sk.everythingseventual-第8部分

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f　him　…
　　'Excuse　yourself；　Howie；'　Dr。　Arlen；　that　bitch；　says　from　behind　me；　and　chuckles；　'Better　watch　out；　Pete…those　postmortem　belches　are　the　worst。'
　　He　theatrically　fans　the　air　in　front　of　his　face；　then　goes　back　to　what　he's　doing。　He　barely　touches　my　groin；　although　he　remarks　that　the　scar　on　the　back　of　my　right　leg　continues　around　to　the　front。
　　Missed　the　big　one；　though；　I　think；　maybe　because　it's　a　little　higher　than　you're　looking。　No　big　deal；　my　little　Baywatch　buddy；　but　you　also　missed　the　fact　that　I'M　STILL　ALIVE；　and　that　IS　a　big　deal！
　　He　goes　on　chanting　into　the　microphone；　sounding　more　and　more　at　ease　（sounding；　in　fact；　a　little　like　Jack　Klugman　on　Quincy；　ME。）；　and　I　know　his　partner　over　there　behind　me；　the　Pollyanna　of　the　medical　munity；　isn't　thinking　she'll　have　to　roll　the　tape　back　over　this　part　of　the　exam。　Other　than　missing　the　fact　that　his　first　pericardial　is　still　alive；　the　kid's　doing　a　great　job。
　　At　last　he　says；　'I　think　I'm　ready　to　go　on；　Doctor。'　He　sounds　tentative；　though。
　　She　es　over；　looks　briefly　down　at　me；　then　squeezes　Pete's　shoulder。　'Okay；'　she　says。　'On…na　wid…da　show！'
　　Now　I'm　trying　to　stick　my　tongue　out。　Just　that　simple　kid's　gesture　of　impudence；　but　it　would　be　enough　。　。　。　and　it　seems　to　me　I　can　feel　a　faint　prickling　sensation　deep　within　my　lips；　the　feeling　you　get　when　you're　finally　starting　to　e　out　of　a　heavy　dose　of　Novocaine。　And　I　can　feel　a　twitch？　No；　wishful　thinking；　just　…
　　Yes！　Yes！　But　a　twitch　is　all；　and　the　second　time　I　try　nothing　happens。
　　As　Pete　picks　up　the　scissors；　the　Rolling　Stones　move　on　to　'Hang　Fire。'
　　Hold　a　mirror　in　front　of　my　nose！　I　scream　at　them。　Watch　it　fog　up！　Can't　you　at　least　do　that？
　　Snick；　snick；　snickety…snick。
　　Pete　turns　the　scissors　at　an　angle　so　the　light　runs　down　the　blade；　and　for　the　first　time　I'm　certain；　really　certain；　that　this　mad　charade　is　going　to　go　all　the　way　through　to　the　end。　The　director　isn't　going　to　freeze　the　frame。　The　ref　isn't　going　to　stop　the　fight　in　the　tenth　round。　We're　not　going　to　pause　for　a　word　from　our　sponsors。　Petie…boy's　going　to　slide　those　scissors　into　my　gut　while　I　lie　here　helpless；　and　then　he's　going　to　open　me　up　like　a　mailorder　package　from　the　Horchow　Collection。
　　He　looks　hesitantly　at　Dr。　Arlen。
　　No！　I　howl；　my　voice　reverberating　off　the　dark　walls　of　my　skull　but　emerging　from　my　mouth　not　at　all。　No；　please　no！
　　She　nods。　'Go　ahead。　You'll　be　fine。'
　　'Uh　。　。　。　you　want　to　turn　off　the　music？'
　　Yes！　Yes；　turn　it　off。
　　'Is　it　bothering　you。
　　Yes！　It's　bothering　him！　It's　fucked　him　up　so　pletely　he　thinks　his　patient　is　dead！
　　'Well　。　。　。　'
　　'Sure；'　she　says；　and　disappears　from　my　field　of　vision。　A　moment　later　Mick　and　Keith　are　finally　gone。　I　try　to　make　the　humming　noise　and　discover　a　horrible　thing：　now　I　can't　even　do　that。　I'm　too　scared。　Fright　has　locked　down　my　vocal　cords。　I　can　only　stare　up　as　she　rejoins　him；　the　two　of　them　gazing）；　down　at　me　like　pallbearers　looking　into　an　open　grave。
　　'Thanks；'　he　says。　Then　he　takes　a　deep　breath　and　lifts　the　scissors。　'mencing　pericardial　cut。'
　　He　slowly　brings　them　down。　I　see　them　。　。　。　see　them　。　。　。　then　they're　gone　from　my　field　of　vision。　A　long　moment　later；　I　feel　cold　steel　nestle　against　my　naked　upper　belly。
　　He　looks　doubtfully　at　the　doctor。
　　'Are　you　sure　you　don't…'
　　'Do　you　want　to　make　this　your　field　or　not；　Peter？'　she　asks　him　with　some　asperity。
　　'You　know　I　do；　but…'
　　'Then　cut。'
　　He　nods；　lips　firming。　I　would　close　my　eyes　if　I　could；　but　of　course　I　cannot　even　do　that；　I　can　only　steel　myself　against　the　pain　that's　only　a　second　or　two　away；　now…steel　myself　for　the　steel。
　　'Cutting；'　he　says；　bending　forward。
　　'Wait　a　sec！'　she　cries。
　　The　dimple　of　pressure　just　below　my　solar　plexus　eases　a　little。　He　looks　around　at　her；　surprised；　upset；　maybe　relieved　that　the　crucial　moment　has　been　put　off　…
　　I　feel　her　rubber…gloved　hand　slide　around　my　penis　as　if　she　means　to　give　me　some　bizarre　handjob；　safe　sex　with　the　dead；　and　then　she　says；　'You　missed　this　one；　Pete。'
　　He　leans　over；　looking　at　what　she's　found…the　scar　in　my　groin；　at　the　very　top　of　my　right　thigh；　a　glassy；　no…pore　bowl　in　the　flesh。
　　Her　hand　is　still　holding　my　cock；　holding　it　out　of　the　way；　that's　all　she's　doing；　as　far　as　she's　concerned　she　might　as　well　be　holding　up　a　sofa　cushion　so　someone　else　can　see　the　treasure　she's　found　beneath　it…coins；　a　lost　wallet；　maybe　the　catnip　mouse　you　haven't　been　able　to　find…but　something　is　happening。
　　Dear　wheelchair　Jesus　on　a　chariot…driven　crutch；　something　is　happening。
　　'And　look；'　she　says。　Her　finger　strokes　a　light；　tickly　line　down　the　side　of　my　right　testicle。　'Look　at　these　hairline　scars。　His　testes　must　have　swollen　up　to　damned　near　the　size　of　grapefruits。'
　　'Lucky　he　didn't　lose　one　or　both。'
　　'You　bet　your　。　。　。　you　bet　your　you…knows；'　she　says；　and　laughs　that　mildly　suggestive　laugh　again。　Her　gloved　hand　loosens；　moves；　then　pushes　down　firmly；　trying　to　clear　the　viewing　area。　She　is　doing　by　accident　what　you　might　pay　twenty…five　or　thirty　bucks　to　have　done　on　purpose　。　。　。　under　other　circumstances；　of　course。　'This　is　a　war　wound；　I　think。　Hand　me　that　magnifier；　Pete。'
　　'But　shouldn't　I…'
　　'In　a　few　seconds；'　she　says。　'He's　not　going　anywhere。　She's　totally　absorbed　by　what　she's　found。　Her　hand　is　still　on　me；　still　pressing　down；　and　what　was　happening　feels　like　it's　still　happening；　but　maybe　I'm　wrong。　I　must　be　wrong；　or　he　would　see　it；　she　would　feel　it。
　　She　bends　down　and　now　I　can　see　only　her　green…clad　back。　with　the　ties　from　her　cap　trailing　down　it　like　odd　pigtails。　Now；　oh　my；　I　can　feel　her　breath　on　me　down　there。
　　'Notice　the　outward　radiation；'　she　says。　'It　was　a　blast　wound　of　some　sort；　probably　ten　years　ago　at　least；　we　could　check　his　military　rec…'
　　The　door　bursts　open。　Pete　cries　out　in　surprise。　Dr。　Arlen　doesn't；　but　her　hand　tightens　involuntarily；　she's　gripping　me　again　and　it's　all　at　once　like　a　hellish　variation　of　the　old　Naughty　Nurse　fantasy。
　　'Don't　cut　'im　up！'　someone　screams；　and　his　voice　is　so　high　and　wavery　with　fright　that　I　barely　recognize　Rusty。　'Don't　cut　'im　up；　there　was　a　snake　in　his　golfbag　and　it　bit　Mike！'
　　They　turn　to　him；　eyes　wide；　jaws　dropped；　her　hand　is　still　gripping　me；　but　she's　no　more　aware　of　that；　at　least　for　the　time　being；　than　Petie…boy　is　aware　that　he's　got　one　hand　clutching　the　left　breast　of　his　scrub　gown。　He　looks　like　he's　the　one　with　the　clapped…out　fuel　pump。
　　'What　。　。　。　what　are　you　。　。　。　'　Pete　begins。
　　'Knocked　him　flat！'　Rusty　was　saying…babbling。　'He's　gonna　be　okay；　I　guess；　but　he　can　hardly　talk！'　Little　brown　snake；　I　never　saw　one　like　it　in　my　life；　it　went　under　the　loadin'　bay；　it's　under　there　right　now；　but　that's　not　the　important　part！　I　think　it　already　bit　that　guy　we　brought　in。　I　think　。　。　。　holy　shit；　Doc；　whatja　tryin'　to　do？　Stroke　'im　back　to　life？'
　　She　looks　around；　dazed；　at　first　not　sure　of　what　he's　talking　about　。　。　。　until　she　realizes　that　she's　now　holding　a　mostly　erect　penis。　And　as　she　screams…screams　and　snatches　the　shears　out　of　Pete's　limp　gloved　hand…I　find　myself　thinking　again　of　that　old　Alfred　Hitchcock　TV　show。
　　Poor　old　Joseph　Cotton；　I　think。
　　He　only　got　to　cry。
　　
　　Afternote
　　
　　It's　been　a　year　since　my　experience　in　Autopsy　Room　Four；　and　I　have　made　a　plete　recovery；　although　the　paralysis　was　both　stubborn　and　scary；　it　was　a　full　month　before　I　began　to　recover　the　finer　motions　of　my　fingers　and　toes。　I　still　can't　play　the　piano；　but　then；　of　course；　I　never　could。　That　is　a　joke；　and　I　make　no　apologies　for　it。　In　the　first　three　months　after　my　misadventure；　I　think　that　my　ability　to　joke　provided　a　slim　but　vital　margin　between　sanity　and　some　sort　of　nervous　breakdown。　Unless　you've　actually　felt　the　tip　of　a　pair　of　postmortem　shears　poking　into　your　stomach；　you　don't　know　what　I　mean。
　　Two　weeks　or　so　after　my　close　call；　a