“ Clinton.”

“ Clinton? DeWitt Clinton was governor of New York State back in the nineteenth century. He dug the Erie Canal. Well, not personally, but you know what I mean.” They were exchanging glances again, and I began to wonder if this place was in fact a mental hospital. If so, maybe it was where I belonged.

“And there was a George Clinton,” I said. “I think he was a vice-president, but I can’t remember who he served under. Has this Clinton got a first name?”

“Bill.”

“Bill Clinton,” I said. “Never heard of him.”

“He was governor of Arkansas,” the woman said, “before he was elected president.”

“And he succeeded Reagan?”

“First there was Bush,” the man said.

“Bush?”

“George Bush.”

The name was familiar, though I couldn’t think why.

“Bush followed Reagan,” I said, “and Clinton followed Bush.”

“Yes.”

“And Clinton ’s in there now.”

“That’s correct.”

Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, and Clinton. What did that add up to, twenty years? And any or all of them could have had more than a single four-year term, and-

I looked at the backs of my hands. They looked just as I remembered them. No liver spots, no signs of age since I had looked at them last. I looked down at the rest of me and saw that I was wearing a hospital gown. I had somehow failed to notice this until now, but it didn’t come as a great shock. I was, by the looks of things, in a hospital. What else should I be wearing?

I said, “I want a mirror.”

“Mr. Tanner, if you’ll just-”

“No, dammit, I won’t just. Bring me a mirror.” They looked at each other again, damn them. “The hell with it,” I said, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The doctor moved to support me if I fell, but I waved him aside. There was a bathroom, and I walked to it, and there was a mirror over the sink, and, not without trepidation, I looked into it.

And there was my own face staring back at me, looking none the worse for wear. No older, and certainly no wiser.