There was a white thing on the surface in front of him. Its outside tapered at the bottom and was open at the top.
“Hat,” he said. The word meant something, but he couldn’t remember what.
The woman handed him the thing. “Drink,” she said.
Actions he understood, and he drank. But the names of things swirled around him like a flock of flying things, and he couldn’t restore any to the places where it should roost.
He knew he loved the woman, but couldn’t remember what to call her.
“Knife,” he said.