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 either—would 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 Macy’s. 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 doctor’s double grip which holds you erect without seeming to.
    â€œThat was quite a shot.”
    â€œDid you see the ball?”
    â€œIt’s a gimme. I been meaning to talk to you.”
    â€œOkay. Talk.”
    â€œNot here. Come see me at my office.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI think something is wrong with you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œPeople don’t fall down in the middle of the fairway.”
    â€œI was thinking of something.”
    â€œYou thought of something and fell down.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œYou been acting a little off your feed. You worried about anything?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid those sleeping pills I gave you help?”
    â€œYes. No, I didn’t take them.”
    â€œYou haven’t been with us for some time.”
    â€œUs?”
    â€œUs. Your family, your friends.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œYou don’t say anything. And what you say is strange.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œYou 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€œYes. You didn’t answer.”
    â€œI didn’t know. Are you feeling depressed?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat were you thinking about a minute ago after you hit that three-wood?”
    â€œI was thinking about a girl I once knew.”
    â€œThen I’ll stop worrying about you.”
    â€œLet’s putt out.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œNo, wait.” And again he went into one of his spells, a “petty-mall trance” 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.
    â€œWhat is it, Will?”
    â€œI just realized a strange thing.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThere are no Jews up here.”
    â€œJews?”
    â€œI’ve 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. Isn’t that strange?”
    â€œI hadn’t thought about it. Hm.” Dr. Vance knitted his brow and pretended to think but his eyes never left the other’s face. “Interesting! Maybe they’ve all gone to Washington, ha ha.”
    â€œCome to think of it, how many Jews are left in the state of North Carolina?”
    â€œLeft? Have they been leaving? I hadn’t noticed. Hm.” Again Dr. Vance frowned and appeared to be searching his memory.
    â€œThink about it. Weren’t there Jews here earlier? You’re a native.”
    â€œWell, there was Dr. Weiss and Dutch Mandelbaum in high school who played tackle.”
    â€œThey’re not here now?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou see.”
    â€œSee what?”
    â€œYou know, my wife, who was very religious, believed that the Jews are a sign.”
    â€œA sign of what?”
    â€œA sign of God’s plan working out.”
    â€œIs that so?” Vance’s eyes strayed to his wristwatch. He pretended to brush off a fly.
    â€œBut what about the absence of Jews? The departure