February 1997. ‘All this with two women is going to end in tears,’ says Max’s mind.
‘I know,’ says Max. ‘I’ll have to sort myself out. I’ve been wondering, if I were writing about a guy in this situation, what would be the worst that could happen?’
‘Well, he could lose his Lola, couldn’t he. What could be worse than that?’
‘Lola isn’t with him every moment,’ says Max. ‘Much of her presence, her belovedness, is in his memory. And out of his memory comes his anticipation of the next time with her. If Lola leaves him he can still remember her. But if he loses his memory he loses her completely. So that’s even worse. Maybe I could use that in a novel.’
‘There might be some mileage in it,’ says his mind.
‘In Hindu mythology,’ says Max, ‘there’s a dwarf demon of Forgetfulness called Apasmara Purusha. If this guy’s Lola gets really pissed off she might find a way of putting Apasmara on to him to wipe out the memory of her.’
‘That’s really nasty,’ says his mind. ‘I like it. But what would get her that pissed off? Would sleeping with another woman one time do it?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Max. ‘It was just a passing thought. I doubt that I’ll do anything with it – I’m not sure I like this guy well enough to write about him.’