All That Is Solid Melts into Air Read Online Free Page B

lesions in a patient’s lung, opaque spots dotted around the chest, as if someone had spilled water onto the film. Or coronary arteries that had been whited out, the clotting looking like unthreatening, blank space. He saw the origins of illness. And in many cases he saw family here too, the hereditary nature of these conditions bearing a whisper of those who had gone before. History and family carrying on into the present, into the future, and he never failed to be fascinated, to reflect that our upbringing is apparent not just in our manners or mannerisms or our speech, it is there too on a cellular level, proving its presence on an acetate sheet, laid against a lightbox, fifty years after our birth.
    Raisa, his secretary, heard the cartoon squeak of his approach and was already standing by her desk holding a bunch of notecards as he rounded the corner. He nodded his greeting and walked into his office, leaving open the door for her as she trailed him. She began reciting the messages as he took off his jacket and settled himself at his desk.
    Some referrals. Replies to referrals. A message from the editor of the state medical journal. Requests for responses to new initiatives from the hospital management committee. Invitations for lecture slots.
    He stopped listening after the first few.
    He made some calls, dictated two or three of the most pressing letters and then left for the theatre.
     
    His first task was an endoscopy on a young woman. She had come in the previous afternoon, certain that a chicken bone had lodged itself in her neck. Nothing had shown up on the X-ray but it was possible that a bone fragment had lodged itself in her trachea, obscuring itself from view. He had spoken to her the evening before. A young woman, full of certainty. A trainee dentist. Sharp-featured. Thin. Her bones discernible under her skin, her clavicles running a straight line under her shoulders, so distinct that when he had spoken to her he couldn’t help picturing an artist’s sketch of her body, the construction lines as prominent as those of her features.
    She was adamant about the pain and would gag involuntarily every now and again, sometimes in midsentence. When this happened, though, it barely interrupted her speech. She was unshocked at the reactions of her body, adapting to them.
    It was her first stay in a hospital, but there was no sign of nerves. She had a faith in professional procedure, she clearly understood the precautions they would take, trusted in the skill of the surgical staff. Usually he would leave this type of job for one of the registrars, but he had volunteered to do it himself. After he’d spoken with her, a part of him wanted to repay her faith in them. She expected them to be expert and so he would match that, bringing his personal talent and experience to bear. And, besides, he welcomed the easing in. Doing something routine would be a way of warming himself up for the larger tasks of his day.
    On the operating table Maya Petrovna Maximova lay on her side, anesthetized, her lips fitted around a mouthpiece with a hole in the centre, ready to take in the tube of the endoscope. Patients always looked so different in their vulnerable state; the personality she had shown the night before was all but erased.
    The viewing screen was placed just above her head, to her right. Stanislav Nicolaevych, his new junior surgeon, stood beside him. Not that there was any need for his presence here, he too could practically do the procedure in his sleep, but it was his way of marking his territory, reminding Grigory that he was more than capable of it.
    The tube was handed to him, and Grigory began to feed it through the plastic hole in the patient’s mouthpiece. He pushed it forward slowly and steadily, careful to maintain a slight momentum but cautious also not to puncture any tissue. The insides of her mouth filled the screen and the short journey began, past the flap of the epiglottis at the back of the mouth as he