- “So, Mr. Lebrun, big day today. How are you feeling?”
- “Pretty well, I think. A bit afraid.”
- “I understand that. Heart valve surgery is not to be taken lightly, general nervousness is a natural reaction. But we’ve been over the discussion of the details, and I assure you: Here at Mount Sinai Hospital, you’re in the best hands.”
Dr. Levin smiles at the elderly man on the operating table.
- “You already met the lovely Miss Sophie Geller, who will administer the anaesthesia, and not to forget” - he points in my direction - “my fellow assistant here, Dr. Abramowicz, who will perform the bulk of the operation by himself.”
- “Good afternoon, Sir”, I say without looking up.
- “Abramowicz, you say?”, the patient asks upon mustering me. “Is there a possibility we know each other?”
- “That would surprise me”, I reply. “I don’t think I have had the pleasure. How long have you already been in New York, if I may ask?”
Mr. Lebrun frowns. “About two years. I came here after my daughter got married. Why?”
- “Oh, I was just curious. A lot of people come here, not only locals but international clients as well. Somewhat hard to keep track on the faces, so I hope you don’t mind.”
- “Very well, very well. Past 3 o’clock already. Shall we begin?”, my boss interrupts.
- “Where’s the rest?”
- “What do you mean?”
- “I was under the impression you’d need a lot more surgeons for an operation of such importance”, Mr. Lebrun says, seemingly bewildered.
- “You’ll have to excuse, Sir”, I respond, “we have been sort of short-staffed all week. But I assure you this will not diminish the quality or safety of this procedure.”
- “I’ll have to take your word for it. Fine.”
- “Alright. Now relax, Mr. Lebrun. The anaesthetic should take some time.”
The patient leans back and slowly closes his eyes. Seconds pass. Sophie empties the needle, throws it away and smirks. “He’s all yours, doctor.”
I step to the operation table and whisper into the patient’s ear: “Tell me, Mr. Lebrun, do you believe in God?”
The look of surprise on his face is delicious.
- “I, for myself, have always found it difficult to believe. But if there’s a God, I should be damn grateful”, I say, glancing at the calendar. “For today, Wednesday, the 23rd of September 1964, is the happiest day in my life. This is the day I cut you open, rip your heart out, eviscerate you and extract every single of your organs that might be good for anything before tossing your worthless body away and erasing you from this earth, you old fuck.”
The man’s eyes fill with fear. It must have occured to him that he can still hear me.
- “And the best part of it? You will be awake for most of it. You don’t think we actually induced narcosis, do you? Thanks to Sophie here slipping you a strong muscle relaxant instead, you won’t be able to move, you won’t be able to scream, yet you’re going to feel all of it. Every. Single. Cut.
But from doctor to doctor: You would be proud of me right now, wouldn’t you?”
Mr. Lebrun’s eyes dart around in panic, but all he can do is slowly open his mouth, unable to mutter a syllable.
- “I might have lied to you previously. We do, in fact, know each other. It’s been 20 years, give or take, but I recognized you the moment you stepped through our hospital door for your first appointment. Nice job you did with the beard. And Lebrun? A French name? Creative. But I know your name, Doctor. Your soulless eyes gave you away.”
The patient now lies completely motionless, only his soulless eyes growing in size.
- “‘He can’t do that, can he?’, you must be thinking right now. ‘He can’t just murder a patient on the table like that? His colleagues would intervene immediately!’ - Don’t worry. I told the others I recognized you the day you came in, and when Dr. Levin found out he was the one scheduled for your heart surgery, he himself offered me supervision of the whole thing. My fellows are totally in on it.”
God, this is making me giddy, I’m almost dropping the vascular clamps.
- “Oh, the family, you say? ‘My family would immediately raise questions about an otherwise healthy 53-year-old suddenly dying from a procedure with 2% fatality rate? The coroner would definitely investigate!’ - Eugene is a good guy. If I tell him he didn’t notice anything out of order about your death, then he didn’t. It’s really easy. If all of the staff knew you were here, at least half of them would want you dead. But if we keep it secret, even better.”
A single tear rolls down the paralyzed man’s cheek.
- “Ah, great, now you’re crying. Well guess who cried as you surgically removed his eye? The one with the colour shift?” I shout, pointing at my glass eye. “For ‘scientific reasons’? Without painkillers of any fucking sorts?”
Dr. Levin clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt your big moment, old chap, but we don’t have all day. You still want to do this or not?”
- “Sorry. I’m getting worked up. Two more minutes and we can begin.”
- “Alright then, take your time”, he says and lights a cigarette. “Take your time.”
- “So, where was I? Right. You might be asking yourself why I, of all people, am doing this to you. I’m doing this for my father whose hand I held as he starved away. I’m doing this for my brother I last saw as you took him into your lab, promising him sweets if he would sit still like a good little boy. I’m doing this for my mother who arrived at the camp with a bad cold only for you to send her into the gas chamber without batting an eye. And I’m doing this for the countless and countless others.”
I pick up the scalpel with a big grin.
- “See you in hell, Doctor Mengele.”