Peter, the new tenant here at Villa Kampung Kumpul, wanted to know where I got my easy chair and how much I had paid for it. I told him with the utmost confidence that I did not know, for my ex-wife, Louis, had found and purchased the chair somewhere in Denpasar. I told Peter that I would contact her for the details.
Much to my surprise, Louis, long distance from Brunei, informed me that I myself had bought the chair.
"No I didn't," I confidently argued. "You and Wayne got the chair and brought it to the house."
"No," she said. "You bought the chair at some store on Gatot Subroto. I was with you. Wayne wasn't there. You picked out the chair yourself."
I have no recollection of this whatsoever. And yet, she would certainly have no reason to lie. How can it be? My mind had replaced an actual event with an invented one wherein she and Wayne had gone out and bought a chair and brought it to the house (I was in Renon at that time). I knew this falsehood to be absolutely true.
It is one thing to have forgotten an event, but quite another to have invented a alternative scenario in its place. How does that happen? Does it seem convenient in the forgetful mind to instantly construct a series of particulars in order to protect itself from the admission that something is broken? True, the selection and purchase of a chair is not an earthshaking event--nonetheless, Louis had remembered it truly, despite the fact that it was not her chair, not her choice, and not her expense.
These sorts of things both irritate and fascinate me. How strange it is to discover one's own actions through a series of interviews, the testimony of others. The more I got accustomed to Louis' story, the more I realized that it was quite true. Actual particulars were inspired in my mind through her description, her narrative, and I knew, piece-by-piece, that these things had happened just in the way she described. Moreover, I was able to fill in a further detail--that being that we had actually fit the chair into the back of her economy-size station wagon, brought it to the house, and I myself had carried it inside. How had this been replaced by an uninvolved role on my part, by the idea, the sureness, that the chair had been delivered and installed in the front room without my lifting a finger?
Weird.
My son had an eidetic memory. How did that happen? Is eidetic memory inherited? Well, not from me, anyway. And not from his mother. Not from anyone I can think of in my family--although my mother was adopted, so who knows?
Holden was able to read something once and then later refer you to a particular passage. In the Bible, for instance. One might mention a certain scripture, not knowing exactly where it was to be found, and he would say, "Ah yes, that's Isaiah chapter twenty-two, verse five, I think." And he thought right, give or take a verse.
It's just as much a mystery to me how his mind did that as it is how my mind invents a false memory.
Much to my surprise, Louis, long distance from Brunei, informed me that I myself had bought the chair.
"No I didn't," I confidently argued. "You and Wayne got the chair and brought it to the house."
"No," she said. "You bought the chair at some store on Gatot Subroto. I was with you. Wayne wasn't there. You picked out the chair yourself."
I have no recollection of this whatsoever. And yet, she would certainly have no reason to lie. How can it be? My mind had replaced an actual event with an invented one wherein she and Wayne had gone out and bought a chair and brought it to the house (I was in Renon at that time). I knew this falsehood to be absolutely true.
It is one thing to have forgotten an event, but quite another to have invented a alternative scenario in its place. How does that happen? Does it seem convenient in the forgetful mind to instantly construct a series of particulars in order to protect itself from the admission that something is broken? True, the selection and purchase of a chair is not an earthshaking event--nonetheless, Louis had remembered it truly, despite the fact that it was not her chair, not her choice, and not her expense.
These sorts of things both irritate and fascinate me. How strange it is to discover one's own actions through a series of interviews, the testimony of others. The more I got accustomed to Louis' story, the more I realized that it was quite true. Actual particulars were inspired in my mind through her description, her narrative, and I knew, piece-by-piece, that these things had happened just in the way she described. Moreover, I was able to fill in a further detail--that being that we had actually fit the chair into the back of her economy-size station wagon, brought it to the house, and I myself had carried it inside. How had this been replaced by an uninvolved role on my part, by the idea, the sureness, that the chair had been delivered and installed in the front room without my lifting a finger?
Weird.
My son had an eidetic memory. How did that happen? Is eidetic memory inherited? Well, not from me, anyway. And not from his mother. Not from anyone I can think of in my family--although my mother was adopted, so who knows?
Holden was able to read something once and then later refer you to a particular passage. In the Bible, for instance. One might mention a certain scripture, not knowing exactly where it was to be found, and he would say, "Ah yes, that's Isaiah chapter twenty-two, verse five, I think." And he thought right, give or take a verse.
It's just as much a mystery to me how his mind did that as it is how my mind invents a false memory.
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