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"Where did an Irish cop learn about Freud?" I asked.
"Where? Why, here, man, here, from spending the last twenty years here, five nights a week; in trialogues of discussion with fine young overeducated men like: you: Better than night school, more broad and useful.' And we get paid to attend."
"Not only that," said Quick, "but all the different viewpoints contribute. Over twenty years one learns a good deal. Currently a surgeon named Gath brings?the news from the Southern Rim, and with Cohen we are in the middle of a gold mine of psychoanalytical thought."
"Who is Cohen?"
"A sophisticated, jocular, and unrestrained resident in psychiatry," said Quick. "A textbook in himself."
"You must make his acquaintance," said Gilheeng Twitching his red eyebrows so that they coerced the rest of his fat face into a gap?toothed smile, he went on, "We can hardly wait to hear from a Rhodes Scholar like yourself, a man with high qualities of body mind, with experience gleaned from corners of the round globe, like England, France, and the Emerald Isle, which I have visited only twice."
"A textbook in yourself," said Quick.
Upstairs, I had just finished working Jimmy over, putting in lines and tubes and starting to treat his untreatable diseases, when Mrs. Risenshein arrested and I was surprised to hear myself cursing under my breath as I resuscitated her, "I wish she would die so I could just go to sleep," and I was shocked when I realized that I'd just wished a human being dead so I could go to sleep. Animal. Eat My Dust rolled up from the MICU to take Risenshein away and I asked how he was.
"Glad you asked. It's going just great. Here, Bob," he said, nodding to his BMS, "wheel this stretcher on down to the Unit, will you, pal? Keep pumping the oxygen and keep the lines open, I'm just going up to floor eight for a minute to jump off and kill myself."
He left, and Molly?clean and pretty and sexy and off duty left, and I was desolate watching her go.
I should have been going with her. The Runt called back again.
"How's Lazarus?" he asked.
"Stable. Where are you?"
"At Angel's. I'm scared. How's Risenshein?"
"There's nothing to be scared about. Risenshein's had a cardiac arrest and is in the MICU:"
"Oh, no! I'm coming in right away!"
"You do and I'll kill you. Put Angel on"
"Hi, Roy," said a healthy drunk voice, "I'm"?gesture?"drunk."
"Fine. Listen, Angel, I'm worried about the Runt. He's not going to make it unless he gets some confidence in himself. He's a great guy, but he needs some confidence. Chuck and I are really concerned?suicide?that's how concerned we are"
"Sruicide!" Gesture. "Wow! WhatcanIdo?"
I told Angel exactly what she could do to prevent the Runt's suicide.
"Sruicide!" Gesture. "You mean he's freee?"
"Not yet, Angie. Right now, he's still a bird in a cage. Open it up, Angel, set him free, let him fly."
"Flyfly his"?gesture?"fly bye?bye," and the phone went dead.
Hot, sweaty, with the dried sweat salt like sand on my eyelids, with my flu declaring itself in malaise, photophobia, myalgia, nausea, and diarrhea, cursing being in the House while Molly was out and Berry was out where and with whom??and while the Runt was getting seduced out of "sruicide," I tried to finish my write?up of young and soon?to?be?dead Jimmy. Chubby, gri
"What the hell are you doing up here?"
"Oh, I just thought I'd do some follow?up on Jimmy. Great case. Guess he's had it, huh? Oh, and I wanted to ask, you about that nurse in the MICU, Angel. Very fine girl, and I thought I might ask her out."
I watched him puff his pipe, and, hating him because his happy life even in the House was a puff on his pipe, I said, "Oh, so you haven't heard about the Runt and Angel?"
"No. You don't mean?"
"Exactly. At this very moment. And, Howard, listen carefully: you should see what she does with her mouth."
"With her . . . her what?"
"Her mouth," I said, knowing that by morning Howard would have puffed what Angel did with her mouth all over God's House. "See, she takes her lips and she puts them around his?"
"Well, I don't want to hear about that, and I'm glad you warned me before I asked her out. But I want to know why when I took Jimmy's blood pressure just now it was only forty systolic."
"It's what?" I said, rushing into Jimmy's room, where I found that it was forty systolic and Jimmy was trying to die right away. I panicked. I didn't know where to start, to save him. I looked at Howard leaning casually against the doorway lighting his pipe and smiling, and I said, "Howard, help me with this."
"Oh, yes? And what might I do?"
I didn't know what he might do or what I might do either, but then I thought of the Fat Man and I said, "Page the Fat Man, stat."
"Oh? Do you think you need him? No, you can handle it, Roy. Besides, they say you can't become a real doctor without killing a few patients at the least."
"Do something to help me," I said, trying to think clearly.
"What might I do?"
The Fat Man arrived, puffing from the race up the stairs, and sensing my panic, ordered me to take my own pulse. As I did so, he began to get Jimmy organized so he would not die right then. Fats attacked Jimmy with that fantastic smooth expertise of his, and you could almost hear the click click click of each essential procedure. Fats chattered as he worked, addressing comments to us all, including the nurse and a woman named Gracie from Dietary and Food Services who somehow at that late hour had been with him in bed?!-
"What's wrong with Jimmy?" asked Fats, putting in a big needle.
"Cancer of the lung," I said.
"Christ," said Fats, "and he's young enough to die."
"If I were you, I'd try laetrile," said Gracie from Dietary and Food Services.
"Try what?" asked Fats, stopping trying to save Jimmy.
"Laetrile. A cure for cancer," said Gracie.
"A what for what?" shot out Fats, standing up stockstill.
"The Mexicans have found that an extract from apricot pits, called laetrile, can cure cancer. Controversial, but—"
"But worth a big fortoona," said Fats, eyes aglitter: "Hey, listen, I gotta hear more about this, Roy," he said, starting to leave.
"Fats, wait!" I said. "Don't leave me yet!"
"Did you hear what Gracie said, Roy? A cure for cancer. Come on, Gracie, I want you to tell me more."
"It's bullshit," I said. "There's no cure for cancer, it's a hoax."
"It's not," said Gracie from Dietary and Food indignantly, "it worked on my cousin's husband. He was dying and now he's fine."
"Dying and now he's fine," said Fats, and then, walking toward the door, he murmured, as if in a trance, "dying and now he's fine."
"Please, Fats," I said, "don't leave me alone yet," as Jimmy began once again to die and I began once again to panic.
"Why not?" asked Fats, puzzled.
"I'm scared."
"Still? You still need some help?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, then, you're going to get it. Let's get to work."
We got to work, but soon I realized that Fats had slipped away, and I was left alone with Jimmy and Howie and Maxine, the night nurse. And then I knew that Fats's slipping away and leaving me in charge meant that he knew I could handle it, and I felt a warm rush go through me. I could handle it, and although all I wanted to do was to beat the shit out of Howard, I worked on Jimmy until it was clear that he needed to be breathed by a respirator, which meant a TURF to the SICU-Surgical Intensive Care Unit-and as I watched the cheery sadistic surgical resident wheel Jimmy off, Jimmy, who by now was surrounded by so much tubing that he looked like a meat ball in the middle of a plate of spaghetti, I felt great relief, and I heard Howard say, "Impressive job on a tough case," and he left and I was filled to my eyeballs with hate.