Sapperstein
Eyes are ice on this guy sitting across from me; hands knotted perfectly. In fact, his entire body is so perfectly perfect in its relationship to mine that he is, essentially, a nonbeing. His body-language nonexistant thus, he, teeters on the brink of obscurity. Shadows splash his right cheek. Bogey, I think. Yes, Bogart in the Maltese Falcon this guy, here. His face seems unflinching even when he speaks. I want to be put off and on the other hand I want to buy him a beer and shoot the shit.Horns in the streets like trumpets. Melancholy here in the office.
“What exactly are you here for again, Mr…”
“Doctor!” He asserts in his ventriloquist way. “Doctor Feldmar Sapperstein, pool reporter from the—”
“Pool reporter?”
“Well, yes. From the Surgical Times. I…”
He produces a card. “Feldmar Sapperstein, M.D., MFA.” A reporter. I knew it. Words come from somewhere again.
“You may have read some things I’ve written. Most notably, my modified procedures in regard to the Bilateral Pedical TRAM flap procedure.”
He pauses, obviously waiting for my acknowledgement. He’s bragging now, this guy, this Sapperstein, M.D. The voice never stops, droning on and on, it’s all the same with these guys.
“It won me the Ralphie Penderton Peligree Prize for Surgical Journalism just last year. I guess,” he continues, “I just want to know: Why’d you touch ‘er Marty? Was it some game to you? Are you—”
“Doctor Fredellian has no comment on the ongoing investigation. We were under the assumption that you were an expert designated by the plaintiff—”
That whore.
“—the plaintiff to examine the Doctor’s records.”
Thank God for Mitch. Thank God for this angel of a man protecting my very being, my existence, against icy over there. It wasn’t my fault, I swear, I think. She made me do it. It was the anaesthetics. I may have given her too much. I may have taken some myself. One can’t be held responsible for what one does on his—
“One can’t be held responsible for what one does under heavy anaesthesia, Mister”
“Doctor.”
“—Doctor, Sapperstein. My client, it is my belief, is innocent. Again, we will not be commenting on the ongoing investigation.”
The room is silent. Trumpets in the street, robot children wandering home from school shouting at the cabbies; women rumping their way, shake shake shake goes they, down the street down there outside.
“Well, in that case, I’ll just take a looksie at the records, then.”
….
