fingering the bag that contained the left half of the head.
âIâm sure. I covered it. I sprayed it. It was right here.â
âYouâre always in such a rush,â said Sri. âMaybe if you slowed downâ¦. You know how long I spent dissecting those cranial nerves?â
âI bet someone took it,â said Ming.
Sri replied, âRight. Make up a story. You were looking at it, so it was your responsibility to put it back. With the rest of Murphy.â
âWho made you boss? And heâs not a Murphy,â said Ming. âProbably someone borrowed itâitâll turn up.â
âYou lost the head,â Sri whispered, leaning forward and looking at Ming, âand I named him Murphy.â
âItâs only half. And I did not lose it. I left it right here. Itâs not where I left it. Thatâs not âlosingâ it.â
âObviously you donât care,â said Sri.
âJust study it from the manual.â
âI made the cranial nerve page into a swan,â said Chen. He rested his latex-gloved hands on the table.
Ming said, âShould have chosen a different page.â
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At two in the morning, only Sri and Chen were in the lab, sitting over the borrowed right half of a head. All the other tables were covered in sheets, and sprayed with the fresh pungency of formalin.
âYou know she wonât apologize, but you probably should,â said Chen.
âWhy?â
âBecause weâve still got the pelvis and legs to do. Itâll be better if you make peace.â
âThis is very bad.â
âSure, you guys are upset, so just smooth it out.â
âItâs not just her. Losing half his head is bad. And why did she insist we cut through Murphyâs cross and heart?â
âShe follows the book, Sri. She reads it, she does it.â
âMy mother told me you should respect a manâs symbols. We should have cut around the cross. Did you look up that Mark thing?â
âSorry, I forgot. What was it again?â
âMark 16.â
âIâll check it for you. Did your mother say anything about losing half a head?â
âNever came up.â
They looked down at the open half-head they had only been able to study after midnight when another group had finished with it. Ming had decided to study from the anatomy atlas. âReady for tomorrow?â
âReady as ever, I guess,â said Sri.
âI guess weâre done here. Hungry?â
âKind of. I need something filling to help me sleep.â
âLetâs go.â
In the night, walking under blowing elms, they smelled themselves more clearly, their skin sticky in the armpits and elbows. In the creases of their hands. In the washroom of Nonaâs, while the round lady heated their calzones, Chen washed his face with his hands, and the more he washed the more that odour seeped from between his fingers and under his nails. Under the low-wattage light, he used the tepid water and hard soap to wash his hands raw.
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After the midterm, Sri went to Dean Cortina and asked to switch to a different group. He said, âOne of my partners is great but I have a communication problem with my other colleague.â
âThe course is almost over, and we canât change the groups. Iâm glad you said colleague because that means you think like a professional. Take this as your firstprofessional challenge,â said Dean Cortina. âI remember my anatomy group, and I donât want to tell you how many years ago.â She sat back in her big chair. âWe had a communication problem. Men are odd about penises. They donât want to talk about them but they secretly believe them to be very important, perhaps sacred. So we got to the penis on our cadaver, and the men wanted to skip it. âWeâll look at the book,â they said. âNo way,â I said, âwe need to see the inside of the
Learning to Kill: Stories