“Sit down,” he said. He was chewing a cigar whose light had gone out and writing in a case book. Adam sat in a straight-backed wooden chair and looked around. The desks, the table tops and the window sills were clutters of books and papers, some of them yellowing. A coleus plant blazed in a cheap pink plastic container. Next to it was a small spray of dying foliage he couldn’t identify, dry roots reaching desperately toward an inch of cloudy water at the bottom of a Pyrex lab retort. A whiskey bottle, half filled and tagged, stood on a pile of books. There was a worn bare linoleum on the floor. The windows were grimy and curtainless.

“What’s your story?”

Dr. Lobsenz had faded blue eyes, very direct. His hair was gray. He had shaved badly and his white shirt had not been put on fresh that morning.

“I saw your notice at the school. I’m applying for the job.”

Dr. Lobsenz sighed. “You’re the fifth applicant. What’s your name?”

Adam told him.

“I have a little work to do. Will you come with me? I’ll interview you as we go along.”

“Yes, sir,” Adam said. He wondered why the Negro girl was grinning as she rattled away on her machine.

Dr. Lobsenz led him into the basement, a drop of two dozen steps and at least that many degrees of temperature.

There were bodies on tables and litters, some covered with cloths, some not. They stopped by the corpse of an old man, skinny and emaciated, with very dirty feet. Lobsenz pointed to the eyes with the unlit cigar. “See the white rim in the cornea? Arcus Senilis. Notice the increase in the depth of the chest? That’s senile emphysema.” He turned and looked at Adam. “Will you remember those things next time you see them?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

He went to one of the drawers that lined the wall, slid it open, gazed at the dead man within. “Fire death. About 45 years old. See the pinkish color? Two things do that. One is cold. The other is carbon monoxide in the blood. Whenever there’s smoke or yellow flame, there’s carbon monoxide.”

“How did he die?”

“Tenement fire. Went in after his mother. All they ever found of the mother couldn’t be differentiated from the other ashes.”

He led Adam to an elevator, took him in silence to the third floor.

“Still interested in the job?”

“What is the job?”

“Taking care of them.” He motioned with his head, downward toward the cold storage basement.

“All right,” Adam said.

“And assisting at autopsies. Have you ever seen an autopsy?”

“No.”

He followed Lobsenz into a room of white tile. There was a tiny figure on the white dissecting table, a doll, he thought, and then realized it was a colored baby, no more than a year old.