The man was silent, thinking. He looked up, not in despair, but not accepting all that the said either. "What name? All I know is yours, and those of historical figures."  
"That's deliberate. We don't put names on tapes, because the effects can be misleading. Everyone has thousands of associations, and can mistake the name of a prominent scientist for his own. Names unconsciously arrived at are usually no help at all."
 
"What do I do?" the man said. "If I don't know names, how can I choose one?"
 
"We have a list made up for this purpose. Go through it slowly and consciously. When you come to something you like, take it. If you chance on one that stirs memories, or rather where memories ought to be but aren't, let me know. It may be a lead I can have traced."
 
The man gazed at the counselor. His thought processes were fast, but . He could race along a chain of reasoning and then stumble over a simple fact. The counselor ought to know what he was talking about—this was no occurrence. The police had a lot of experience to the treatment they were giving him. Still, he felt they were mistaken in ways he couldn't .
 
"I'll have to accept it, I suppose," he said. "There's nothing I can do to learn who I was."
 
The counselor shook his head. "Nothing that we can do. The clues are in the structure of your mind, and you have better access to it than we do. Read, think, look. Maybe you'll run across your name. We can take it from there." He paused. "That is, if you're to go ahead."
 
That was a strange thing for a police counselor to say.
 
"Of course I want to know who I am," he said in surprise. "Why shouldn't I?"
 
"I'd rather not mention this, but you ought to know." Borgenese shifted uncomfortably. "One third of the lost identity cases that we solve are self-inflicted. In other words, suicides."