Brain. Chapter 10
10
It was after seven when Denise woke up and grabbed for the clock. She was horrified at the time. Being so accustomed to Martin getting up at six, she didn’t set the alarm when he slept over. Throwing back the covers, she dashed into the bathroom to jump into the shower. Philips opened his eyes in time to catch her bare back heading down the hallway. It was a wonderful image to start the day.
Oversleeping had been Philips’ deliberate gesture of defiance to his old life, and he stretched luxuriously in the warm bed. He thought about going back to sleep but then decided showering with Denise was a better idea.
In the bathroom, he found she was almost finished and in no mood to kid around. Entering the shower stall he got in her way and she petulantly reminded him that she had to present the X rays at the CPC at 8:00 A.M.
“Why don’t we make love again?” crooned Martin. “I’ll give you a doctor’s excuse for being late.”
Denise draped her wet washcloth over Martin’s head, and stepped out onto the bath mat. While she dried herself she spoke to Philips over the sound of the water. “If you finish at a decent hour, I’ll make some dinner tonight.”
“I’m not accepting any bribes,” shouted Martin. “I’m going to see what Pathology says about my sections on McCarthy’s brain, and I’m hoping to take some polytomes and a CAT scan on Kristin Lindquist. Besides, I’ve got to run a bunch of old skull films through the computer. Today research is going to get top billing.”
“I think you’re stubborn,” said Denise.
“Compulsive,” said Martin.
“When do you want me to go to the GYN clinic?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Okay. I’ll make it for tomorrow.”
While Sanger used the hair dryer, conversation was impossible. Philips got out of the shower and shaved with one of her disposable razors. The two of them had to do a complicated dance in the confines of the small bathroom.
As Denise leaned close to the mirror to put on her eye makeup she asked, “What do you think is causing the density variation on those X rays?”
“I really don’t know,” said Philips, trying to tame his thick blond hair. “That’s why I’ve got the section in Pathology.”
Denise leaned back to assay her efforts. “It seems that answering that question would be the first step rather than associating the abnormality with a specific disease like multiple sclerosis.”
“You’re right,” said Philips. “The multiple sclerosis idea originated from the charts. It was a stab in the dark. But you know something? You’ve just given me another idea.”
Philips entered the old medical-school building from the tunnel. The entrance from the street had long since been sealed off. As he climbed the stairs to the lobby, he felt a surprising sentimentality for that time in his life when the future held nothing but promise. When he reached the familiar dark wood doors with the worn red leather panels, he paused. The carefully lettered sign saying MEDICAL SCHOOL had been desecrated by a crude board nailed haphazardly across it. Below, held in place with thumbtacks, was a cardboard sign which read, “Medical School located in the Burger Building.”
Beyond the venerable old doors, the decor deteriorated. The old foyer had been demolished, its oak wainscoting sold at auction. The renovation funds had dried up even before the demolition had been completed.
Martin followed a path cleared of debris that ran around what had been an information booth, and started up the curved staircase. Looking down the length of the foyer he could see the barred entrance from the street. The doors had been chained together.
Philips’ destination was the Barrow Amphitheater, When he arrived he noticed a new sign that read DEPARTMENT OF COMPUTER SCIENCE: DIVISION OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE. Philips opened the door and, walking up to the iron piping that formed the railing, looked down into the semi-circular auditorium. The seats had been removed. Arranged in intervals on the various tiers were all sorts of components. Down in the pit were two large units constructed similarly to the small processor that had been brought to Philips’ office. A young man in a short-sleeved white coat was working on one of them. He had a soldering gun in one hand and wire in the other.