Inexorable fact:
  old age memory fades.

As long as it does not concern you, it sounds ordinary commonplace. When it starts to touch you, it sounds like the opening.

God knows just what is being done with the memory.

Sometimes I suddenly remember the name of the famous actor who knew all my life. Or the name of the island on which rested in the past year. I was horrified to look forward to the day when forget the name of his wife. The only hope that she forgets to this day is mine.

In the morning, I take two tablets, two different vitamin, which should strengthen my failing memory. Tablets are great and they have to take turns. First, I take one tablet, drink orange juice. Then take a second and also wash down. Then I'm trying to remember if I took the first pill or not. While I was tormented by this question, I forget, I took a second.

After some time, I find a solution. I do like this: before you take the pill, I have them both spread on the table. And only then accept. Now everything is clear: if the table is two tablets, so I have not tried them. If one, then another, I had already made. If no, then I took both. I rejoice their victory over the flagging memory. But not for long. Then I start to think painfully, if not on the table a single pill, does that mean that I received them or not yet spread?

A truly radical solution to the problem comes later, and costs me 99 cents. This - plastic box, invented by some obscure genius of private enterprise. In a box of seven departments, the number of days in a week, and each branch is designated S, M, T, and so on. As all ingenious idea of humiliating simple. Now you can remember nothing. Earlier this week, I fill the box with their medications, and further every day devastate one branch corresponding to the day of the week. What day of the week - also remember not required. You can always look at the calendar, or turn on the TV.

Here I see your smile and hear ironic sarcastic remarks: and do you remember where hangs a calendar or turns on the TV? Oh, throw your inappropriate irony, ladies and gentlemen! Of course I remember! And if not, you can always ask my wife.

Speaking of his wife. She cries out to me from the bedroom:

- Honey, go, please, to the kitchen and bring me an apple!

- Okay! - Willing to answer and I'm going to the kitchen.

There I first take their vitamins (now I do not get them mixed up, I took them or not, thanks to the genius of unacknowledged plastic boxes). Then open the refrigerator for a long time staring into his insidious inside, wondering what I could eat. Finally, deciding that there is still early, close the fridge and go back to his wife.

- Brought? - She said, not looking up from his book.

- Brought what?

- What I asked you.

- Oh, it's ... I'm sorry, dear, I forgot.

- So go, bring.

- What to bring?

- Well, it most. What I asked you.

- And what you asked?

- What a nightmare! - Screaming wife simmer righteous anger. - Just the thing you can not remember! Okay, you can not bring anything!

In her sincere indignation, I understand that she, too, had forgotten that it asked me to bring, but does not want to admit it.

However, she did not forget everything. For example, she does not forget to go to California for a week to visit her daughter. And then I'll stay home alone in the entrancing alone.

On the third day of his loneliness I notice that in front of my house there is a white car. I'm trying to remember if she was here yesterday. It seems so, stood. Actually, on our quiet street not worth the machine. We all have garages, and if guests arrive, they put the car in front of the house, where we arrived. And on the same day leave. Why the owner of this white car took to put it in front of my house? Who and why he came back home does not leave? I was beginning to disturb it. Throughout the day, I, unwittingly, every minute walk up to the window. The machine is not going away.

So the day passed, and the next morning I forget about the white car. I wake up in a good mood. It turns out that it is sometimes useful to have a bad memory. But after breakfast I accidentally throw a glance out the window, and I break through cold sweat. The machine stands in the same place. Here my soul creeps paranoia, and the brain begin to drill vile thoughts about terrorism, covert surveillance, the KGB (or how much it's called now). I decide to call the police.

In our quiet town of great police. They have nothing to do, and they are willing to respond to any call. I share with them their concerns about a suspicious car. Police met with my message, turning into enthusiasm.

- Stay where you are, sir, - tells me joyful baritone. - Lock all doors and in any case do not come to the window. We will immediately send a police outfit.

And really, does not go five minutes to my house drove a police car, and from it come out two tall handsome man in uniform. They deliberately bypass the mysterious white car, light a lantern on it, though on the street a bright sunny day, and something to write. Then unlock it using a long steel ruler, sit inside, get a phone call and again something written.

It takes a half an hour, and finally they get out of the car and knock on the door of my house. I invite them to the living room, please sit down. They politely presented: Sergeant Jackson, very nice, Sergeant Rutkowski, very nice. They complain about the hot weather, ask me about health and about my family. They are clearly in no hurry to get to the point at which arrived. They behave as if came to tell me about the death of a close relative. Finally, Sergeant Jackson said:

- Sir, we have established the identity and address of the owner of this car.

- Wonderful! - I cry and shake their hands stuck to sergeant. - Please immediately arrest the villain! Let deigns to explain why he keeps his rotten car at my house!

But Sergeant Jackson does not share my impulse.

- Sir, - he said sadly - it's your car.

- Pardon?

- Your car - Sergeant Rutkowski repeats without showing emotion. - Honda Accord, registered in your name, your address.

- Sergeant - I say. - You are a smart man, but I'm just disgusted your listening. I'm still a little bit older than you. I have two grown children and several grandchildren, not counting granddaughters. And on your part very ugly to take me for an idiot. My car is in the garage.

- Yeah, - understandingly said Sgt. - You can look at it?

- If you've never seen Toyota, please, please pass me - I say, oozing sarcasm.

I open the door to the garage, turn on the light, and I was once again break through cold sweat. Garage is empty. I'm pale and reach for the heart.

- Sir! - Screaming sergeants, catching me by the arm. - Are you all right, sir? Bring cold water?

- Stolen! - I whisper. - Kidnapped! Call the police!

- No need to call, sir! We are already here.

- Yes, yes, of course - I say, coming to himself. I was a little forgotten about you. Ask immediately make a proper act and begin to search for my stolen car.

- Sir, - says Sergeant Jackson - your machine already found. She stands in front of the house.

I say:

- To keep your machine so you stood in front of the house, Sergeant! My car - a blue Toyota, and you tell me some slips white Honda.

- You know what ... - trying to tell Sergeant Rutkowski, but Sergeant Jackson just closes his mouth.

- Yes, of course - he says. - We will now begin the search for your car. We will keep you informed. Have a nice day.

The police leave, but I'm starting to look for the keys to his blue Toyota. Key nowhere. It becomes clear that the kidnappers made their way into the house and stole the keys and use them stole my car. I'm starting to think about whether to call his wife and tell her about what happened. After a moment's thought, I come to a compromise solution: to call, but do not tell.

First, we discuss the school success of our grandchildren, then the weather in California, and finally, I say, as if in passing:

- Honey, you happen to remember where are the keys to a Toyota?

- From a Toyota? - Asks his wife, and her voice sounded notes of suspicion.

- From our blue Toyota.

Wife while breathing heavily into the phone.

- Honey - she said furiously, - we sold a blue Toyota three years ago and bought a white Honda.

Well, at this point it does not see my face. A voice can be faked. I say, pretending to insignificance and indifference:

- Well, - I say. - I just meant the white Honda. I was just out of habit to call her Toyota.

I think I manage to fool her.

- How would you not call it, the keys are in the bedroom nightstand - says the wife. - And you wanted to put the car in front of the house, not to forget to meet me when I arrive home. Do you remember that?

- And how! You know that I do not forget.

Goes another day, and I forget about the two sergeants, and about the car, which was found to belong to me, and standing there, where there should be. Again I wake up in a good mood, thanks to my worthless memory. But after breakfast I accidentally throw a glance out the window ... and I was again thrown into a cold sweat. Machines in front of house no. "Yeah - I think straight. - I guess I surpassed it in the garage and forget about it. I go to the garage, and I was thrown from the cold in the heat. Garage is empty.

The next two hours I lay on the couch, stare numbly at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what is happening. My thoughts are interrupted by fruitless phone call.

- Speak of the police department, - announces familiar joyful baritone. - I have good news for you: Your car was found. It is delivered to our department. Signs, however, do not match. It is not blue, and white, and Toyota and Honda. But according to the documents it is your machine. Congratulations.

- Thank you - I say sadly. - Actually, it does not lose ...

- As it is not to lose? - Resentfully interrupted joyful baritone. - Do not you declared it stolen?

I say:

- I mean, yes, of course, lost. But not right away. It is, in fact, as if at first found, and then later lost, you know? Do not you understand? This I have such English. How would you explain it ... When I said the theft, I was referring to the blue Toyota, which I really do not.

- I understand you - agrees baritone. - Your English is just gorgeous. Much better than my Polish. We will continue immediately wanted a blue Toyota.

- Do not, do not! - I scream. - I am quite happy with the white Honda! And I'm not a Pole. When you will bring my car?

- I am afraid that today we can not - distressed baritone. - All on the road. I think that tomorrow, in the afternoon. It does?

I generously agree:

- It'S Nothing. I'm not in a hurry. God bless you. Hello sergeants Johnson and Berkovskii.

- Thank U. We have, however, there are none, but I will certainly convey greetings to all sergeants.

I finally calm down, take your vitamins and go to bed with satisfaction. All problems are solved.

Wakes me in the morning phone call. Calls his wife.

- Good morning, dear, - I say gently. - How's the weather in California?

- I hope you dried up from its forecast in California! - My wife says, clearly holding back from more expressive vocabulary. - I'm already an hour at the airport and waiting for you behind me were coming!

- Of course, dear! - I scream in fright. - Now get dressed and drive!

Then I glance out the window, and the events of yesterday come up in my weakening memory. I say with relief:

- That is, of course, I get dressed, my dear, but not going anywhere. Our car was stolen.

- How was stolen? - Screaming wife. - Razzyava miserable! Shlemazel! One day you can not leave!

I think she gave me an idea.

- Yes I Do? - I said sarcastically, in a calm voice. - And who told me to put the car on the street? Huh? That's right. Take a taxi and come home.

By the evening of normal life back to our peaceful home. I watch the news on TV, and his wife, tired of the way, in the bedroom reading Agatha Christie. In the commercial breaks I go to visit her.

- Honey - she says - that I lie and think, as the police could so quickly find our car?

- Very simple - I say. - Because I suggested to them where to look. Without me, they did nothing.

- What I clever! - My wife says, looking at me with love. - Go to the kitchen and bring me an apple.

- Of course, dear.

I tear off a piece of paper, write on it "apple" and go to the kitchen.