Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha
She's hitting him with a string of questions in such a manner, rapid-fire, one after another, that he can barely pay attention to the current one before the next one pushes it out of the way and demands his attention for a split second. And, of course, they're all very simple, easy to answer questions, brimming with curiosity and innocence, because she seems like a curious and innocent little girl with a simple mind. His name, his age, what's he doing and why, if he's with the youkai, and then-
"What food do you like?"
The nature of that question and the one that follows-
"Do you like squash?"
-is what catches him off-guard.
He's pretty certain he can guess his own age, and he damn well knows his name. He's been assigned her guard and he's certain he has at least a clue as to why. He's not 'with' the youkai, but he's not not with them either- he pretty much has no choice in the matter.
But for just a moment he wonders how he would answer the next question, were he so inclined. What food does he like? And is squash one of them? He quickly runs down the corridor of memories inside his head, but every single doorway is slammed shut and locked. No amount of rapping his fists upon the walls will ever break them down. Both the good and the bad memories and all knowledge of himself are locked away, and when he tries to imagine if he's one for strawberries or melon or poultry or just a nice hot bowl of stew- well, he simply can't remember.
It seems that rather than being selective, his memory erasure is indiscriminate.
But she's staring at him curiously, so he says, "You speak a lot, huh?"