Doctor Fordjuor had fixed a session for both of them this morning. Expectant and upbeat, Dome washed down quickly with so much vigour that he almost tore his shirt. What is on her mind right now? How will she receive me? What is the doctor going to say?
Mamle sat before Doctor Fordjuor, her eyes fixated on something imaginary, her lips cracked like a crumpled sheet of paper, her hair unkempt. Dome kept ogling at her.
"Doctor, who is this man sitting before me?" she finally asked. "He keeps staring at me. Have I done anything wrong? Do I owe him or is he taking me home?" Dome felt hope rising within him, yet some of her words did not make sense.
When are you going to say my name, Mamle? Doctor Fordjuor and Dome ogled at each other. At the end of today's session, Doctor Fordjuor asked to see Dome in private.
"I think you should do the things you used to do with her before both of you ended up in this place," he said. "In that way, you'll be knitted together through a series of memories and then, one day it will click. That's how the mind works."
"Thanks, Doctor."
Dome was at Mamle's door early today, willing to follow Doctor Fodjuor's advice. The first person at her door and the last to leave was his resolution. Even the nurses could not compete with his determination.