On the bright side, it was Thursday. “Gerard, yes, hi, hello,” said Mrs. Dwyer, the nurse’s assistant sanctioned to hand over the Perlman headpiece and the big green pill and the smaller red one that activates the green one.
“How was the week?” she asked.
“Same,” I said.
“Oh, gosh, sorry,” she said.
In Treatment Room 4, she checked with the caliper to make sure the pressure foot of the Perlman was seated correctly.
It was.
She seemed a little nervous today.
“Green first,” she said. “I know you know that.”
I took the green.
“Good,” she said. “Now the red. Then the agua.”
I took the red. Drank the water from its pre-measured vial.
“Sit, wait, enjoy,” she said. “May this bring you healing.”
“Thanks,” I said.
By law she had to stand there waiting until it kicked in.
“Everybody’s got a right,” she said absently.
“For sure,” I said, anxious as always that this time it wouldn’t work.
“To feel O.K.,” she said, “in this crazy old—wope. There it is. Here it comes, yes?”
Here it came, yes.
Denne historien er fra June 12, 2023-utgaven av The New Yorker.
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Denne historien er fra June 12, 2023-utgaven av The New Yorker.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
YULE RULES
“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point.”
COLLISION COURSE
In Devika Rege’ first novel, India enters a troubling new era.
NEW CHAPTER
Is the twentieth-century novel a genre unto itself?
STUCK ON YOU
Pain and pleasure at a tattoo convention.
HEAVY SNOW HAN KANG
Kyungha-ya. That was the entirety of Inseon’s message: my name.
REPRISE
Reckoning with Donald Trump's return to power.
WHAT'S YOUR PARENTING-FAILURE STYLE?
Whether you’re horrifying your teen with nauseating sex-ed analogies or watching TikToks while your toddler eats a bagel from the subway floor, face it: you’re flailing in the vast chasm of your child’s relentless needs.
COLOR INSTINCT
Jadé Fadojutimi, a British painter, sees the world through a prism.
THE FAMILY PLAN
The pro-life movement’ new playbook.
President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.
On a mid-October Sunday not long ago sun high, wind cool-I was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a book festival, and I took a stroll. There were few people on the streets-like the population of a lot of capital cities, Harrisburg's swells on weekdays with lawyers and lobbyists and legislative staffers, and dwindles on the weekends. But, on the façades of small businesses and in the doorways of private homes, I could see evidence of political activity. Across from the sparkling Susquehanna River, there was a row of Democratic lawn signs: Malcolm Kenyatta for auditor general, Bob Casey for U.S. Senate, and, most important, in white letters atop a periwinkle not unlike that of the sky, Kamala Harris for President.
