Read The Hand of the Devil Online
Authors: Dean Vincent Carter
The Hand of the Devil (11 page)
‘“And how exactly will science benefit from this?”
‘He sighed. “Well, if we can see how the body reacts to losing its essential organs, we may be able to find ways of compensating for such loss. For example, the absence of the liver will result in the rapid onset of blood poisoning. If we are able to accurately record this, then we can come up with alternative methods of blood purification, or even preventative measures—”
‘“But that’s basic medicine,” I interrupted. “Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy could come to that conclusion. I’ve seen people with liver failure and jaundice. It’s not pleasant, but everyone understands what’s happening.”
‘“Yes . . . but those people are treated, they are made as comfortable as possible – they are not thoroughly studied. I intend to take that important step, to analyse the process from beginning to end, like no one has done before.” Soames looked down at the subject on the table. “I doubt this fellow’s liver would have served him much longer anyway.”
‘“Yes, but you
are
going to reattach it, aren’t you? Regardless of its condition?”
are
going to reattach it, aren’t you? Regardless of its condition?”
‘“Oh, come on,” Soames replied calmly. “He’s all but destroyed himself with alcohol. He could go at any time – look at him.”
‘“I really hope you’re not implying what I think—”
‘“Oh don’t be dense, man!” Soames’s explosive outburst surprised me. “Look, if it had been someone a little healthier then maybe I could have restored the organ after a brief period, but I can’t begin to think of the difficulty involved in securing a willing, healthy subject. Listen, I spoke to him at great length and explained everything. He’s consented fully to—”
‘“What? His death?”
‘“Well . . . yes. We can’t just throw away this golden opportunity—”
‘“No! No way, Soames. This is wrong, this is very, very wrong. You can’t just bloody kill the man!”
‘“Oh, what could he possibly have to live for? Let him make a contribution to medical science and give his pathetic life some meaning. I don’t understand why you’re trying to make this sound so macabre all of a sudden.”
‘“Because it is! It’s murder!”
‘“Is it? Is it murder if he’s consented? Is it murder if it leads to a valuable discovery? A discovery that could at some point save lives?”
‘“That’s speculation! You’re in no position to play with people’s lives, to play God!”
‘Soames fixed my gaze then, as though trying to convey something with his eyes that words couldn’t. He smiled. “Mather, my dear friend . . . we
are
gods.”
are
gods.”
‘I felt my lips tremble, as though in readiness for a reply, but none was forthcoming. I had no answer to that. It was quite a while, in fact, before I was able to say anything.
‘“It was my understanding that you’d remove the organ, record the results, then put it back.”
‘Soames pursed his lips, looked down at the floor and, to my amazement, laughed. “Poor, poor Mather. God bless you. You really think it’s possible to take out the liver and put it back after what could be several minutes of separation? Your naivety is almost charming. Tell me, how exactly did you think I’d ensure life support during such a procedure? I was lucky to get these,” he said, gesturing at his instruments.
‘“You bastard! I’m not going to let you do this,” I spat. “I can’t allow it!”
‘“What do you mean you can’t allow it?” He was angry now. “Just who do you think you are?”
‘“I’m not going to let you murder this man. What did you expect to do if the university found out, or the police . . . ?”
‘“Let me deal with them. You came here to assist. This procedure is my responsibility. Now help me move him, would you?”
‘“No. I won’t.”
‘“I see.” Soames stood looking at me. He tapped his foot on the floor. “If you don’t help me now, I promise I’ll go through with this experiment anyway, and—”
‘“No you won’t—”
‘“Oh yes I will! You can’t watch me every hour of the day, Mather. I’ll do it. And if it goes wrong I’ll frame you. How will that look? Hmm? And who would the university believe? Me with my exemplary grades? Or you with your mediocre performance?”
‘“You’d be taking a big gamble.”
‘“Maybe. But I’m cleverer than you are. If I want to frame you, I will. You know that. If you want a positive conclusion to this matter, your only hope is to assist me.”
‘“I would be an accomplice to murder.”
‘“Stop saying that! It’s not murder!” Soames glared at me. “As I said before, he has consented.” He sniffed and looked at the patient. “Now I need a steady hand and complete silence to work. If you’re not going to help me, perhaps you should leave.” With a great effort he shifted the man onto his back by himself, then ripped open his shirt. I caught the unpleasant stench of stale sweat. Standing immobile and indecisive, I watched while Soames, hardly relishing the task, shaved the man’s torso and prepared the area with iodine. Finishing, he reached for a scalpel.
‘Finally breaking my shock-induced stupor, I walked up to Soames and grabbed his hand.
‘“Get off me,” he spat in disgust. “What do you think you’re doing?”
‘“Drop it, Soames. Drop it now, or I’ll go straight to the police.”
‘“Will you indeed? I’m sure they’d be interested in the part you’ve played in this matter.” I hesitated for a moment. It was long enough for him to shake his hand free and turn his attention back to the patient. “The police!” he sneered. “You’ll do no such thing.”
‘“I’m serious,” I threatened.
‘“So am I. You’re as much a part of this as I am. You wouldn’t dare involve the police.”
‘“I came here to stop you making a big mistake. I thought I could make you see sense. If I’d known you weren’t intending to reattach the organ, I’d have probably had you arrested by now. If this man dies you’ll be a murderer. You’re my friend, for Christ’s sake . . . do you think I want to see you go to prison?”
‘I thought I might break Soames. The hand holding the scalpel began to tremble slightly. He stood over the patient for quite some time, creating an awkward silence that made me wonder if he’d entered some sort of trance. Then, quietly but purposefully, he placed the scalpel back on the metal tray and wiped his damp brow with the front of a shirtsleeve.
‘“Very well,” he said, disappointed. “Leave me alone for a while, would you? I’ll sober him up and sort him out.”
‘It’s bizarre, but I almost felt sorry for Soames. His face, as I left the room, was a portrait of defeat. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t. He had the bearing of a man who’d been thwarted on the brink of something magnificent. I departed without a word. There was nothing to say.
‘Downstairs I made myself a cup of tea. Taking the drink into the living room, I reclined on the sofa. I took one careful sip and then put the mug down. The tea tasted good and it calmed me somewhat after the heated exchange. I pictured Soames in the room above, perhaps muttering under his breath and cursing my name while he revived the patient. My eyelids drooped and my breathing grew loud and regular. Feeling drained, I allowed myself to sleep.
‘I awoke a little while later, in the grip of a sudden panic. There was a wealth of noise from the room above. Amid desperate shouts from Soames, I could hear the muffled screams of a creature in great pain and distress. It didn’t take me long to guess what must be occurring up there. I jumped off the sofa, left the room and took the stairs two at a time. Before reaching the room I heard Soames cry, “Oh . . . oh Jesus!”
‘The theatre was a mess. Medical instruments were strewn across the floorboards and the whisky bottle had been smashed, leaving a large section of the floor dark and sodden. Soames flinched at the sound of my arrival and turned to face me. Blood and horror were splashed across his face. Approaching him, I saw the mangled form of the vagrant sprawled across the floor, limbs twisted in unnatural shapes, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.
‘Words cannot adequately convey the awfulness of what confronted me. Perhaps it will suffice to say that I could never have imagined that a human being, or any animal, could be so wholly consumed by pain.
‘“Oh dear,” Soames said, quite insufficiently.
‘I tried to avoid watching the tramp’s horrible convulsions, but it proved impossible.
‘“Can’t we do something?” I pleaded.
‘“Like what? His liver’s gone,” Soames replied. And then, in a tone at once cold and devoid of emotion: “He’s dying.”
‘I felt a sudden anger. My so-called friend had lied to me. He’d never intended to abort the operation. There was not a trace of compassion in his heart. In his eyes I saw a fire that burned for more than mere knowledge. There was something lustful and hateful there.
‘I had failed to stop Soames, and because of this I felt partly responsible for his act of brutality. It was a testament to his deviousness and tenacity that he’d managed to complete his atrocious task.
‘Inevitably, the homeless man died. His death, I am sad to say, was neither quick nor painless. I begged Soames to end the suffering, but he insisted on leaving the man be, to fully record the results of the abominable experiment.
‘I felt unable to move until the man had finally expired. Soames pleaded with me to remain. He insisted he needed my assistance in cataloguing the findings. I think what he really wanted was my help in disposing of the body, but I would have nothing more to do with the matter. He could clean up his own mess.
‘That evening the nightmares began. Even during the days following, I could see the poor wretch’s face painted in a permanent mask of horror and hear his agonized screams. He has never left my thoughts since. Soames kept his distance from me after that night, much as I had expected. I only saw him at classes, where he would sit all alone at the back of the room, trying when possible to tackle all practical assignments by himself.
‘About a month or so after the incident Soames disappeared. No one knew where he had gone, or why, but in the months before he vanished rumours had circulated of screams and disappearances in the area. Perhaps Soames had continued his experiments without my help. I dread to think what he might have done.
‘When I became a practising surgeon I thought I would be able to put it all behind me, but my career seemed tainted from the beginning. Every operation I performed brought back that memory as clear as day. Somehow I managed to work for sixteen years before the memories and guilt threw me into a state of depression and despair.’
Mather paused, the story clearly dredging up old, unwelcome emotions. I sat quietly for some moments, trying to process what he had told me. I think it goes without saying that it isn’t every day I hear a story like that. I tried to imagine myself in Mather’s position. The idea was horrific. Perhaps he was unaware of how shocking and frightening such a story would be to a stranger like myself. He sipped his tea and stared out of the window. The odd cloud came and went, casting grey shadows across his face.
‘Luckily I’d saved a considerable sum of money, and was able to move here,’ Mather continued. ‘I could finally pursue my real obsession – the Lady.’
I looked at the Dictaphone to see if there was still enough tape left. It had almost reached the end of one side, but Mather’s story seemed to be coming to a close. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Why had he told me all this? And why had he been so honest about not trying to stop Soames earlier? He hadn’t struck me as the sort of person who would be intimidated easily. Why hadn’t he gone to the police at the earliest opportunity? Surely he would have, if he’d been truly appalled at what his friend had done. I was beginning to worry about the sort of person Mather might be.
‘Everything I’ve done until now feels justified because of her,’ he said.
‘Right,’ I replied, nodding. ‘That’s a pretty bleak story though, isn’t it? It must be a hard thing to live with.’
‘It is. That’s why I’m better off being here. It keeps me away from the horrors of society, the reminders. And the Lady is such good company.’ He smiled.
‘Aren’t you at all worried that she might escape though? I mean, wouldn’t she attack you just as she would anyone?’
‘Maybe,’ Mather answered in an almost detached manner. ‘It depends . . .’
‘On what?’ I looked at Mather as he stood and walked over to the living-room window.
‘Looks like it’s clearing up again.’ He was right. The dark clouds had passed, and over the lake the glorious sun presided. Mather picked up my cup and placed it on the tray with his. He left without a word and went into the kitchen.
I thought about what I’d asked him and why he hadn’t answered. Glancing outside again, I decided, if Mather had no objection, to go for another walk before he took me back to the mainland. After the story I’d just heard I needed some fresh air and time alone. And if he’d let me I wanted to take some photographs of the house and its surroundings. Leaving the living room, I went to my room to retrieve my bag. On the way I noticed that no sound was coming from the kitchen. Whatever Mather was doing, he was doing it in silence. I thought about going into his bedroom to get some pictures of the Ganges Red. Would he catch me? If he did, what would he do? No, I would wait. I was already spooked by his story, and by him. I had no idea how he’d react if he caught me betraying his wishes. But if I could get him away from the house, maybe then I would have the opportunity I required.
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