The Reincarnation

David woke again before noon. He had dreamed of a cat whose name he thought was Hammurabi. The cat was lying on a couch in the sunshine. If the cat lifted its head and looked out the window, it would see the marquee of a theater. Do I have a cat? David thought as he slowly awakened. Do I have anything?

“Glad to see you rested.” The doctor was towering over David’s bed. His body blocked out the small amount of light from the window in the door, and the light that spilled around him outlined his frame. The machines that monitored David were drawn into the doctor’s shadowy image, so that the man seemed to be an extension of their boxy frames, a spire rising from the metallic wall the machines made, enclosing David.

The doctor had been waiting in the dark for David to wake up. He was a large man, and the image of his back-lit silhouette pushed away what was left of David’s drowsiness. “Think you can stay awake for a while?” The doctor was eager to talk.

“I’ll try,” David answered, still disturbed by his waking image.

The doctor walked silently to the light switch and turned the overhead lights on. David noticed that the doctor hadn’t shaved, and judged he had been at the Lab all night, perhaps sleeping on the couch again. He sat down on the edge of David’s bed.

“You’ve been sleeping well, letting your brain catch up on its nocturnal activities. I was worried about that. Seems you’ve been enjoying some REM cycle, though.” The doctor was glancing at a chart that was fastened to a clipboard. David surmised it to be an analysis of his sleep patterns, audited and spit out by one of the machines that encircled him.

“Yes, I’ve been dreaming about a cat,” David said, trying to raise his head to get a look at the chart.

“Well, that is good, Dave. That tells me you remember some things about your past, before you were vitrified.” The doctor talked to David as if he was a child, or someone not fully familiar with the English language. David noted this, but almost appreciated his condescending attitude because he could more easily understand the words the man was saying, and attach meaning to them.

“Is there anything else you remember?” The chart was replaced by a fresh sheet of blank paper. The doctor grinned as he held a pen, preparing to write.

“A joke – or at least part of it. The punchline I think.”

“Well, that’s good, too. Humor is such a complicated function of the brain, Dave. Glad to see it’s back.” The doctor scribbled on the paper in illegible doctor scrawl, and put the pen back in his lab coat pocket.

“Let me introduce myself, Dave. I’m Dr. John Persey. You can call me Jack.” The doctor extended his hand to David.

David reached his arthritic hand out. The doctor’s hand was large, but gentle as it enveloped David’s. “David Sperling, Doc, David Sperling.”

His hand continued clutching Dr. Persey’s until the doctor removed it and set it at David’s side.