Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam Read Free Book Online Page A

penis.’ Corpus spongiosum, all that jazz. Besides, the poor guy’s body was lying there. A big man, powerful, and it would have been a shame just to let it go to waste. What did we do? We talked. We talked like professionals, and I saw that it was this one guy’s turn to dissect, and there was no way that this man was going to cut up a penis. So I said, ‘What if I do it?’ and I did it, and I think we all understood the issue better. Does that help?”
    Sri couldn’t think of anything to say. He thanked Dean Cortina and left her office.
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    When they got to the penis, there was no problem or hesitation. It was Ming’s turn to cut, and she went right through it with one long arc of the scalpel, so that was all there was to it. She said, “You guys okay?”
    â€œSure,” said Chen.
    â€œSomeone want the testicles?”
    Both Chen and Sri declined politely, and so Ming did the rest of that day’s dissection—producing a fine display of the epididymis and the spermatic ducts.

    Late after the final exam, some of the class was still at the upstairs patio bar of The Paradise. Many of Dr. Harrison’s group were there, setting liquor-doused paper napkin swans alight in blue bursts. It was their private party, and they were trying to stay warm beneath the stars, helped by flame-ringed overhead heaters that smelled like burp. Someone had vomited on the toilet seat in the men’s room and then simply closed the stall door, so now there were lineups for both washrooms. Others sat in booths, and in a far corner Sri had just bought Ming a vodka tonic. He was feeling good about himself for having bought the drink, and she was feeling big for accepting it.
    She said, “Guess what, I found the right side of the head. It was in the bag with the omentum.” Ming couldn’t remember exactly how it got there, but of course no one had looked at the omentum before the midterm and so she recently had found it while studying for the final, looking for a kidney. Then she remembered she must have put it there. A moment of inattention, she explained.
    â€œWhere is it now?” asked Sri.
    â€œStill there.”
    â€œWith the omentum?” The omentum attached all the intestines into a fan-shaped sheet. “Why didn’t you put it with the head?”
    â€œI don’t know. The bag wasn’t handy, I guess.”
    â€œYou guess. So you just left it with all the guts and everything,” said Sri. “I’ll have to go get it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m gonna go get it,” he shouted. No one turned to look, in the way that drunk people do not notice each other as being out of the ordinary.
    â€œYou’re all screwed up,” said Ming quietly. “Do you dream about your Murphy?”
    â€œMe? You should have nightmares, the way you treat him.”
    â€œHello? Dead? Remember? I don’t have dreams, because I don’t have hang-ups about the stupid corpse.”
    â€œYou—”
    â€œYou what?” said Ming. “You don’t like that? Corpse? Piece of Murphy meat?”
    â€œYou’re just such a—”
    â€œJust say it. What am I? You want to say it. Call me a name, go ahead and relieve your repressed little self. Say it.”
    â€œNo. Let’s just stop. No.”
    â€œGo for it, pick a name. Bitch? Witch? Name your name.”
    â€œI didn’t say anything, you’re picking the words now.”
    â€œYou’re such a wimp, I have to call myself names just to clarify what you think of me,” said Ming.
    Chen was pushing sideways through the falling dancers. He arrived in time to hear Ming say to Sri, “Just fuck off. See, I can say what I think.” She stalked off, weaving across the floor.
    â€œYou guys,” said Chen to both of them but now just to Sri.
    â€œIt was better for a minute. Believe it or not. I bought her a drink. Then she told me she found the head.