I whipped around to Susan and saw she was looking the other way. I elbowed her hard and she cried out. “Susan! Susan!”

“What? Why did you do that? It hurt!”

“Look! Look!”

“So what? Why did you hit me?”

The singers passed us singing R-E-S-P-E-C-T...

“That dog is singing!”

“Yes, and?”

“When did they teach dogs to sing?”

She rubbed her arm. “Years ago. I don’t know when. Ask Floon. They invented the stuff.”

“What stuff? To make dogs talk?”

She must have remembered I had Alzheimer’s because she stopped looking angry. “No. But you can give them stuff that makes them learn things. Like how to sing or say certain phrases.”

“Jesus! Why would you do that?”

“For fun. I don’t know. I hate dogs.”

As a kid I used to eat as fast as I could. My parents would say slow down, slow down or you’re going to throw up. But there was always someplace important to go or someone to see and food was only fuel to get me there. As a result I often ate so fast I’d get a stomachache that lasted hours. Sitting with Susan on that bench in Vienna, in a world where Rottweilers sang Aretha Franklin and people passed with bowling balls on their heads I had the same feeling; only this time the ache was in my head and not my guts.

“I wanna go home.”

Susan nodded and sighed. Little did she know to what home I was referring.

“When did you and I get married?”

Wrong question to ask. She didn’t answer and only when I turned did I see she was crying.

When she finally spoke, her voice was bitter. “I thought everything would now finally work out. Stupid me, eh? Stupid me! Do you realize I have loved you my whole life? My whole damned life you’ve been stuck in me like a piece of meat between my teeth I can’t get out. But finally finally I thought we were home free. I waited my whole life for you. I fought and I was patient and I never gave up hope because I just knew one day I’d prevail. I honestly believe life makes sense if you’re patient. And I was, Frannie! All those years I waited for you like the girl in a corner waiting to be asked to dance. When you asked me to marry you—”

“I did?”

“Yes you did, damn it! Please don’t tell me you forgot that too. I think I’ve been humiliated enough for one morning. When you asked, I thought: fifty years too late but why the hell not? I’ve loved the idiot all this time so why not finish the party with him? One great last hurrah before...

“I’m going back to the hotel and lie down. Go to a pharmacy or whatever they call them here and ask for Tapsodil. I’m sure they’ll have it.” She stood up and rubbed her arm some more.

“Don’t go, Susan. Let’s have this day together and be happy. Everything’s my fault and I apologize. We’ll do the town.” I moved to stand up but my lower body promptly reminded me I was an old geezer. My legs were uncooperative. Cursing quietly, I rocked back and forth twice to gain momentum and only then was able to rise. “I’m not good at being old.”

“You still look pretty cute to me, husband. And I want to tell you a secret. Do you know what made me love you most of all? I always had a thing for you, sure, but the thing that really hooked me?”

“Tell.”

“How wonderfully you cared for Magda when she was dying. I’d never seen that side of you, Frannie. I never thought you had it in you.”

Hearing those terrible words, hearing that my Magda died was as bad as if it had just happened. What immediately came to mind was the conversation I’d had with George when I told him I had never loved anyone enough to fear losing them. But now, in this strange no-man’s-land time, I realized I had never been more wrong about anything in my whole life. Knowing Magda would die before me was unbearable.

“When, Susan? When did she die?”

She made a worried face and moved to go. “We have to get you those pills.”

I stepped in front of her. “When?”

“On my forty-eighth birthday. I’ll never forget it.”

Magda would be dead in less than two years.

What happened next almost saved me and the rest of my life a lot of trouble. Almost. We found an apotheke and Susan bought some of the Alzheimer’s medicine for me. I didn’t watch the transaction because I was too busy looking around the place, trying to familiarize myself with a world thirty years my senior. This drugstore looked pretty typical except for some futuristic gadgets on display that did God only knows what to repair and improve human life. If they’d spoken English there I’d have asked, but my German vocabulary consisted solely of ja and nein. Walking out of there, we almost bumped into another Pod Person– this time wearing white.

“All right, what the hell is he learning with that thing on his head?”

“White is for memory recall. It allows you to relive any part of your life that you choose in perfect detail. It’s mostly used by psychologists in therapy; and by the police in criminal investigations.”

My mind went hooray! I’d hit the mother lode, the bull’s-eye, and the way home with one question. I could barely keep the excitement out of my voice. “You put that thing on your head and you can remember your life? The whole thing? Everything that happened?”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t want to do it.”

“I would! Right now! Where can I get one?”

“Frannie, if you take these pills you’ll be fine in a few days. Your memory will return, I promise.”

“I don’t want an old man’s memory—I want my whole life! Where can I get one?” I couldn’t believe my good luck. All I had to do was strap that stupid-looking ball over my head and I’d have all the answers I needed. Then when I was sent back to my time I’d know exactly what was going on and what to do.

“They sell the white ones at Giorgio Armani stores.”

“Armani? The fashion designer?”

“Yes.”

“They sell a machine at a clothes store that brings back your memory? Why there?”

Susan thought, shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“This is a weird-ass time! Maybe memory’s considered a fashion accessory. Who cares—let’s go.”

With lots of questions, shrugs, and hand gestures, we eventually found someone who spoke English and knew the way. They directed us to a small side street off one of the main drags. There, behind a door guarded by two men in what appeared to be Kevlar vests, was the Armani store.

“Are those guys cops or private security? Why are they wearing protection?”

“There have been so many attacks and bombings, Frannie. I didn’t think it would be as bad here as in America. You take your life in your hands when you go shopping. Forget going to a mall anymore. Those are war zones. Remember what happened in Crane’s View?”

The guards came to attention as we approached. Susan lifted her arms from her sides like wings and gestured for me to do the same. One guy ran a wand around our bodies like security people do at an airport when your pocket change sets off the alarm. I couldn’t believe it. All this because we wanted to shop? When the electronic frisk was done, Susan took what looked like a credit card out of her pocket and handed it over. One guard inserted it in a small black box he wore at his waist. At once a small peep peeped. He moved out of the way, allowing us to enter.

Once inside I kept staring at them through the window. They were not your typical rent-a-cop chubsters. Both men looked fit enough to wrestle alligators and win.

I was about to bombard Susan with more questions but a saleswoman came up to us. She spoke perfect English and actually bowed slightly when asked if she had a “Bic white.”

I waited till she was gone before asking. “Bic white? That’s what they’re called?”

“Red, white—you ask for the color.”

“But it’s really Bic, the makers of the cheapo pen? The throw-away razor?”

“Yes, it’s the same company.”