“I knew he was sober when he left Monday night. By Tuesday night he must have been pretty high.”

I sipped my coffee. Today it tasted different, and better, as if memories of some Monk staple foods had worked their way as overtones into my taste buds.

Morris said, “And you didn’t know it.”

“Know it? I was counting on his sense of responsibility!”

Morris shook his head in pity, except that he seemed to be grinning inside.

“We talked some more after that—and I took some more pills.”

“Why?”

“I was high on the first one.”

“It made you drunk?”

“Not drunk, but I couldn’t think straight. My head was full of Monk words all trying to fit themselves to meanings. I was dizzy with nonhuman images and words I couldn’t pronounce.”

“Just how many pills did you take?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Swell.”

An image surfaced. “I do remember saying, ‘But how about something unusual? Really unusual.’ ”

Morris was no longer amused. “You’re lucky you can still talk. The chances you took, you should be a drooling idiot this morning!”

“It seemed reasonable at the time.”

“You don’t remember how many pills you took?”

I shook my head. Maybe the motion jarred something loose. “That bottle of little triangular pills. I know what they were. Memory erasers.”

“Good God! You didn’t…”

“No, no, Morris. They don’t erase your whole memory. They erase pill memories. The RNA in a Monk memory pill is tagged somehow, so that the eraser pill can pick it out and break it down.”

Morris gaped. Presently he said, “That’s incredible. The education pills are wild enough, but that … You see what they must do, don’t you? They hang a radical on each and every RNA molecule in each and every education pill. The active principle in the eraser pill is an enzyme for just that radical.”