“Yes, Mr. Tanner?”

“There’s an election coming up next month,” I said, “although the result looks like a foregone conclusion. But have I been out of it for a full month?”

“Does that seem possible to you?”

“No,” I said, “but neither does having a quiet drink with a friend” – I almost said comrade, but how would that go over with a pair of Republicans? – “and waking up here. Did they have the election already? And did McGovern somehow put it all together and come out on top?”

They looked at each other again.

“Just a few more questions,” the doctor began, but I wasn’t having any.

“No,” I said, “you answer a question for a change. Did they have the election?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus God. Did McGovern win?”

“No. Nixon carried every state but one.”

“Which one?”

“ Massachusetts.”

“God bless Massachusetts,” I said.

The woman said, “Do you feel all right, Mr. Tanner?”

“You people keep asking me that. I feel fine.”

“You’re holding yourself,” she said, “as if something’s wrong.”

I hadn’t noticed, but she was right. I had my arms folded, with each hand fastened on the opposite upper arm. For warmth, I realized.

“Now that you mention it,” I said, “I’m a little chilly.”

“The room’s quite warm,” she said.

“The room’s warm,” I allowed, “but I’m not. I feel chilled on the inside.”

“On the inside?”

“My bones feel cold,” I said. “The rest of me feels warm enough.”

“Have you ever felt like that before?”

“Not that I remember,” I said, “but then I don’t remember the presidential election, so who’s to say what else might have slipped my mind? He’s still president, is he? Dick Nixon?”

They hesitated, and that was answer enough. “My God,” I said, “he’s not, is he? Don’t tell me there’s been another assassination.”