He drew ambulance duty with Maish Meyerson, an intensive debating course, an introduction to The News of the World in Review, an oral scratch sheet, a seminar in philosophy. The ambulance driver’s views were always definite and often irritating and by noon Spurgeon was weary of him.

“Take the race situation,” Meyerson said.

“Okay, I got it.”

Maish looked at him suspiciously. “Wait, you won’t smile, two armies, one white, one black, the country will be a bonfire.”

“Why?”

“You think all whites are liberals in Brooks Brothers suits?”

“No.”

“Bet your ass, no. To a lot of us the colored man is a threat.”

“I’m a threat to you?”

“You?” Meyerson said with scorn. “No, you’re an educated punk, a doctor. A black white man. I’m more nigger than you are, I’m a white nigger. It’s the black niggers who are a threat to me, and there are a hell of a lot of black niggers. I’m going to help myself first. Charity begins at home.”

Spurgeon said nothing. Meyerson gave him a sidelong glance. “That makes me a bad guy, right?”

“Damn right.”

“You’re better?”

“Yes,” Spurgeon said, but less emphatically.

“In a pig’s eye. Ever hear yourself talk to a colored patient? You sound like you’re doing the poor slob an enormous favor out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Do me a favor. Just don’t talk,” he said, glaring.

Triumphantly Meyerson sneaked up behind a slow woman-driven convertible and goosed her with quick, impatient growls of the siren, even though the ambulance was empty and they were cruising back to the hospital.

He pushed the hours by somehow.

That evening he found himself feeling very sorry for Stanley Potter.

“Are you certain?” he asked Adam.

“I saw it myself,” Adam said. “He was in the junior surgeon’s room reading the paper and having a cup of coffee when he was called down to the Old Man’s office. In a little while he came back looking as though he’d been trompled on, and he cleaned out his locker and carried his things away in a paper bag. Goodbye, Dr. Stanley Potter.”

“Amen. But I’ll be next.”

He hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud until he saw Adam looking at him.

“Don’t be an ass,” Adam said sharply.

“Two more days, man. That Death Committee’s going to tear me into tiny pieces.”

“No doubt. But if they were going to throw you out of here, pal, they wouldn’t wait for any committee meeting. They didn’t waste much time with Potter, did they? Because he was a general fuck-up. You’re an intern who made a mistake. A woman died and that’s a lousy shame, but if they threw out every doctor who made a mistake there wouldn’t be a doctor left in the hospital.”