Her Name was Anne.

Hyppocrates adjusts his tunic and opens the door to the theater. The stage is set with white stone walls, olive trees and gardens, perfects rows of accurate flowers, a stone bench for him to sit on. From another door comes his servant, Doska, laden with scrolls and keys, he puts them down and lights the lamps. Hyppocrates watches while the faces silently come into view. His audience of devoted students, waiting for his first word, ghost faces in a shadowed shell. He is the pearl, he knows this, but not by choice. He would give his life to be anywhere else, but death is a mystery he has not solved and so it remains beyond his reach.

He looks at Doska, holding out the first scroll, a devoted servant if ever a man had one. He is a favourite of the students, since they think him an acolyte. He makes sure that Doska’s slave status is buried so far it can never be found, it is his secret. One of many that live in his mind and wait to betray him. He has made sure that Doska himself does not know, that should save him from showing it somehow.

He unrolls the scroll, and 39 students sit up and dip pens in inkwells. He reads slowly so they have time to write some of it down.

“As you will have noticed we are down seven students, Ethics test results were extremely disappointing, indicating that 22 of you still have empathetic inclinations, seven of whom were found to be beyond redeeming. The remaining 15 will be given additional funding and a special needs assistant, until you can demonstrate that you have the problem under control. Graduation ceremonies have been postponed until the faculty is satisfied that it can safely release you into the medical world, without discredit to this institution.”

39 faces stare back at him, inscrutable, thinking, so dangerous. Time to move on, Doska hovers anxiously beside him, holding out the next scroll. He unrolls it and begins to read, louder this time, with proper gravitas.

“Archaic Diseases: these are the foundation for our modern system of health care. Now that you have completed your studies on the physical and mental disorders you will be facing in the modern world, you will be expected to learn the foundation diseases. I will name them here, indicate where you will find them in the archives, and you will have two days to read and prepare to meet the samples.

“Pens to parchment please, I will not repeat myself.

Acts of God: this category includes the following, all illnesses involving the autoimmune system, such as arthritis: Rheumatoid, Osteo, Beta and Contra, Bubonic and Pneumonic plagues, Leprosy, some of the Cancers, all of the Sexually Transmitted Diseases.

“Pharmaceutically Wrought: some of the psychological disorders such as Schizophrenia, Depression, Bipolar disease, and all 19th century Hysterias. Anxiety, most of the Phobias, Compulsive Disorders, Dry Eye, Restless Leg, Chronic Fatigue, Gender Dysfunction, Kidney Failure, some Cancers, the list is long. Note that many of these diseases overlap into other categories.

“I recommend you pay special attention to Diseases of the Female, where you will find familiar names. This category includes several Addictions, Menses and Childbirth, Maternal Dependency, Emotional Variability, Gluttony Factor A, Persistent Weakness, and many of the above-mentioned Acts of God.  

“Government Mandated: these include chronic conditions such as Diabetes, Hypertension, all Cardiological Conditions, Pandemics, many of the so-called ‘Childhood Disorders’ and all diseases requiring vaccination. Also included in this category are Tobacco Addiction, Alcoholism, certain types of Cancer, Gluttony Factors B through F, Sheep Chromo, all Classic Drug Addictions. See the subheading Media Made for Gluttony Factor Y, Artificial Racism, Mob Dust, and the Suicide Gene.

“Recombinant DNA is included in the Archaic diseases, under its own heading, where you will find other genetic anomalies such as Empathy Disorder, Altruism, H.D. Originality Syndrome and Persistent Religion. It remains the only disease to withstand aggressive preventive measures, corrective treatments and mass extermination of tainted gene pools, and is considered incurable at this time.

“Although they have been linked to Mental Health disorders, Community Gatherings are not considered a true disease by the medical establishment. As crimes they may have their roots in disease, but they are under a different bureaucratic jurisdiction. They concern us only when there are clear indications of Mob Dust or Persistent Religion.”

He rolls the scroll up carefully, keeping his face still and impassive. Doska releases a breath long held, his hands shake as he hands his master a final scroll. A sheen of sweat on his forehead, he goes and stands by the door, waiting. Hyppocrates gets slowly to his feet, tossing the scroll onto the bench. He already knows everything on it. He nods his head to Doska and the door is opened. A man walks in, a white, middle-aged man, balding and ruddy. He looks at Hyppocrates and smiles nervously, eyebrows raised, head tilted, do I stand here or sit?

Hyppocrates smiles at him, the bland, public smile expected of him. “We have a chair for you, here, please be comfortable.” He covers his legs with a warm blanket and gives him something hot to drink. He turns to his students, “Let me introduce you to Bob, Patriotic Hero No. 376B779T. I will tell you that he is 62 years old, with 2 children by a first wife and another one with a second wife. All 3 children live out of state, Bob makes a comfortable living as a maintenance man, he and his wife have just finished a long road trip, I believe. Is that correct Bob? Tell us a bit about yourself.”

He watches the flush rise in the man’s cheek. Blushing, not used to attention. Will his students interpret it correctly? He thinks not.

Bob clears his throat, trying to remember what he is allowed to say. He knows he can’t mention his health, even mental health, but what do they expect to hear? He thinks about what they want from him, something so easy for him to give, since he has no use for it anymore. They have a use for it though, so he can pretty much say what he wants. Forget what they want him to say, most of it is lies and no relief in the telling.

He looks at Hyppocrates, making a forbidden connection, having unscripted thoughts, and nothing will stop him from saying what needs to be said.

He speaks clearly and concisely,

“Yes, I’m Bob, a maintenance man. I did take a road trip with my wife, where we saw such things as mountains and hills rolling under a wide sky. We saw coulees filled with ghosts; blue beaches swept by an uncluttered sea, dark forests looming. She loved it all, my wife, wild weather, silent desert, green scented grasses, birds too fast to follow. We lived and loved the earth and each other, and I knew these things could never be, whatever they were, I knew what they were not. My wife believed though, carrying hope around with her like a gift from a god. How could I let her know the truth? How could I break the thread of life that lit her in the days that followed?”

Doska is horrified, frozen still and useless. Hyppocrates moves swiftly to the man’s chair, trying to stop the flood of forbidden words. The students write out every single one, stark black blasphemy on every page. His heart freezes in his chest for a moment, already knowing the end of his story now. He turns to Bob. The silence looms, clawing its way upward, will he break it?

“Did you have a storm?  What does the sea smell like? And the forest? Did you see the moon?”

All eyes are on Bob now. “We saw it all,” he says quietly.

“When the sun was hot it changed the colour of our skin. The storms brought rain that was clean, damp earth clung to our feet. I can’t tell you how it felt on my face, how it tasted of something I have never tasted.”

He looks at the students staring in hooded rows, sapphire eyes, perfect symmetry, pens poised for more of his thoughts. He sees what he expects to see. He picks up his cup and drains it.

He stands, facing Hyppocrates now. “Once my wife understood that all of it was false, she lost her mind. She experienced some Archaic Diseases, like Hysteria and Immoderate Grief and then, somehow, the Suicide Gene.” The students gasp, ink pots are knocked over, half the students run to the back of the theatre, others stay frozen to their chairs, some approach him, treading lightly. One girl, braver than the rest, asks him.

“Why are you here, Bob?”

He keeps his gaze on Hyppocrates but addresses them all.

“He knows why. He will tell you I signed up for this with an open mind and no agenda. Like all Patriotic Heroes. Sound mind, sure judgement, foresight, hindsight, ready and willing. I was tested, I passed, I’m here.”

He walks to the black curtain and pulls it open, the table is there, all the array of a serious medical procedure. A huge, complicated machine will keep him alive long enough. He smiles grimly, “none of this frightens me, you don’t frighten me, great teacher with noble intentions. You are flawed whether you will it or not.”

He lays down on the bed and offers his arm out to Doska. At the head of the bed the Black Surgeon waits with his instruments, his assistant glides forward with a clipboard.

“Please read and sign the consent form, then repeat after me. ‘I swear that I am Bob Trent, Patriotic Hero No. 376B779T, that I understand the nature of vivisection and I freely consent to this procedure.’”

Bob swears and signs. Then he turns to the class. “I have no problem with your taking parts of me away, but I want to have final approval on who gets what. You will find I have a host of other ‘Archaic Diseases,’ I hope you enjoy hunting them down.”

More gasps from the students, Hyppocrates finds himself flushing, his students stare him down. He walks over to the bed, lifts his hand and places it on the mans face, flinching when he feels something. He is still for so long; the silence grows unbearable. Doska gives the signal, and the Black Surgeon slowly steals the man’s senses, until he is beyond pain but still awake. He looks at Hyppocrates, still in his own eyes, he whispers.

“You can have my brain, when they’re finished with it. It seems you have much to learn.”