Hippocampus Forgets
by Francis DiClemente
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
My name is Hippocampus, and I am a female hippopotamus residing in Sub-Saharan Africa.
I have a problem. Unlike my elephant friends, who seem to remember everything — every branch, every grazing spot, every peanut, and every hunter who aimed a high-powered rifle at them — I am struggling to recall some critical information. The small memory vault in my brain has become a sieve, and certain facts have slipped through, like hot water being separated from a pot of linguine.
Purdie, my hulking male partner, keeps reminding me that we have four offspring, not three. There is Hymie, Ubal, Serna, and Corpe, our youngest, whom I keep forgetting about. Little Corpe takes offense and often scurries away from the pod, choosing to swim alone downstream.
My memory problems began about a week before Corpe’s fifth birthday.
* * *
“What’s the matter with you, Hippocampus?” asked Purdie one day while we bathed together in the Great Sulwach River. His question came after I forgot to feed Corpe again, and the little one buried himself in the muddy riverbank and whimpered.
“Really, it’s not that hard,” Purdie said. “We have four children. Understand? Four, not three. Count them out with me.” He nodded his head once, and then gave a second head nod, and a third, and a fourth. “One ... two ... three ... four,” Purdie said. “Now please, make a point to remember.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’m just not as evolved as the rest of our species.”
“That’s pure monkey crap,” Purdie said. “You just have to concentrate.”
“I’m trying, Purdie, but it’s no use. I just keep forgetting.”
Purdie kissed my neck and said, “I’m sorry, Hippocampus. I don’t mean to yell at you. But it hurts Corpe when you forget about him. He’s at a fragile age, and he needs his mother’s attention.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “And I love him so much, but for some reason I can’t remember him sometimes.” And then a thought came to my mind, and I retrieved it before it faded to ether and became a muddled, partial memory. “Perhaps we should see Dr. Bayless,” I said. “Maybe he can help.”
“Hmm. Hmm,” Purdie mumbled. “It’s a good idea. It’s a really good idea. Now you’re thinking, honey.”
He kissed my neck again, and we dipped below the surface of the water so we could continue kissing without the little ones seeing us.
That night, after our family moved inland to graze on the tasty short grasses nearby, I prodded Corpe toward a clump of golden bushes so we could talk in private. “I just want to apologize to you, honey, for my forgetfulness,” I said.
Corpe bowed his head and used his snout to push around some stones on the ground.
“Momma loves you so, so much, and I don’t mean to forget about you,” I said. “It’s not right for me to do that, but I’m going to the doctor to see if he can help me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Corpe said, lifting his eyes. “I’m a big hippo.”
“You are indeed,” I said. I nuzzled my head against his soft neck and kissed him. “Now go along to bed, sweetie.”
“Okay, Mom, and thanks for the talk,” Corpe said. He jogged upstream to join the rest of his siblings, who were reclining along the bank of the river. I followed close behind him, making sure no nocturnal predators would try to attack him.
* * *
Purdie and I showed up at Dr. Bayless’s office in the morning. Now you may think hippo physicians do not have offices, but I assure you, Dr. Bayless had one set up in the tall brush near the river. When he saw us, he tipped his black hat and then rubbed the gray whiskers on his wrinkled chin. “It’s so nice to see you both,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Look, doctor,” Purdie said, “Hippocampus is having some memory problems and we’re concerned. She keeps forgetting that we have four children. She thinks we only have three.”
“Well, that’s a little odd,” Dr. Bayless said. “You mean she forgets one of her kids?”
“Yeah, the youngest one, Corpe,” Purdie said. “We can’t figure out what’s wrong with her.”
“All right then, let’s check it out,” Dr. Bayless said. He edged closer to me, looked inside both ears, and tapped the side of my head a few times. He then moved around to the front and, standing a few inches from my face, peered into my eyes. “Well,” he said, “physically you look all right, but I’d like to get some blood and run a scan of your brain.”
Dr. Bayless stomped his right foot on the ground three times and three chimpanzees sprang into action. They dropped from a palm tree planted in the middle of the office and landed on my back. Two little chimps with thick noses, large, floppy ears, and eyes set deep in their skulls inserted small metal devices in my ear canals and snapped pictures of my brain. Another chimp, this one bulkier and wearing black spandex bike pants and a white tank top, slid down my flank and jabbed a needle in my right hoof, drawing blood. I howled in pain.
“Sorry, mam,” the big chimp said, and then he broke into laughter. The two smaller chimps joined in the frivolity. They shrieked even louder, and the big chimp smeared some of the blood onto a large palm frond and handed it to Dr. Bayless.
“That should be all we need,” Dr. Bayless said. He walked over to Purdie, who was lying down in the water, and said, “Look, Purdie, I’d like to talk to Hippocampus alone if that’s all right with you.”
Purdie hoisted himself up to a standing position and said, “Is there anything we need to be concerned about, doc?”
“No. And we won’t even have the test results for a day or two. I just want to ask her a few questions.”
“Look, doc, anything you can do to get her to remember Corpe is fine with me.”
Purdie strolled away from Dr. Bayless’s office area, heading back downstream. Dr. Bayless also sent away his chimp assistants. When we were alone, Dr. Bayless asked, “Is anything troubling you, Hippocampus?”
“No, should I be worried?”
“No, I just thought if something was bothering you, you could tell me. Can you think of any reason why you keep forgetting Corpe?”
“No, that’s what’s so strange, doctor. I think about Purdie and our offspring, and I only remember the first three. Corpe’s image and the recognition that he’s mine just seems to get lost, until Purdie reminds me again. Do you think I’m losing my mind?”
“No, and let’s not panic.” He stepped closer to me, put his ear to my left side, and listened.
“Your heart is strong, and you seem to be in good shape. It’ll take a little while, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. Whatever the case, whether it’s your body or your brain that’s the problem, I’ll be truthful, and we’ll do our best to fix it. You have my word.”
I nodded my head, and tears welled in my eyes. I suddenly felt afraid that my memory lapse could be caused by a serious medical condition that couldn’t be treated or by a psychological break that could rend my family. “Thanks, doctor,” I said as the tears spurted out of my eyes.
“Oh no,” Dr. Bayless said. “Listen, it’s okay to feel sad or nervous about this. I understand. And we should be concerned. But please, don’t panic. We’ll figure it out. You just go back to your family and be strong for the little ones, all four of them.”
“Yes, doctor. Thank you.”
I started moving downstream toward the family camp when Dr. Bayless called out, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I wondered if it was a trick question. Turning back toward him, I said, “I’m not sure.”
“The co-pay is twenty-five bananas. Those chimps get awfully hungry,” Dr. Bayless said. He then smiled at me and said, “Just kidding, Hippocampus. Go home and get some rest.”
* * *
The following afternoon Purdie and I were playing with the kids, kicking around a coconut on a marshland a few hundred feet away from the Great Sulwach. Hymie, Ubal, and I were pitted against Purdie, Serna, and... Oh, you see, I keep forgetting his name. The sun had sunk low on the horizon, but the earth still felt warm beneath my hooves and the wind brushed against my skin. Dusk had always been my favorite time of day. I treasured the chance to rest with the kids, nibble on the dry grasses of the savanna, and take a dip in the river to cool off before bed.
We were not keeping score in our hippo version of soccer, but Purdie, Serna, and the other player were dominating the action. Then our team caught a break. Serna rushed into the open field, dribbling the coconut, and heading straight for our goal. But I stood in the way, and I thrust my rump out and bumped Serna. She stepped on the coconut and the milky juice squirted all over her front legs.
“Mom!” she screamed. “Just look what you made me do.”
“Don’t you blame your mother,” Purdie said. “You were dribbling with your head down again. What did I tell you about that?”
Serna dropped her head while Corpe — that’s him, that’s who the other player was — sneaked up and licked the coconut juice dripping off Serna’s hooves. We all laughed, and I said, “It’s getting late anyway. Time to get ready for dinner and bed.”
The game broke up, and Purdie and I led the kids back to the riverbank to prepare our evening meal; a visitor was waiting for us when we arrived.
“Howdy, folks,” Dr. Bayless said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Well, actually,” Purdie said, “we have to get the kids some supper and get them to sleep.”
“No problem. I just want to have a word with Hippocampus,” Dr. Bayless said.
“Sure, be my guest,” Purdie said. “But don’t expect us to feed you. Filling six hippo mouths is hard enough. Let’s go, kids.” Purdie then directed the children farther downstream, toward a lush eucalyptus tree.
Corpe was the last in line heading toward the tree, and he craned his neck and looked at me. I opened my mouth wide and showed him my teeth. You may not understand what that means, but for us hippos, it’s our version of a smile.
Dr. Bayless waited until the family was out of earshot and then he crept closer to me. “Look, Hippocampus, this won’t take much time. I just wanted to tell you that your brain scan and blood samples were clean. You’re a perfectly healthy hippo. There is no physical reason for your memory lapse, at least that I can see. That’s the good news.”
“So does that mean there is also bad news?” I asked.
“Not necessarily. But we’re no closer to understanding why you’re having memory problems. And like I said, from what I can tell, there’s nothing physically wrong with you.”
“I get it, doctor. You mean it’s all in my head.”
“No, I didn’t say that. But you’re right. There might be a psychological reason for it.”
“Let’s forget it, doctor. I’ll just do a better job of remembering Corpe. And Purdie will keep reminding me.”
“That’s fine. But I want you to see a specialist.”
I lowered my head, gazing at my front hooves to avoid looking at Dr. Bayless’s brown eyes. I also noticed a lot of grit and leaves buried in between my toes. And while I should have been paying attention to Dr. Bayless, instead I was thinking about going down to Hilda’s beauty shop in the morning to get a pedicure. I guess I was just scared and wanted to forget about the severity of my health crisis, if only for a moment.
“Did you hear what I said, Hippocampus?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m just thinking.”
“Okay, well, I know someone who may be able to help you. I did some research, and this doctor has done wonders for other patients suffering from similar conditions. Will you see her?”
“I guess so, if you think it will help.”
“I do,” Dr. Bayless said. And then he handed me a business card. “Her name is Peggy Blankenship. She’s a psychologist who specializes in memory problems. I told her you’d be paying her a visit.”
“All right, if you insist, doctor.”
“I do. Now go tomorrow. She’s located down in Herendon Valley, about two miles from your camp.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said, and the tears came again. I felt as if I had lost all control over myself, like my memories and personality were leaking out of my brain and I could do nothing to plug the hole. I was afraid the part of me that made me me — the Hippocampus I knew inside my soul — would soon vanish. And I wondered, what would happen to Purdie and the kids if I went from being an animal to a vegetable?
While I stood in place and wept, Dr. Bayless stared at me, and it felt like he could read my mind. He was like that sometimes, always a step ahead, as if his brain was half-hippo and half-ape or even half-human.
“Stop your crying, Hippocampus. None of this is your fault, you hear me?”
When I didn’t respond and the tears kept flowing, he began lecturing me. “We’re just animals, animals with a short life span. Our bodies, and yes, our brains too, break down. That’s what happens, it’s unavoidable — unless, of course, we get shot or eaten by other animals. But like I told you before, we’ll figure out your problem. Now you go have a nice dinner with your family. And those are doctor’s orders, got it?”
“Yes, doctor. Thanks for trying to cheer me up.” And I walked away, scanning the horizon of the savanna, making sure no pumas or packs of hyenas were out looking for a taste of hippo meat.
That night I told Purdie about the referral to see Dr. Blankenship. He rubbed his chin and curled his bottom lip as he pondered the situation. “So, Bayless thinks it’s all in your head?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, what the hell does he know?”
“He’s the doctor, honey. He should know. And I need to see this woman. I have to get some answers.”
“All right. We’ll go in the morning.”
* * *
Copyright © 2023 by Francis DiClemente
