“How do you feel, Mr. Tanner?”

“I feel fine,” I said.

“Any pain? Dizziness? Anything of the sort?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said. I was still lying flat on my back, and it somehow had not occurred to me to sit up. It did now. I sat up a little creakily – you’d have thought I’d been lying down forever – and the woman’s eyes widened. I’m just sitting up in bed, I wanted to tell her. Don’t act like I’m Lazarus, takething up his bed and walkething.

“Still no dizziness, Mr. Tanner?”

“No.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” I agreed. “But I’ve got a few questions of my own, and if you don’t mind-”

“I’m sure you do,” he said. “But let’s take mine first, shall we?” He brandished a clipboard. “Forms to fill out, you know. And once that’s out of the way I’ll be better able to answer your questions.”

I nodded.

“Can you tell me the date?”

“Today’s date?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” I said. “The last I knew it was Tuesday, October fifth. I drank a glass of brandy. It wasn’t enough to get me drunk, so my guess is there was something in it to knock me out. And it feels as though it all happened an hour or two ago, but in that case I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be making a fuss over me. I’d have to guess that I’ve been unconscious for several days, so… do you want me to take a wild guess? I’m going to say it’s Friday, Friday the eighth of October.”

“And the year?”

“The year?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“That’s the sort of thing they ask people who’ve been hit over the head, to find out just how scrambled their brains are. Mine aren’t scrambled at all, or even shirred or poached, as far as I can tell. It’s 1972.”

“ 1972.”

“Uh-huh. Next I suppose you’re going to ask me who’s president.”

“And what would your answer be?”

“The trickster himself,” I said.

The woman looked puzzled. “The trickster?”

God, were they Republicans? But even a Republican would have had to have heard that sobriquet applied to our Gallant Leader. “Tricky Dick,” I said. “Richard M. Nixon. Only… wait a minute.”