Schrödinger’s Dog
An MRI. Wikimedia Commons When the doctor arrived, I was surprised. I’d been prepared for a long wait. We’d been in the room for only a few minutes, sitting rigid, side by side. He politely asked if I was coming, and I stammered. In fact, he was addressing Pierre. He’d spoken to him directly, without even looking at me. His manner was professional, maybe a bit ceremonious. Pierre said, “Yes” and got up, and I followed suit.
We sat on iron chairs, facing a big desk. The doctor took a seat on the other side and put his notes in order. He seemed to hesitate; he was practically squinting, his eye darting from Pierre to me as if he couldn’t decide. I started feeling uneasy. Maybe he was just getting warmed up.
Finally, he lowered his eyes to his pages again. He read the figures in silence, nodding.
I gazed at Pierre. There was nothing to read on his face, not the slightest expression. He was waiting, and I decided to imitate him. Through the window, a little courtyard was visible. A well of light, with four walls a few meters apart. Brilliant rays were falling into it. I wondered what the sky looked like.
The doctor coughed, giving the signal:
