The Last Hiccup Read Online Free PDF Page B

while fragments of its hem and sleeves were singed off entirely. Vladimir’s bare feet were covered in soot, his legs stained charcoal gray. Otherwise, he was undamaged.
    Sergei sat down on Vladimir’s bed and took a long look at the boy. He wondered — had Vladimir been scarred by this incident? Would this be the one defining experience that would perpetually plague his patient’s dreams or had it just been another unspeakable torment in a long list of unspeakable torments the boy had been forced to endure? Sergei could glean nothing from Vladimir’s expression. It was at once stoic, inquisitive, apathetic and haunted by despair. Close to three minutes had passed and still his patient hadn’t acknowledged that Sergei was in the room. Young Vlad needed his help now more than ever. Sergei had failed him too many times. He failed in curing him of the hiccups. He failed by allowing Alexander to subject the boy to a random series of painful, invasive tests, each more unnecessary than the last. And finally he failed the boy by exiling him to a land of lunatics solely because he couldn’t decide what else to do with him. Sergei brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes hard.
    â€œVladimir?” he said.
    The child’s eyes remained fixated on the spinning twine.
    â€œWould you like to go on a field trip?”
    Young Vlad looked up and, for the first time since Sergei could remember, the boy smiled.
    Two hours later the doctor and his patient were on the other side of Moscow, sitting in a windowless room lined by hundreds of old, unopened books. After his night in the asylum, Sergei ordered Vladimir to be bathed, clothed and deloused (although not necessarily in that order), and with his combed hair and hospital-provided dress attire he now looked like any other normal child. The only indications of his condition were his abnormally pale skin, a macabre reddening about his eyes and, of course, the persistent, inexhaustible hiccups.
    Vladimir reached over to the stack of books resting between him and Sergei on the plump leather sofa. The first was a medical textbook, the second a history of witchcraft. The third one, which Vladimir opened and flipped through with interest, was a graphic, picture-laden account of human mating practices in antediluvian Europe.
    â€œPut that down,” Sergei said. He took the book away, glanced at it himself and then tucked it in the nearest bookshelf.
    â€œAre we meeting Dr. Afiniganov here?” Vladimir said.
    â€œNo. I didn’t tell Alexander where we were going.”
    Young Vlad looked up at Sergei. For a brief moment, Sergei thought he saw a fleeting apprehension in the child’s eyes.
    â€œWhat is it, Vladimir?”
    The boy paused.
    â€œIt’s okay, you can tell me.”
    â€œAre you going to sever my phrenic nerve?” Vladimir said.
    â€œNo!” Sergei exclaimed. “Of course not. Who told you this?”
    â€œI heard Dr. Afiniganov talking about it with a nurse.”
    â€œDo you even know where your phrenic nerve is located?” Sergei said, adjusting his tie.
    Slowly the boy looked down at his lap.
    Sergei let out a hearty laugh. “Vlad, my boy, that’s not your phrenic nerve.”
    This was not funny to Vladimir. “I don’t care. I don’t want them to take my phrenic nerve away.”
    â€œIf you don’t know where it is or even what it is — how could you miss it?”
    â€œI just would.”
    Sergei stopped laughing and leaned in close to where he could feel Vladimir’s hiccups against his skin. “Listen to me carefully,” he said. “I don’t care what Alexander said. I will never allow that to happen. No one is going to cut you up. I promise you that. You aren’t just my patient, Vladimir — I think of you as my son. And I take direct responsibility for the fact that your affliction continues to this day. I’ve made it my life’s