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 twentyfive or
thirty bucks to have done on purpose … under other circumstances, of course. “This is a war wound, I think. Hand me that
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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 complete 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 woman on Dupont Street called the Derry Police to complain of a “Foul Stink” coming from the house next door. That house belonged to a bachelor bank clerk named Walter Kerr. Police found the house empty …
of human life, that is. they found over sixty snakes of different varieties. About half of them were dead-starvation and
dehydration, but many were extremely lively … and extremely dangerous. Several were very rare, and one was of a species
believed to have been extinct since mid-century, according to consulting zoologists.
Kerr failed to show up for work at Derry Community Bank on August 22, two days after I was bitten, one day after the story