A.W.I.A, Part 4: More Interview

If you know what happened so far, you know that when the man who was supposed to be a doctor told me, "I said, people who tell stories with missing parts, in my experiences, usually constitute the missing parts themselves," you know he was lying.

This was not exactly what he'd said. I know because I have a very good memory. What he'd said was similar--uncannily similar--but nonetheless different.

I was ready for this kind of discrepancy in ordinary people, but this man was supposed to be a doctor. I didn't imagine a man of learning, a man of science, would permit this degree of inexactitude. It occurred to me that I ought to ask for a paper and a pen to document this conversation--he had a pad and pen, after all, even if he didn't seem to use it much.

But I decided not to ask him just then. It wasn't any kind of giving in or submission. Although, yes, I was not asking for something that I did want, so it might have looked like that. But actually, this was a way to preserve my power. As soon as he was aware of my desire to document the interview, he'd know I was on to him, and he would become more cautious about what he gave away. I had to keep him open and trusting me, so I could continue to study him.

I studied him now. He was not bad-looking, I decided. He had a clean-shaven face, bright eyes and reasonable eyebrows. He did seem tired. His shoulders sloped.

When we had been quiet for a long time, he laid his hands flat on the table.

"Look," he said. "I listen to stories for a living."

He was being honest with me, so I felt I could be honest with him.
I told him, "That does not sound like a grown-up occupation."

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