He walked to the end of the corridor looking for another elevator or a stairs but found none. Then he headed in the other direction with equal lack of success. He was about to reenter the elevator and go back to the medicine secretary to ask directions to the cafeteria when he noticed a door marked “Stairs” next to the elevator door which was closed because the elevator was in the basement. He entered the stairwell relieved that he didn’t have to confront the secretary with another apparent idiot request.
After descending half a flight he came upon a sign that said, “These stairs go to the basement.” Two flights more and he reached a landing that was the size of the room he had first lived in as a medical student. At the far corner of the landing sat a fortyish man wearing dark glasses. He held out a tin cup that contained five pencils. Around his neck was a sign: “Can’t get an NIH grant, can’t get promoted.” Grollman hurried by him as though the benighted denizen of the stairs had the pox.
“It could happen to you too, Putz,” the man shouted as he descend.
At last Grollman reached the end of the stairs. In front of him the door said, “This is the basement.” He took the door knob and twisted, but it didn’t turn. Nonplused, he stared at the dumb portal. He tried the knob again with the same result. He then pounded on the door with an open hand and then a fist, but the door was unmoved.
“Anybody there? Let me out.” He felt like an idiot and was relieved when no one answered his distress call. “Why didn’t I stay in Chicago?” he said aloud.
“BECAUSE YOU HAVE AN AMBITION THAT’S GOING TO ROT YOUR LIVER,” said a voice from the darkness behind him.
“Who’s there?”
“WOULD YOU BELIEVE GOD?”
God hadn’t spoken to him since medical school, and then only once – so he didn’t believe it was God. He said nothing.
“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO OPEN THE DOOR?”
“Would you?”
“WHY SHOULD I?”
“Because I’m locked in here.”
“SO AM I”
“Not if you can open the door.”
“DO YOU THINK YOU CAN BANDY WORDS WITH THE LORD?”
“What do I have to do to get you to open the door?”
“BEGGING WOULD BE NICE.”
“God wants me to beg? Isn’t that kind of petty?”
“YOU OBVIOUSLY DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT RELIGION.”
“I beg you to let me out of here.”
“I DON’T SENSE SINCERITY.”
“Sincerity counts?”
“NOT REALLY.”
Grollman heard a click behind him. He turned and was covered with the light that came through the open door.
“Thanks.” He turned in the direction of the voice. The landing was now clearly lit; there was no one there.
