly confused, but it was beginning to make sense...despite the fact that he wouldn't have been able to explain it in words if pressed. It was more of a feeling. No wonder Victoria was speaking so oddly. It was an odd subject, one that almost defied words.

"I think I do," Victor replied slowly. "I feel so distant already. I mean, I noticed it when I first got here, and I still feel it."

"You haven't been here long," Victoria replied.

"True...I can imagine that the distance gets bigger the longer you're here. Am I right?" He turned to Victoria to find her gazing at him intently. She nodded in response to his question. If either of them had had breath in their bodies, they would have sighed.

Victoria leaned her head against his shoulder and said quietly, "It almost feels as though we're...waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Yes. For...something. Don't you feel it? You lose all track of time here, and the most unsettling part of it all is that it doesn't really matter. We rot, fall apart...What then? From what I've heard, some people are only here for a little while. Others are here long enough to turn completely to dust. Oddly, though, nobody's here for longer than about forty years. In any case, no one can remember anyone from that long ago." She lifted her head to look at him. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Now it was Victor's turn to shrug. "I truly couldn't tell you, Victoria." There was a time limit for how long someone was here? That was news to Victor. But he did have some little inkling of the waiting that Victoria was talking about. Maybe that's what had happened to...Victor thought for a moment.

Suddenly he recalled the butterflies. Emily's words. "You set me free." At the time, Victor hadn't quite understood what she'd meant. For a while afterward, he'd even had the feeling that the butterfly trick was just a dramatic exit. Yet as he had considered it further in the weeks following that night, he knew that that wasn't so. It had been an exit, all right, but not solely for symbolic purposes. Emily really was gone. What was that phrase people liked to use? "Moved on?" That seemed about right. Something had told Victor that Emily hadn't gone back to her dark grave under that oak tree; she'd really been done. For good. And it wasn't a sad thing at all. All of these thoughts had been in the back of Victor's mind all of his life, after that night in the chapel. He'd always thought of Emily has a good friend that he'd known for a while, but then lost. Yet, "lost" probably wasn't the right word. They'd both gained. Emily had been "set free," whatever that meant, and Victor had realized that life didn't have to be boring or repressive or sad. Life is what one was willing to make of it. There were societal rules, of course, and drudgery, and the parties weren't as rowdy, but life had its advantages. There was sunshine, for one thing. Birds, cozy afternoons in the parlor with loved ones, Christmases...and there were children. Victor, each of the four times he'd held a brand-new baby, had withered a little inside when he realized how close he'd come to missing all of it. Children. His and Victoria's children. Faces that he couldn't remember now. And yet, just as it had when he'd first entered the Ball and Socket earlier, the thought occurred to him that life was over. But death was just beginning. Butterflies...In one bright flash of a moment, Victor understood absolutely everything.

Then it was gone again.