It Takes a Thief

by Niels Hammer

  X

  After an indifferent breakfast they drove to the hospital between grey monotonous houses – monuments to the prudence and hardship of the genteel dead – and parked the car among all the other cars in the stony parking lot – fashioned as a dire facility past all regret and other colours.

  “Leaving the rods here might tempt an angling fanatic beyond his means of self-restraint.”

  “Let’s take them along; the rest of the gear though can remain in the booth, well hidden from inquisitive eyes.”

  Armed with rods – camera – computer and papers they tracked down the appropriate enquiry unit though only to be directed downstairs to the archive in the caverns where Seymour – with the grave and portly air of his profession but in spite of the volatile nature of his temperament – presented his credentials to a flinty-eyed middle-aged woman who – dressed entirely in green – which would have made her look like a matronly Fairy if it had not been for the tight chignon at the back of her head and the steel spectacles that balanced neatly on the tip of her red red nose – gave them a hard scrutinising look – partly because of the rods but also because the feeling of being engaged in a little private adventure graced them with a boisterous holiday air of which she – with sound feminine intuition – became suspicious as it peeped out at her from the chinks in the courteous mail of their demeanours.

  “I’ll see if there’s any message for you here, sir.”

  She retired to her lair in the back room but came forth a little later with a neat smile glued to the corners of her lips – assured by the infallible process of proper documentation to be acting within the confines of her august office – but still trusting her basic female intuition – which redeemed her as a woman.

  “If you’ll follow me and fill in the details of this form I’ll show you where you can sit with all your equipment.”

  “Thank you very much, for you see, later to-day we’re going to fish and we didn’t like to leave the rods in the car, you never know what might happen, so we brought them along, just to be on the safe side.”

  A precious point which might appeal to her deep-seated –

  “I see! And it’s better to take precautions than to regret, I always say. But you can sit here and I’ll come with the records in a minute.”

  “I thought she gave us a rather suspicious look, so I tried to dispel her misgivings.”

  “That might not be as easy as you think – ”

  Seymour’s smile was both rueful and mischievous.

  “And besides, it’s Saturday. So she might resent this disarrangement of her routines.”

  “I wouldn’t like to be her husband.”

  “Do you really think she has any?”

  The sound of her approaching steps which echoed in the silence of the concrete vaults quenched their laughter – as it was unfair – and merely a premature release of energy triggered by the promise of the afternoon – but as she appeared in the door frame the colour of the trolley matched her viridian dress so as to make them both parts of the inventory of the hospital cellar – though if seen as detached from her biotope she would resemble Bronzino’s Ritratto di dama in verde – ten or fifteen years later – for she had the same nose and the same sceptical expression of being duty-bound to examine something rather nasty life inadvertently had dropped on her sterile plate.

  “Here you are! But would you mind putting the cases back in order before you leave?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Seymour handed her the form and taking her time she assured herself that all the details had been given their fair due of attention before she left them to resume her forenoon watch.

  “All right, so first we’ll have to find the female infants.”

  “Maybe we should make a note of the case as well; the names could have been added later though at least prior to the operation.”

  “The address of the parents will be diagnostic. We just have to concentrate on females born in Moray, Aberdeenshire and Aberdeen.”

  “Let’s divide them, Moray, Aberdeenshire and Aberdeen, you said”

  “You had better evaluate the gravity of each case. The pictures I saw yesterday morning made me so ill at ease that I had to force myself to look at them. I can still feel it all the way from my toes upwards; a faint faint echo of the pain these poor children had to face daily, so I have the greatest admiration for your ability to face such suffering and to alleviate the pain.”

  Some of the pages stuck to each other as if glued together – but the place of birth – the address of the parents and the gender were easily detectable –

  “As you know the frequency of suicides among doctors is higher than in any other profession. It’s impossible to stay detached, really detached, especially concerning children, but some of them are braver when confronting death than both their parents and their doctors.”

  “Children are closer to life, more naked and sensitive, but you have to compare the misery with the benefits.”

  “I have seventeen here.”

  “And I have twenty-one. That’s uncanny; the comparatively close match, I mean.”

  “Statistics are statistically likely to be right, but apart from these two bilateral cases, which we can disregard, we would take a risk if we did not include everything we’ve got here.”

  “All right. Then we have thirty-six altogether. So let’s begin, I’ll take a photograph of the first page of each file, and you could just make a note of the severity of the case, say, three categories, or is there a standard classification system?”

  “I think there is, but I’ll just write ‘Not serious, serious’ or ‘very serious.’”

  Audrey Bernadette Anderson – three thousand three hundred grammes – she seemed rather unlikely – lonely born in Aberdeen – Cruickshank. Justice? Just opium.

  “And make a note of how successful the last operation appeared to be though even if it took place at the age of fourteen or sixteen, a very considerable change might still be possible.”

  Jane Elizabeth Barnwell – two thousand four hundred and fifty grammes – MacDuff – twin – a brother dear. When he had noted the details of the father’s and the mother’s name – the place of birth – the date of birth and her name – plus the date and the place of her christening – he passed the papers on to Seymour who added his comments.

  “I wonder if they have managed to find all the cases?”

  Muriel Jane Bruce – three thousand four hundred and eighty grammes – Findochty – Midstreet. Again quite possible. Not so awful either – a possible – hope – a mirage in the horizon.

  “I think so, usually there is a considerable degree of order in such systems, and I doubt if they have had more than between seven and eight hundred cases in the last fifty years.”

  Caitlin Jean Cushny – Banff – three thousand nine hundred and thirty grammes – also likely.

  “So if collecting all the cases that have occurred during this period of eleven years there should be scant room left for mistakes?”

  Alana Patricia Dundas – two thousand three hundred and fifty grammes – quite terrible – in Aberdeen – Sunnyside. Mother – far too much alcohol maybe and the father was unknown. Hardly possible and yet? It would be premature and counterproductive to –

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Jennifer Geddes – Aberdeen – three thousand six hundred and ten grammes. She was likely – but she looked frightening. The force of convention and of symmetry – symmetry breaking?

  “The human factor?”

  Susan Gordon – Fraserburgh – King Edward Street – three thousand one hundred and ninety grammes – hardly any hair. The length of the pregnancy was of course unknown.

  “You’re just misanthropic through and through.”

  Joanne Dorothy Graham – quick – poor girl – it could hardy be her – two thousand two
hundred and eighty-five grammes. Ouch – Aberdeen.

  “Realistic rather, I do not have to be hypocritical.”

  Another possibility. Caitlin MacAllan – Fores – sic – three thousand eight hundred grammes. It would be hard to estimate her height – but she appeared to be comparatively long and seemed to have a distinct robustezza.

  “You would rather like to see Homo sapiens exterminated.”

  Louise Maureen Mackenzie – three thousand five hundred and forty grammes – Stonehaven. Certainly possible. William and Ann. Photographs were sometimes lacking.

  “Not all of them, but Linné was wrong, Homo semi-sapiens, but he did write ‘Nosce te ipsum.’”

  Moira Jane Maxwell –

  “Oh, you’re generous! The inscription at the pronaos in Delphi, Heracleitus or Phemonoe?”

  Elgin – Bishopmill. Three thousand two hundred and twenty-five grammes. She had been alive in the present when the photograph was taken. Innocence was not a state of ignorance – but a state of knowing what one felt – a state of being naked – without a cognitive shield of rationalisations which – masquerading as knowledge – suppressed the felt reality.

  “Noblesse oblige. If following the tradition of Diotima, then Phēmonoē, daughter of Apollōn.”

  “How many have we had now?”

  “Eleven, I think, or if accepting a Hittite or an Anatolian origin, Apaliunas.”

  “It’s rather monotonous, but that would cohere with the sun. Ex oriente lux et cetera.”

  Charlotte Ann Milne – two thousand nine hundred and seventy grammes – Keith and with that address manor-born unless her parents had had a sense of gallows-humour.

  “Yes, it is. Do you think some of them have been likely cases?”

  “Yes, two or three perhaps, but it’s basically hard to predict.”

  “The future? It’s undecidable – ”

  “The ability to heal varies from person to person.”

  Fiona Alice Ruthven – three thousand and sixty grammes – Aberdeen. Another possibility – nothing definite that early – no – a colour photograph – brownish eyes.

  “But the post-operational follow up assessments should give us a clue?”

  “They might do, yes.”

  Adams – Mary Isobel Janet – father unknown – two thousand seven hundred and twenty grammes. Aberdeen – Cove Bay. A life – worth living with all odds against her? Or to go back from where one came from as quickly as possible. The next – Jean Heather Bell – three thousand six hundred and sixty grammes – also a possibility – maybe – maybe not. Huntly.

  “If there should be a photograph after the last operation, and if it had been taken at a fairly mature age, say, around, sixteen or seventeen, then I would have a chance of recognising her.”

  Rose Lorna Cairns – three thousand four hundred and forty grammes – fine eyes – also maybe a possibility if that horrible – no – Peterhead – York Street. Harper – Carol Eliza – two thousand five hundred and seventy grammes. Aberdeen – far too pronounced – not knowing herself –

  “Touch wood!”

  “But that would probably be to demand too much.”

  Caroline Ann Sandra Heath – Peterhead – three thousand one hundred and eighty grammes. Some of them seemed to express a certain degree of pain – some not. May Elizabeth Kirkpatrick – three thousand seven hundred and ten grammes – Aberdeen. She did not look as bad as the others and the accent might match anyway. Nellie Miller – three thousand one hundred and seventy grammes – Aberdeen – premature maybe. It was time-consuming but exciting as he – when opening a new record – felt that now – now he would have found her. Linda Joan Prentice – no – three thousand one hundred and sixty grammes – Lossiemouth – Kimberly Street. And yet he might have found her already. Jennifer Rathburn – strange that look – mature rather – Banchory – three thousand five hundred and thirty grammes – also in colour – bluish-green. When he gave Seymour the record it was with the knowledge that there might be a possibility and only a possibility. Nothing more or less – but as the possibilities dwindled he began suddenly to lose hope – maybe because he was getting tired. Moira Aileen Spencer – crying – Aberdeen – three thousand and forty grammes. There were still some left – Constance Rhona Swanton – Buckie – Shearer Avenue. Three thousand three hundred and eighty grammes – also in profile.

  “It is quite daunting to go through all these files.”

  Jenny Barbara Jenkins – Aberdeen – three thousand and thirty grammes – rather small – with a grim face.

  “Yes, but we’ll soon finish this. I can hear it, the river is calling.”

  Suzie Roberta Kerr – from Turriff – three thousand and twenty grammes – and Caroline Odette Ferguson – Ballater – Victoria Road. Three thousand six hundred and sixty grammes. The birth weight would suggest later development. Pamela Burns – an oval face – Kemnay – two thousand eight hundred and fifty grammes – and Claire Valeria Stevenson – Inverurie – frightened by the photographer – two thousand four hundred and eighty grammes – as he maybe had been of her.

  “I have some small bottles of Sauterne in the car; would you like a refreshment?”

  Vanessa Russell – in colour – bluish – born in Aberdeen – weighing three thousand two hundred and ten grammes.

  “Oh yes, but I would prefer to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.”

  Aberdeen – Bridget Olivia Henderson – two thousand seven hundred and seventy grammes.

  “Of course, it was only in case all this dust had made you thirsty.”

  Leslie Boyle – fair-haired – Aberdeen – Northfield. Three thousand six hundred and ninety gramme – and Rionach Huntingdon-Shaw – Forres – three thousand nine hundred grammes.

  “It has, but I’ll prefer to wait.”

  Mary Sabina Findlay – two thousand six hundred and twenty gramme – Elgin – and Penelope McLaughlin – Fraserburgh – three thousand four hundred and ten grammes. As he opened the last folder – Marianne Brenda Wheeler – her father a doctor – three thousand two hundred and ninety grammes – Aberdeen – he felt disappointed and dismayed. There was nothing conclusive – of course – and yet he must have harboured an irrational hope – but the hope was still there and the likelihood of finding her had increased – but he felt disappointed nevertheless.

  “That was the last one. Let’s place them in the order in which we found them and hurry along.”

  “It would have been highly unlikely if there should have been a photograph of her at an age that would have enabled you to recognise her, so don’t despair.”

  Seymour wheeled the trolley out and they went down the bleak corridor towards the entrance.

  “We have finished looking through them, and I must thank you very much for your cooperation, and now we’ll be on our way to the happy fishing rapids of the River Spey.”

  “Then I’ll wish you both good luck.”

  “Thanks. It’s about three o’ clock now. How far is it?”

  “We’ll be there in less than an hour.”

  “I’ll phone the inn and ask them to prepare a picnic basket for us.”

  “A good idea. Here’s the number and the name. The Coach Inn.”

  Relieved from the ordeal of fumbling in the dark for the phantom of an unknown woman and seeing the river glitter with reflected sunlight in the near future Seymour attacked the telephone suddenly overcome with exuberance. He was alive again – as a child.

  “Hello, yes, my name is Drummond, I booked two rooms yesterday for to-night. Right now we’re in Aberdeen and on our way to Fochabers. We would like to ask you if you could prepare a small picnic basket for us. We haven’t eaten all day, and would like to go fishing as soon as possible. Yes, naturally, oh whatever you have, and a bottle of good wine, or two, yes, two, yes, I’ll wait. She is going to ask the cook.”


  “All that dry dust, it’s like having all the sand of the Rub’ al-Khali stuck in the throat.”

  “As dry as the ocean, but then there’s also the emptiness, the silence, the wind-shaped dunes, the cruel landscape Thesiger loved, and, yes, that’s just what we need. Chicken and cheese, excellent, eight, I think. Splendid. We’re coming in forty-five minutes. That should do. Then we can be out fishing in less than an hour. And, please, call a taxi for us, yes, in three quarters of an hour. Thanks! That is if you do not kill us both by having an accident.”

  “I thought you were in a hurry? I was only cutting the corners here and there to get a few more precious minutes.”

  “Of course, but I have a wife and three children depending on me.”

  “And I a Nessie of unknown disposition and provenance.”

  “The landscape here is flat and cut up by agriculture, though there are scattered patches of forests. The desert is more majestic, but I miss the rivers, the sound of water and jumping fish.”

  “The Highlands would be better. Have you ever been there?”

  “No, Jessie has. She said it was wet, cold and rough.”

  “Women!”

  “A blessed terror, a terrible blessing? I am at a loss, a complete loss.”

  “We’re neuroanatomically designed to react exclusively to the female of the species.”

  “And it’s quite impossible to imagine what life would be without this conditioning.”

  “We haven’t tried it, and hence cannot imagine it. What do you like best, women or fishing?”

  The landscape was monotonous if seen from a distance but would reveal intricate details if studied more closely – if given time to unfold in front of the senses. He was blind to it rushing by at ninety kilometres at hour – a grave injustice et c’ était pire qu’un crime – c’ était une faute.

  “What a question! Both I would say. It reminds me of the gambler who was asked by his wife to choose between her and gambling, and who said that it would be hard to live without her; but I imagine, all things considered, that I would have to choose women.”