More Stories from the Twilight Zone Read Free Page A

looking at a sheet on a clipboard. “How is the little woman?”
    â€œSee, that’s just the thing. You know her as
Doctor
Tarnower. You’ve been colleagues at Burgess General Hospital for fifteen years. You and I play golf.”
    â€œI gave up golf years ago, too fat to swing a club. Are you a drinking man, Mr. Tarnower? What you’re describing sounds like symptoms of prolonged alcoholic poisoning. It warps and destroys brain cells.”
    â€œIf you’d asked me that this morning, I’d have told you I drink moderately when I drink at all. Now, for all I know, I’m a hopeless wino. Everything’s upside down.”
    â€œWell, undress and we’ll examine you head to toe. That should help determine whether your complaint is physical or psychological.”
    When it was over, Herb sat up in his paper robe while Sprague folded his stethoscope. “You’re a long way from a wreck. You could lose a few pounds, but look who’s talking. Tell me some more about these illusions you’ve been having.”
    â€œIt might speed things along if I ask the questions. What do you know about President Kennedy?”
    â€œHe’s dead; there’s no denying it if you own a television. He was okay in the White House, although I thought he showed thewhite feather when he withdrew his military advisors from Southeast Asia and failed to stop the spread of communism. He never faced the kind of challenge that separates the great leaders from the so-so ones. Lincoln had the Civil War, FDR the Depression and World War Two. JFK helped Jackie pick out the colors in the West Wing.”
    â€œWhat about the missile crisis?”
    â€œThe nuclear arms race? Well, he did what he had to do to keep up with the USSR, but he became obsessed with it to the detriment of his other responsibilities. We’d have beaten the Russkies to the moon if he hadn’t let them distract him.”
    Herb couldn’t afford to bog himself down with that revelation. “I meant the
Cuban
missile crisis. He faced down Moscow and spared the world atomic annihilation.”
    â€œCuba’s one of our closest allies, Mr. Tarnower. McCain and Gotti are discussing affairs of state right now.”
    â€œThat’s another thing. John Gotti, Junior, is a notorious gangster, not a foreign leader. So was his father. John McCain lost the U.S. election to Barack Obama last November. We have our first African-American president.”
    â€œAfrican-American?”
    â€œBlack.”
    Sprague put out his cigar. “That’s a terribly racist term. ‘Colored’ is the polite designation. Those people aren’t making much progress in Washington, but that’s no reason to mock them.”
    â€œI’m not a bigot! I contribute to—”
    â€œI’m prescribing sleeping pills.” The doctor scribbled on a pad. “If you’re still feeling disoriented after a good night’s sleep, call the office and I’ll give you a list of names of recommended psychotherapists. Your wife is probably right. I see by your file you write copy for an advertising agency. That’s a high-pressure business, and your job requires a healthy imagination. You’ve justbeen overworking it. Gotti a gangster—that’s rich. A Negro president. And I suppose Jerry Lewis is the president of France.”
    Herb took the prescription sheet. “He’s not, is he?”
    â€œGo on with you! I have sick people to treat.” Sprague lit a cigar.
    Â 
    He felt a little better with this professional opinion. It was just possible he
had
been putting in too many hours downtown; obsolete employment information in his medical file was nothing to panic over and he supposed a man could get his wires crossed and distort what he was hearing. It was inconceivable that Neil Armstrong had not been the first to take that giant leap for mankind, or that JFK could be discussed as a nonentity even