Sebastien growled.
“No, sir.”
“Then why are you skewering his heart? Delicacy, please. Watch.”
Working confidently, Sebastien began closing the wound. “Incredible,” the other resident murmured. “I’ve never seen anyone suture so fast.”
“No idle conversation, Dr. Lewis. Compliments will be gladly accepted, but later. Remove your finger, Dr. Ross, before you become a permanent part of this patient’s chest. Lewis! Help me with this! Move faster! That’s an artery you’re mashing shut with your hand, Lewis. If you make a mistake I’ll stab you with a scalpel. There. Gently, Lewis, gently—
mon Dieu
! This man will go home with your fingerprints permanently pressed into his heart!”
The resident fumbled and sweated and made little puffing sounds behind his mask. “Don’t hyperventilate, Lewis. It’s only a man’s life. Done. Thank you.” Lewis stepped back, saluted, then collapsed limply to the operating room floor. Because everyone was busy, they let him stay there. The supervising surgeon clucked at Sebastien in reproach. “That’s the third one this month, doctor. Are you trying to break your record before you leave?”
“Perhaps. I have no time for mercy,” Sebastien answered, his attention never wavering from his work. Why should he have mercy for others when he had none for himself?
Jeff Atwater always seemed to be lost in thought, or perhaps he was silently conversing with his ego. Sebastien considered Jeff a fine psychiatrist. He was also an admitted hypochondriac, and ex-flower child, and a divorce victim who now confined his romantic encounters to females who valued a good laugh as much as good sex, and didn’t want much from him otherwise. As he ambled down the hospital corridor toward Sebastien, he rolled a sucker in one corner of his mouth. He consulted on transplant cases, which were often psychologically messy for the patients involved. He was also a source of quirky entertainment, and Sebastien admired his joie de vivre.
“Doctor, oh, doc-tor,” he cried in a plaintive tone, and suddenly began to stagger. He clasped his head. His sandy hair was ruffled into a maniacal halo around his head. “I’m channeling for the spirit of an ancient Egyptian psychiatrist named Jungthra. Jungthra says you’re suffering from a repressed desire to wear polyester leisure suits and go bowling.”
“I believe that Jungthra has me confused with someone else.”
“Impossible. Jungthra knows all. Now look, I’m taking Susan Roy—she’s that big blonde from admissions—to the mountains Saturday, and you’re going with us.” Jeff jabbed the purple sucker at Sebastien as he came to a stop. “I found out that you’re not on call until after six Saturday night, so you’ve got no excuse. We’ll drink champagne andlet Susan drive. Or maybe we’ll let Susan drink champagne and hope she’ll attack us. A ménage à trois. See, I can speak French, too. Look, seriously, going to the mountains with us will be good for you. Somebody’s got to provoke your hedonistic tendencies.”
“Doctor, has anyone ever told you that you have an obsessive need to manipulate and control people?”
He gave a fiendish laugh. “Yes, but they were tied to my laboratory table at the time. Now stop stalling. You’re coming with us on Saturday.”
“I need to finish making my arrangements for leaving the country.”
“Why? All you have to take to Africa is a change of clothes. You have no life outside your work. Ouch.” Jeff pressed one hand to the side of his neck. “I’ve been feeling a lot of pain here, lately. I’ve got to get it checked out.”
“Probably a tumor,” Sebastien told him. “Malignant.”
“Oh, thanks, thanks a lot, you cold bastard.” Jeff grinned at him. “We’ll come by that gangster mausoleum you call a home at eight A.M. ”
“Are you hijacking me to any place in particular?”
“We’re going to find someplace that has good barbecue and ‘le air
“No, sir.”
“Then why are you skewering his heart? Delicacy, please. Watch.”
Working confidently, Sebastien began closing the wound. “Incredible,” the other resident murmured. “I’ve never seen anyone suture so fast.”
“No idle conversation, Dr. Lewis. Compliments will be gladly accepted, but later. Remove your finger, Dr. Ross, before you become a permanent part of this patient’s chest. Lewis! Help me with this! Move faster! That’s an artery you’re mashing shut with your hand, Lewis. If you make a mistake I’ll stab you with a scalpel. There. Gently, Lewis, gently—
mon Dieu
! This man will go home with your fingerprints permanently pressed into his heart!”
The resident fumbled and sweated and made little puffing sounds behind his mask. “Don’t hyperventilate, Lewis. It’s only a man’s life. Done. Thank you.” Lewis stepped back, saluted, then collapsed limply to the operating room floor. Because everyone was busy, they let him stay there. The supervising surgeon clucked at Sebastien in reproach. “That’s the third one this month, doctor. Are you trying to break your record before you leave?”
“Perhaps. I have no time for mercy,” Sebastien answered, his attention never wavering from his work. Why should he have mercy for others when he had none for himself?
Jeff Atwater always seemed to be lost in thought, or perhaps he was silently conversing with his ego. Sebastien considered Jeff a fine psychiatrist. He was also an admitted hypochondriac, and ex-flower child, and a divorce victim who now confined his romantic encounters to females who valued a good laugh as much as good sex, and didn’t want much from him otherwise. As he ambled down the hospital corridor toward Sebastien, he rolled a sucker in one corner of his mouth. He consulted on transplant cases, which were often psychologically messy for the patients involved. He was also a source of quirky entertainment, and Sebastien admired his joie de vivre.
“Doctor, oh, doc-tor,” he cried in a plaintive tone, and suddenly began to stagger. He clasped his head. His sandy hair was ruffled into a maniacal halo around his head. “I’m channeling for the spirit of an ancient Egyptian psychiatrist named Jungthra. Jungthra says you’re suffering from a repressed desire to wear polyester leisure suits and go bowling.”
“I believe that Jungthra has me confused with someone else.”
“Impossible. Jungthra knows all. Now look, I’m taking Susan Roy—she’s that big blonde from admissions—to the mountains Saturday, and you’re going with us.” Jeff jabbed the purple sucker at Sebastien as he came to a stop. “I found out that you’re not on call until after six Saturday night, so you’ve got no excuse. We’ll drink champagne andlet Susan drive. Or maybe we’ll let Susan drink champagne and hope she’ll attack us. A ménage à trois. See, I can speak French, too. Look, seriously, going to the mountains with us will be good for you. Somebody’s got to provoke your hedonistic tendencies.”
“Doctor, has anyone ever told you that you have an obsessive need to manipulate and control people?”
He gave a fiendish laugh. “Yes, but they were tied to my laboratory table at the time. Now stop stalling. You’re coming with us on Saturday.”
“I need to finish making my arrangements for leaving the country.”
“Why? All you have to take to Africa is a change of clothes. You have no life outside your work. Ouch.” Jeff pressed one hand to the side of his neck. “I’ve been feeling a lot of pain here, lately. I’ve got to get it checked out.”
“Probably a tumor,” Sebastien told him. “Malignant.”
“Oh, thanks, thanks a lot, you cold bastard.” Jeff grinned at him. “We’ll come by that gangster mausoleum you call a home at eight A.M. ”
“Are you hijacking me to any place in particular?”
“We’re going to find someplace that has good barbecue and ‘le air
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