Robert Silverberg - The Man Who Never Forgot

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The Man Who Never Forgot

by Robert Silverberg

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First published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Feb. 1958

Fictionwise Contemporary

Science Fiction

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He saw the girl waiting in line outside a big Los Angeles movie house, on a mildly foggy

Tuesday morning. She was slim and pale, barely five-three, with stringy flaxen hair, and she was

alone. He remembered her, of course.

He knew it would be a mistake, but he crossed the street anyway and walked up along the

theatre line to where she stood.

'Hello,' he said.

She turned, stared at him blankly, flicked the tip of her tongue out for an instant over

her lips. 'I don't believe I -- '

'Tom Niles,' he said. 'Pasadena, New Year's Day, 1955. You sat next to me. Ohio State 20,

Southern Cal 7. You don't remember?'

'A football game? But I hardly ever -- I mean -- I'm sorry, mister. I -- '

Someone else in the line moved forward towards him with a tight hard scowl on his face.

Niles knew when he was beaten. He smiled apologetically and said, 'I'm sorry, miss. I guess I made

a mistake. I took you for someone I knew -- a Miss Bette Torrance. Excuse me.'

And he strode rapidly away. He had not gone more than ten feet when he heard the little

surprised gasp and the 'But I _am_ Bette Torrance!' -- but he kept going.

_I should know better after twenty-eight years, he thought bitterly. But I forget the most

basic fact -- that even though I remember people, they don't necessarily remember me -- _

He walked wearily to the corner, turned right, and started down a new street, one whose

shops were totally unfamiliar to him and which, therefore, he had never seen before, His mind,

stimulated to its normal pitch of activity by the incident outside the theatre, spewed up a host

of tangential memories like the good machine it was: _1 Jan. 1955. Rose Bowl Pasadena California

Seat G126; warm day, high humidity, arrived in stadium 12:03 P.M., PST. Came alone. Girl in next

seat wearing blue cotton dress, while oxfords, carrying Southern Cal pennant. Talked to her. Name

Bette Torrance, senior at Southern Cal, government major. Had a date for the game but he came down

with flu symptoms night before, insisted she see game anyway. Seat on other side of her empty.

Bought her a hot dog, $.20 (no mustard) --

There was more, much more. Niles forced it back down. There was the virtually stenographic

report of their conversation all that day:

('... I hope we win. I saw the last Bowl game we won, two years ago...'

'... Yes, that was 1953. Southern Cal 7, Wisconsin 0 ... and two straight wins in 1944-45

over Washington and Tennessee ...'

'... Gosh, you know a lot about football! What did you do, memorize the record book?')

And the old memories. The jeering yell of freckled Joe Merritt that warm April day in 1937 -

- _who are you, Einstein?_ And Buddy Call saying acidly on 8 November 1939, _Here comes Tommy

Niles, the human adding machine. Get him!_ And then the bright stinging pain of a snowball landing

just below his left clavicle, the pain that he could summon up as easily as any of the other pain-

memories he carried with him. He winced and closed his eyes suddenly, as if struck by the icy

pellet here on a Los Angeles street on a foggy Tuesday morning.

They didn't call him the human adding machine any more. Now it was the human tape recorder;

the derisive terms had to keep pace with the passing decades. Only Niles himself remained

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