The Doctor

He was a pitiful sight, the doctor, or—no, I shouldn’t call him that—the man, layers and layers of dark and drab, dried blood interspersed with splashes of dust. He was led in like a prisoner, arms held, head down, and outside, the wind moaned with the crowds.

My companion leaned closer. “Sure doesn’t look like him,” he said, words nearly imperceptible in the low murmuring. I could sense his nervousness.

But I couldn’t reassure him either. Was the vagrant in front of me really Lucas Alejo, the one we—he—knew from med school so long ago? If not...

The doctor was stopped in front of the magistrate, imposing and dark, tall and muscular—typical of the locale—but unlike the others, neatly-dressed as well. He was standing on the dais and appeared to tower over everyone else, filling the whole of the small hall. The doctor looked up to the man, and his face was blank, revealing nothing.

The magistrate spoke at last, and his words rippled through the air, voice inflecting only at the very awkward end of his sentences. “You are the one they call Dr. Alejo?”

“I am,” the doctor replied calmly.

Murmuring, like beasts in the wilderness.

“You have been practicing in this area?”

“Helping, healing, yes, yes, I have.”

“You have performed surgery?” the magistrate continued, hand on the wooden railing.

“When necessary, yes, I have.”

Murmuring, like mudslides through the village. They had heard this before.

“You have no license?”

“No, that’s not correct,” the doctor shook his head, speaking loudly still, “I have been licensed by the board.”

The magistrate turned to address us. “Honorable doctors, this man is Lucas Alejo as he claims to be?”

My companion stepped forwards, running a hand through his hair. “My apologies, magistrate, I cannot tell.”

The magistrate waited.

“Neither can I,” I mumbled, staring at the ground below the doctor’s feet.

The doctor turned his head, looked at the two of us, looked away quickly. “Monty. David. Never expected to see you here.”

A sigh of relief. “He is Lucas Alejo, sir.”

“He is certified?”

“Yes, he is,” Monty confirmed. “Doctor Lucas Alejo.” He shot me a confident look.

“Thank you, doctors.” The magistrate turned back to the man. “You do recognize that board certification is not enough? You are aware you need to apply for a license before you can practice in this country?”

The doctor’s face darkened. “I am aware.”

“You have obtained such authorization?”

“I have not. You know of the corruption just as well as I.”

“You did not acquire authorization, yet still you practice?”

“I did not have the bribes,” the doctor shook.

“Magistrate!” shouting from the entranceway, a guard rushing in. “A woman claiming to be his wife wishes to enter.”

The magistrate turned gloatingly back. “You have a wife?”

“I do.”

“You were married in a court of law?”

The doctor did not reply.

The magistrate repeated his question. “You must answer,” he said.

“We had not the money.”

“Deny her,” the magistrate nodded to the soldier. “She is not his wife.”

The man began to protest.

“You are aware,” the magistrate raised his voice, “that your former colleagues are here regarding business in the States? It is rumored that you are hiding a fortune.” I wanted to correct him—just Monty, not me.

“I have nothing,” the doctor said bitterly.

“You do not charge for your services, swindle the people? Taking alternate forms of payment, perhaps?”

“I ask nothing but their hospitality,” the doctor replied.

“Then you cannot pay.”

“I cannot.”

My companion fidgeted. “Your honor, we only need him to formally declare bankruptcy so we can proceed. A few simple transfers of funds and—”

Ignoring, “You have been warned not to practice twice already?”

“I have.”

“And yet you persist?”

“I cannot ignore suffering. I have taken an oath.”

There was yelling in the crowd, and from the entrance, a woman burst in, soldiers close in pursuit. She fell before the magistrate. “Massa has bleeding sickness, Kuma has broken leg! Marza expects in two weeks and Krima three—” The soldiers dragged the struggling body out.

The magistrate continued. “You are indicted on many counts. You will defend yourself?”

“No one will help them, so I do.” The man spoke with courage. “The doctors here are quacks and cheats. I cannot break my oath. They do not deserve to suffer so.”

“Very well,” the magistrate bowed his head magnanimously. “I can do nothing.”

The doctor was led away.

---

“The people are easily fooled,” the magistrate told us solemnly afterwards. “Did you get the declaration you came so far to obtain? You spent quite a while in his cell.”

“We got what we wanted,” my companion said agreeably.

“These sort of decisions are the most painful to make,” the magistrate lifted a hand and placed it over his heart, “but you can never know about that type of person. As you Americans would say, it is for the common good, eh?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” my companion said quickly. They shook hands, the magistrate pocketed his sheaf of fresh bills, and we left at last.

---

In the darkness of night, a jailbreak and a riot. In the light of day, tanks and guns. Death like warm blood and cold profits.

(Written: 1/30/09, just for you TW, just kidding. :P)