The Second Coming
the young people and not so young he saw in town who lay about at their ease, good-humored and content as cats but also somewhat slack-jawed and bemused, who looked as if they could be doing the same thing ten years from now and not discontented then eitherâwould he have been better off? Who knows?
At least he probably would not be falling down on golf courses and recalling odd bits and pieces of the past.
Lately he remembered everything. His symptom, if it was a symptom, was the opposite of amnesia, a condition as far as I known unnamed by medical science.
Everything reminded him of something else.
A whiff of rabbit tobacco in North Carolina reminded him of Ethel Rosenblum and a patch of weeds in Mississippi.
An odd-shaped cloud in the blue Carolina sky reminded him of a missing tile in the Columbus Circle subway station, which marked the spot where he often stood to catch the Eighth Avenue Express to Macyâs. The tile had been broken out except for a strip at the top, which left a grayish concrete area shaped like Utah.
Yes, he must have fallen down in the fairway, for now Vance had him by the arm in some kind of expert doctorâs double grip which holds you erect without seeming to.
âThat was quite a shot.â
âDid you see the ball?â
âItâs a gimme. I been meaning to talk to you.â
âOkay. Talk.â
âNot here. Come see me at my office.â
âWhy?â
âI think something is wrong with you.â
âWhy?â
âPeople donât fall down in the middle of the fairway.â
âI was thinking of something.â
âYou thought of something and fell down.â
âThatâs right.â
âYou been acting a little off your feed. You worried about anything?â
âNo.â
âDid those sleeping pills I gave you help?â
âYes. No, I didnât take them.â
âYou havenât been with us for some time.â
âUs?â
âUs. Your family, your friends.â
âHowâs that?â
âYou donât say anything. And what you say is strange.â
âSuch as?â
âYou asked me if I remembered a movie actor named Ross Alexander. I said no. You let it go at that. Then you asked me if Groucho Marx was dead. Then you asked me if the tendency to suicide is inherited. Do you remember?â
âYes. You didnât answer.â
âI didnât know. Are you feeling depressed?â
âNo.â
âWhat were you thinking about a minute ago after you hit that three-wood?â
âI was thinking about a girl I once knew.â
âThen Iâll stop worrying about you.â
âLetâs putt out.â
âOkay.â
âNo, wait.â And again he went into one of his spells, a âpetty-mall tranceâ his doctor friend called them. They were sitting in the cart. He sat perfectly still for perhaps five seconds, which was long enough for the doctor to smile uneasily, then frown and lean over the seat to touch him.
âWhat is it, Will?â
âI just realized a strange thing.â
âWhatâs that?â
âThere are no Jews up here.â
âJews?â
âIâve been living here for two years and have never seen a Jew. Arabs, but no Jews. When I used to come here in the summer years ago, there used to be Jews here. Isnât that strange?â
âI hadnât thought about it. Hm.â Dr. Vance knitted his brow and pretended to think but his eyes never left the otherâs face. âInteresting! Maybe theyâve all gone to Washington, ha ha.â
âCome to think of it, how many Jews are left in the state of North Carolina?â
âLeft? Have they been leaving? I hadnât noticed. Hm.â Again Dr. Vance frowned and appeared to be searching his memory.
âThink about it. Werenât there Jews here earlier? Youâre a native.â
âWell, there was Dr. Weiss and Dutch Mandelbaum in high school who played tackle.â
âTheyâre not here now?â
âNo.â
âYou see.â
âSee what?â
âYou know, my wife, who was very religious, believed that the Jews are a sign.â
âA sign of what?â
âA sign of Godâs plan working out.â
âIs that so?â Vanceâs eyes strayed to his wristwatch. He pretended to brush off a fly.
âBut what about the absence of Jews? The departure
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