The Memory Painter

They had come at an off-hour. Four elderly couples sat together near the front, eating Doc’s famous clam chowder. Michael knew they were regulars who stopped by every Friday at four before a senior dance class nearby. A few tourists straggled in, taking shelter from the nipping wind outside, and sat down to enjoy Irish coffees at the bar.

Finn drummed two of his fingers on the table, something he did whenever he was deep in thought. He looked more like a cross between a surfer and a cowboy than a scientist, and at Harvard he had broken almost every girl’s heart with his green eyes, long blond hair, and playful charisma. He finished his beer, gave a monstrous burp, and waited for the others’ groans to subside before announcing, “I think we all should try it.”

“What a great suggestion, Dixie. Sterling scientific process we’ve got going.” Conrad raised his beer in mock solidarity.

Finn slammed down his glass. “I am tired of your holier-than-thou bullshit, Doodle Dick.”

“And maybe I’m not ready to throw away my career for a bunch of hallucinations. The sixties are over, people, get a grip.”

“Guys, please.” Diana touched Finn’s arm. “Finn, I actually agree with you. I say we all try it and see what happens.”

Finn gave Diana a silent nod of agreement, which did not surprise Michael. They had been close friends for years. Both from small rural towns—Diana from Wyoming and Finn from Texas—they had felt an immediate affinity since the day they arrived at Harvard. Both shared a daredevil streak, and within a week of meeting they had talked each other into going hang gliding in the Berkshires. Michael had known they would both be more than willing to jump into the abyss with him.

He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Diana pounced. “Why? You were so quick to assure us it was harmless when it was just you.”

Michael had not told any of them the full truth yet, not even Diana. It was now or never. “I can’t just recite the Hexapla. I remember writing it.” There was a pregnant pause—everyone was speechless.

Conrad looked predatory. “Care to elaborate, Mike?”

“Yes, please do.” Diana sat back and cocked her head to the side. Michael knew that look. He would have hell to pay later.

“I’m sorry. I needed time to process everything before I could explain.” He took a deep breath. “I experienced a series of visions … It felt like I lived the life of a priest in third-century Rome.”

The team was silent. Finn found his voice first. “You’re saying you recalled the memories of a Roman priest?”

Conrad took off his eyeglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And now you think you’re him? Can I get communion?”

“No, I don’t think I’m him,” Michael said, measuring his words carefully. “But the fact is I experienced the lifetime of someone named Origenes Adamantius. The man wrote thousands of works, including comparative studies of various translations of the Old Testament. I’ve never even picked up a Bible, but now I could be a scholar of several versions. This is not my imagination,” he stressed. “I went to the library. I remember everything just as he wrote it.”

No one spoke for a long minute. The only sound was Finn drumming his fingers on the table. He broke the silence first, “Chief, we need to set up tests for you and record the hell out of this.”

Diana gave Michael’s arm a little pinch. “Ow.” He rubbed his skin.

“Quit holding back,” she threatened.

Michael smiled. She knew him so well. There was nothing to do but drop the next bomb. “I’m now fluent in several languages.”

Conrad finished his beer in one gulp. “Can you fly too, Superman?”

Michael couldn’t help but laugh at that, and he felt some of his tension release. It was true that he did feel a strange new power and wisdom. No one else on Earth possessed the firsthand knowledge of what it was like to live in ancient Rome. “I know it sounds crazy, but I can read, write, and speak ancient Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. I also know some Egyptian.”