The Pathologist

The eyebrows: White, bushy, cultivated, reaching out like the antennas of a cat. The David learns whether or not he’s got parasitesoffice: equipped with the trophies of a life spent vaccinating children in developing countries. Tribal masks, plaster figurines, mysterious carved boxes. The medical equipment: white enameled. Mid-last-century airstreamed lines. Glass bottles with art deco labels: Alcohol, cotton. The waiting area: cramped, complicated. Exotic plants with spongy fronds. A receptionist with a lisp, sitting behind a glass window. Loads of fading photographs in frames you’d find in attics of the doctor at stages in his storied life: with a family in an African hut, in front of a hospital delivering a speech, standing in a lobby shaking the hand of someone famous.

“To get the sample, I will insert a finger into your rectum.”

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