According to my almond-eyed little spy, the great surgeon, may his own liver rot, lied to me when he declared yesterday with a deathhead's grin that the had been . Well, it had been so in the sense Euler called zero the perfect number. Actually, they ripped me open, cast one horrified look at my decayed , and without touching it sewed me up again.
In "Transparent Things," Nabokov presents a narrator who reflects on a recent surgery that was anything but successful. He expresses his discontent with the surgeon, whom he views as deceitful for claiming the operation was performed properly. The narrator feels betrayed, suggesting that the surgeon's demeanor was sinister and that he was insincere in his reassurances.
The narrator describes the experience with a sense of irony, likening the surgeon's claim about the procedure to Euler's definition of zero as a perfect number. Despite being opened up, the surgeon apparently opted not to address the decayed issue, simply stitching him back up, indicating a profound sense of neglect and disappointment with the medical care received.
