Charles, over the Massachusetts Avenue Bridge, and then back by the Museum of Science. Part of him still clung to the hope that the eerie call was part of some elaborate spoof. But he knew otherwise.
Caduceus
. The staff and twin serpents symbolizing medicine. He had looked up the word, hoping that some aspect of its definition might give him insight. All he had learned was that in mythology, the staff was borne by Hermes, the wing-footed messenger of the gods, patron of travelers and rogues, conductor of the dead to Hades, known for his invention and cunning.How it had come to signify the healing arts, he had not yet learned.
Throughout the walk, just over four miles, he had played and replayed the brief conversation in his mind. It simply made no sense.
Administer a treatment in a manner unfamiliar
… What sort of treatment? To what end? How could Caduceus promise him the E.R. appointment when that decision had already been made?
He had entered the hospital through a side entrance and stopped by the speech pathology lab. The speech therapist, a bright, enthusiastic woman, was pleased to demonstrate for him the voice device, known as an artificial electrolarynx. Pressed tightly against a “sweet spot” beneath the jaw, it transmitted impulses from the mouth and worked whether its user had a functioning larynx or not. The voice it produced when Eric tried it was virtually indistinguishable from that made by the therapist. On a whim he had asked her if anyone at the hospital had borrowed such a device or shown a special interest in it. Her response had been a predictable negative.
His size-thirteen sneakers propped on his desk, Dave Subarsky was sipping coffee as he pecked with one finger at his computer keyboard.
“Greetings, Doctor,” Eric said. “I’ve been sent here by the Nobel Prize Committee to check on what you’re up to.”
“I’ve been expecting you,” Subarsky said, hitting the return key. “Convey my thanks to your committee, and tell them that I—and my trusty IBM here—are on the verge of proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someone with no income, eighteen hundred dollars in monthly expenses, and three thousand dollars in the bank, cannot stay out of the poorhouse for more than two months.”
“That bad, huh?”
“It’s starting to look that way.”
“Something will turn up.”
“Maybe. But it ain’t gonna be a grant from the Sackett Foundation.”
“You heard?”
“Uh-huh. This morning. The cupboard is bare. I tried telling them that a mind was a terrible thing to waste, but they didn’t buy it. They said my work was too theoretical.”
“They’re nuts. That stuff you’ve been doing with progressive DNA mutation has tremendous clinical potential.”
“Maybe,” Dave said, his voice drifting off. “Maybe so.”
“You’ll find a way.”
Subarsky flipped off his computer.
“That I will, my friend,” he said. “So, today’s the big day, yes?”
Eric shrugged.
“I think so.”
“I thought the committee was meeting this afternoon.”
“As far as I know, they are, but … David, there’s something I want to tell you about, but it’s got to stay between us.”
“No problem.”
Eric hesitated, then recounted the eerie call.
“Does any of that mean anything to you?” he asked.
“Aside from suggesting that there’s someone running around White Memorial with a screw loose?”
“David, I tell you, the guy who called may be crazy, but he—or she; I really couldn’t tell—sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing. Any thoughts at all?”
Subarsky drummed his fingers on his ample gut.
“Only one. That stunt we pulled with the laser hardly went unnoticed.”
“Tell me about it. Joe Silver was thinking about reporting us to the Human Experimentation Committee.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Well, for one thing, we saved the guy’s life.”
“Minor detail.”
“And for another, I convinced my esteemed boss that the only danger of the
Caduceus
. The staff and twin serpents symbolizing medicine. He had looked up the word, hoping that some aspect of its definition might give him insight. All he had learned was that in mythology, the staff was borne by Hermes, the wing-footed messenger of the gods, patron of travelers and rogues, conductor of the dead to Hades, known for his invention and cunning.How it had come to signify the healing arts, he had not yet learned.
Throughout the walk, just over four miles, he had played and replayed the brief conversation in his mind. It simply made no sense.
Administer a treatment in a manner unfamiliar
… What sort of treatment? To what end? How could Caduceus promise him the E.R. appointment when that decision had already been made?
He had entered the hospital through a side entrance and stopped by the speech pathology lab. The speech therapist, a bright, enthusiastic woman, was pleased to demonstrate for him the voice device, known as an artificial electrolarynx. Pressed tightly against a “sweet spot” beneath the jaw, it transmitted impulses from the mouth and worked whether its user had a functioning larynx or not. The voice it produced when Eric tried it was virtually indistinguishable from that made by the therapist. On a whim he had asked her if anyone at the hospital had borrowed such a device or shown a special interest in it. Her response had been a predictable negative.
His size-thirteen sneakers propped on his desk, Dave Subarsky was sipping coffee as he pecked with one finger at his computer keyboard.
“Greetings, Doctor,” Eric said. “I’ve been sent here by the Nobel Prize Committee to check on what you’re up to.”
“I’ve been expecting you,” Subarsky said, hitting the return key. “Convey my thanks to your committee, and tell them that I—and my trusty IBM here—are on the verge of proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someone with no income, eighteen hundred dollars in monthly expenses, and three thousand dollars in the bank, cannot stay out of the poorhouse for more than two months.”
“That bad, huh?”
“It’s starting to look that way.”
“Something will turn up.”
“Maybe. But it ain’t gonna be a grant from the Sackett Foundation.”
“You heard?”
“Uh-huh. This morning. The cupboard is bare. I tried telling them that a mind was a terrible thing to waste, but they didn’t buy it. They said my work was too theoretical.”
“They’re nuts. That stuff you’ve been doing with progressive DNA mutation has tremendous clinical potential.”
“Maybe,” Dave said, his voice drifting off. “Maybe so.”
“You’ll find a way.”
Subarsky flipped off his computer.
“That I will, my friend,” he said. “So, today’s the big day, yes?”
Eric shrugged.
“I think so.”
“I thought the committee was meeting this afternoon.”
“As far as I know, they are, but … David, there’s something I want to tell you about, but it’s got to stay between us.”
“No problem.”
Eric hesitated, then recounted the eerie call.
“Does any of that mean anything to you?” he asked.
“Aside from suggesting that there’s someone running around White Memorial with a screw loose?”
“David, I tell you, the guy who called may be crazy, but he—or she; I really couldn’t tell—sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing. Any thoughts at all?”
Subarsky drummed his fingers on his ample gut.
“Only one. That stunt we pulled with the laser hardly went unnoticed.”
“Tell me about it. Joe Silver was thinking about reporting us to the Human Experimentation Committee.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Well, for one thing, we saved the guy’s life.”
“Minor detail.”
“And for another, I convinced my esteemed boss that the only danger of the
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