Free To Rise Again at a Decent Hour by Joshua Ferris

swallow. Abby kept the evacuation going even as the old woman continued to try to swallow with stubborn regularity, an instinct of pale pink muscle at the back of her throat. She was like a condemned person, my Parkinson’s patient, facing death after a long stay in an unquiet prison. She was in that morning because she had lost a tooth to a piece of toast. Her son had been unable to find the tooth. He apologized profusely, as though he had failed his mother in some way. People bring in their broken teeth all the time as if they are still-warm fingers and toes, believing I might do some kind of quick graft. If you ever lose a tooth, just toss it. Or put it under your pillow. There’s nothing I can do with it. I explained that to him, which put his mind at ease. Then I had a good look inside his mother’s mouth—a mouth that had a year or two left on earth, straining in the agony of its tremors and its thwarted swallows—and what I found was a rare but immediately identifiable condition likely brought about by chemotherapy: osteonecrosis of the jaw. My condemned patient could now add jawbone death to the list alongside whatever cancer she’d had and the Parkinson’s she would die with. Her jawbone was so soft and rotted that her morning piece of toast had managed to push the lost tooth past her gum and into the bone, where it was presently lodged. I took a pair of tweezers and removed it without causing her any pain at all. “Here’s that tooth,” I said.
    Connie appeared in the doorway with an iPad.
    “Yes?”
    “When you get a moment,” she said.
    We had iPads by that point. The year before, we’d bought new desktops. And the year before that, the folks from Dentech came out and upgraded our entire system, so that we could do everything electronically better than we could do it electronically before. In almost every respect, purchasing something for the improvement of the office was a rational choice based on a cost-benefit analysis, but when new technology made itself known, it was a mortal terror not to seize it at the first opportunity.
    “I just wanted to ask you,” she said as I stepped out into the hallway, “have you read your bio on here?”
    “On what?”
    “On this website of ours.”
    I seized the iPad. “This is maddening,” I said. “They had all weekend to take this thing down. They haven’t even answered my email.”
    “Did you read your bio?”
    Again I wondered, Who could have done this? Had I been late with a patient? Curt with a temp? An idea struck me. “You know who this might be?”
    “Who?”
    “Anonymous.”
    “Who’s Anonymous?”
    I reminded her of the scumbag who had failed to pay for his bridgework and then left nasty reviews of me on Google.
    “Wasn’t that, like, two years ago?” she said. “Would he really still be—”
    “It’s unfair!” I said. “It really doesn’t take a lot to have a cave dweller.”
    “Read your bio,” she said.
    Dr. O’Rourke has been practicing dentistry for over ten years. A native of Maine, he is committed to the highest standard of treatment for his patients. His friendly, personable nature combined with his extensive background guarantees you a pleasant, relaxing, and stress-free visit.
    I looked up at her. “Whoever did this has an intimate knowledge of me and this office,” I said.
    “Have you gotten to the weird part?” she asked.
    The bio ended with the weird part.
    Come now therefore, and with thee shall I establish my covenant. For I shall make of thee a great nation. But thou must lead thy people away from these lords of war, and never make of them an enemy in my name. And if thou remember my covenant, thou shall not be consumed. But if thou makest of me a God, and worship me, and send for the psaltery and the tabret to prophesy of my intentions, and make war, then ye shall be consumed. For man knoweth me not.
    “What the hell is this?” I said, searching her face. “Something from the Bible?”
    “Sounds like