After a long pause, he declared with confidence, “Two hundred and seventy-four!”
The doctor raised an eyebrow but nodded kindly, jotting down a note. Arthur looked pleased with himself, as if he had just solved a great puzzle. Next came Mr.
Bernard, who leaned forward on his cane and winked at the doctor as though they shared a secret joke.
When asked the same question, Bernard replied cheerfully, “Tuesday!” The word hung in the air, puzzling yet oddly delightful. The doctor scribbled again, trying not to laugh, while Bernard chuckled softly at his own answer.
Finally, it was Mr. Clarence’s turn.
He had been quietly watching the exchange, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
When the doctor repeated the question, Clarence paused only briefly before answering, “Nine.” Dr. Halpern looked up in surprise. “That’s correct,” he said.
Clarence grinned and leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“I knew the answer because I subtracted Tuesday from two hundred and seventy-four.” The room erupted into laughter—Arthur laughed, Bernard laughed, and even the doctor wiped a tear from his eye. In that moment, the test results didn’t matter as much as the shared joy.
As the men left the clinic together, walking slowly down the sunny sidewalk, they continued teasing each other about the strange answers. Arthur swore his number had been right “in a different kind of math,” Bernard insisted that Tuesday was always the best answer to any question, and Clarence simply smiled, satisfied that he had delivered the final punchline.
Passersby watched them fondly, three old friends proving that aging minds may wander, but laughter and friendship never fade.
The doctor, looking out the window, made a final note on the chart: “Memory uncertain. Spirits excellent.”
