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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
4
Something
must
have
happened
to
me.
That
something
could
have
been
worse.
If
it
had
gone
a
little
further,
he
might
have
been
left
a
mindless
creature
without
a
language,
unaware
of
being
human,
of
being
a
man,
of
being
of
Earth.
A
certain
amount
had
been
left
to
him.
But
when
he
tried
to
think
beyond
the
basic
facts
in
his
possession,
he
came
to
a
dark
and
horror-filled
area.
Do
Not
Enter.
Exploration
into
his
own
mind
was
as
dangerous
as
a
journey
to--what?
He
couldn't
find
an
analogue,
though
he
suspected
that
many
existed.
I
must
have
been
sick.
That
was
the
only
reasonable
explanation.
He
was
a
man
with
the
recollection
of
memories.
He
must
at
one
time
have
had
that
priceless
wealth
of
recall
which
now
he
could
only
deduce
from
the
limited
evidence
at
his
disposal.
At
one
time
he
must
have
had
specific
memories
of
birds,
trees,
friends,
family,
status,
a
wife
perhaps.
Now
he
could
only
theorize
about
them.
Once
he
had
been
able
to
say,
this
is
like,
or,
that
reminds
me
of.
Now
nothing
reminded
him
of
anything,
and
things
were
only
like
themselves.
He
had
lost
his
powers
of
contrast
and
comparison.
He
could
no
longer
analyze
the
present
in
terms
of
the
experienced
past.
This
must
be
a
hospital.
Of
course.
He
was
being
cared
for
in
this
place.
Kindly
doctors
were
working
to
restore
his
memory,
to
replace
his
identity,
to
restore
his
judgment
apparatus,
to
tell
him
who
and
what
he
was.
It
was
very
good
of
them;
he
felt
tears
of
gratitude
start
in
his
eyes.
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