finished clearing the throat, which was gleaming and alien. The root of the tongue was lumpy with tastebuds and larger papillae.
‘What’s that?’ said Patrick.
‘What’s what?’ said Meg.
Patrick was so focused that he brushed against her shoulder without even noticing, as he leaned in and touched a particularly large , discoloured lump. It moved a little, so he plucked it out with his forceps and held it up to the light.
‘What’s that?’ said Dilip.
‘You pulled his tonsils out, idiot!’ said Scott.
‘No I didn’t. It wasn’t attached.’
Patrick turned the lump slightly in the afternoon light. It was pale tan and about half the size of his smallest fingernail, domed on one side, flat on the other, with a single groove running down its length.
‘You think it’s a tumour?’ said Meg, looking as concerned as if the corpse would have to be told the bad news.
‘Looks more like a cyst,’ said Scott.
‘Or a nodule,’ helped Rob. ‘You get them on the vocal cords.’
‘It’s a peanut,’ said Patrick.
They all laughed, even though he was serious.
Dr Spicer came over and confirmed Patrick’s diagnosis. ‘Probably brought up from the stomach with the rest of the debris.’
‘There was nothing in the stomach,’ Patrick reminded him.
‘Maybe that’s why,’ said Rob.
‘I bet he choked on it,’ Scott insisted.
‘It’s too small, isn’t it?’ said Dilip. ‘Something that size couldn’t block the airway. It would just be sucked into the lungs, wouldn’t it?’
‘What are the post-mortem symptoms of choking?’ said Spicer.
‘Blood in the eyes?’ said Meg.
Scott leaned over the face and Patrick looked away as he checked the sunken eyes.
‘Nada,’ said Scott. ‘Shit. I give up. I’m asking Mick.’
He walked away and Patrick dropped the peanut into a fresh bag.
‘I don’t really think that’s necessary,’ laughed Spicer.
‘Anything and everything you take off or out of this cadaver gets bagged and tagged so it can be put back together again at the end of the course for burial or cremation,’ said Patrick, and Spicer looked stunned to hear himself quoted verbatim.
‘Are you being funny?’ he said carefully.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Patrick, and fastened the bag, tagged it, and then put it under the dissection table along with Bill’s left arm, both feet, and that day’s skin and fat. Spicer shook his head and turned his attention to the table again.
Scott came back from the office, frowning, and they all looked at him expectantly. ‘It’s not choking, but he wouldn’t say what it was. That bastard
likes
watching us suffer.’
They all turned towards the glass-walled office. The bald lab tech gave them a wave, looking as cheerful as they had ever seen him.
When five o’clock came round the students started to peel off their gloves and leave.
‘See you tomorrow, Bill,’ said Meg.
Patrick didn’t go.
Instead he slid his fingers into the cadaver’s mouth and ran them around the inside of the stiff lips and under the leathery tongue. Then he checked from the other end too, wiggling his index finger up behind the soft palate and into the nasal cavity.
‘What are you doing?’ said Meg, wandering back to the table.
‘Looking for vomit.’
‘Any luck?’
Patrick glanced at her over the corpse. ‘Would it be lucky or unlucky to find vomit with my finger in the mouth of a dead man?’
She paused and then smiled. ‘You’re joking.’
‘You can laugh,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe later.’
Patrick checked thoroughly, then held up a clean blue finger.
‘Luck,’ he said, and she laughed.
20
TODAY I CLOSED my mouth until my teeth touched. I strained and sweated and groaned and grimaced, and when I felt enamel on enamel, I cried with joy. Cried like I haven’t since Lexi was born. Cried so hard that Jean had to come over and suck the snot out of my nose with a turkey baster – or something very like it.
‘Well done!’ she
‘What’s that?’ said Patrick.
‘What’s what?’ said Meg.
Patrick was so focused that he brushed against her shoulder without even noticing, as he leaned in and touched a particularly large , discoloured lump. It moved a little, so he plucked it out with his forceps and held it up to the light.
‘What’s that?’ said Dilip.
‘You pulled his tonsils out, idiot!’ said Scott.
‘No I didn’t. It wasn’t attached.’
Patrick turned the lump slightly in the afternoon light. It was pale tan and about half the size of his smallest fingernail, domed on one side, flat on the other, with a single groove running down its length.
‘You think it’s a tumour?’ said Meg, looking as concerned as if the corpse would have to be told the bad news.
‘Looks more like a cyst,’ said Scott.
‘Or a nodule,’ helped Rob. ‘You get them on the vocal cords.’
‘It’s a peanut,’ said Patrick.
They all laughed, even though he was serious.
Dr Spicer came over and confirmed Patrick’s diagnosis. ‘Probably brought up from the stomach with the rest of the debris.’
‘There was nothing in the stomach,’ Patrick reminded him.
‘Maybe that’s why,’ said Rob.
‘I bet he choked on it,’ Scott insisted.
‘It’s too small, isn’t it?’ said Dilip. ‘Something that size couldn’t block the airway. It would just be sucked into the lungs, wouldn’t it?’
‘What are the post-mortem symptoms of choking?’ said Spicer.
‘Blood in the eyes?’ said Meg.
Scott leaned over the face and Patrick looked away as he checked the sunken eyes.
‘Nada,’ said Scott. ‘Shit. I give up. I’m asking Mick.’
He walked away and Patrick dropped the peanut into a fresh bag.
‘I don’t really think that’s necessary,’ laughed Spicer.
‘Anything and everything you take off or out of this cadaver gets bagged and tagged so it can be put back together again at the end of the course for burial or cremation,’ said Patrick, and Spicer looked stunned to hear himself quoted verbatim.
‘Are you being funny?’ he said carefully.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Patrick, and fastened the bag, tagged it, and then put it under the dissection table along with Bill’s left arm, both feet, and that day’s skin and fat. Spicer shook his head and turned his attention to the table again.
Scott came back from the office, frowning, and they all looked at him expectantly. ‘It’s not choking, but he wouldn’t say what it was. That bastard
likes
watching us suffer.’
They all turned towards the glass-walled office. The bald lab tech gave them a wave, looking as cheerful as they had ever seen him.
When five o’clock came round the students started to peel off their gloves and leave.
‘See you tomorrow, Bill,’ said Meg.
Patrick didn’t go.
Instead he slid his fingers into the cadaver’s mouth and ran them around the inside of the stiff lips and under the leathery tongue. Then he checked from the other end too, wiggling his index finger up behind the soft palate and into the nasal cavity.
‘What are you doing?’ said Meg, wandering back to the table.
‘Looking for vomit.’
‘Any luck?’
Patrick glanced at her over the corpse. ‘Would it be lucky or unlucky to find vomit with my finger in the mouth of a dead man?’
She paused and then smiled. ‘You’re joking.’
‘You can laugh,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe later.’
Patrick checked thoroughly, then held up a clean blue finger.
‘Luck,’ he said, and she laughed.
20
TODAY I CLOSED my mouth until my teeth touched. I strained and sweated and groaned and grimaced, and when I felt enamel on enamel, I cried with joy. Cried like I haven’t since Lexi was born. Cried so hard that Jean had to come over and suck the snot out of my nose with a turkey baster – or something very like it.
‘Well done!’ she
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