by Aziz, M.
Marilyn squinted.
Tomás quickly continued. ‘Ah, ah, ah! I’m not saying bring a man to my funeral. Just don’t let Gus ever be the only guy around you. I’d hate to think you’ll become some wrinkly old woman worshipping a tombstone. Don’t let that womb dry up before it’s served its function.’
‘Like I’m aching to have a swollen belly, right?’
‘Whatever. Don’t think I don’t know you, you’re the type of girl that could bawl over me for eternity. You don’t so much as bat an eyelid at any other guys at all, not even for a laugh or to bump up your friend list. Me? One of your friends would be in these sheets at the click of my fingers.’ he chuckled.
‘That’s just garbage coming from your mouth now!’
‘A dead man can’t preach forever and I haven’t the energy. But this will replay in your head.’
She opened her mouth then shut it. After glancing up his nostrils she clapped off the lamp.
Marilyn stared at the ceiling the whole night. Tomás had curled up with his eyes shut tight.
At breakfast time barely a few words passed between them.
‘Where’s that smile gone?’ asked Alberto. He looked at Marilyn.
‘A bad night dragged it out of me.’
Alberto watched Tomás spoon out his cereal bowl without looking up from it.
In the surgery at a quiet hour Dr Chandran shuffled together green sheets that her printer ejected and keyed in new patient results on the computer. Finally she stripped open a special delivery envelope. After her eyes moved up and down the letter for a number of minutes she gently lifted her handset.
‘Jane. Dr Chandran. Put me through to Prof Barber or one of his registrars urgently, if you could be so kind.’
‘I’ll be back in a sec.’
After a few minutes came the sound of plastic being grabbed.
‘Barber’s caught up, Dr Klimek here.’
‘Dr Klimek, an alarming letter arrived at my desk concerning a patient of mine that attends your clinic. Tomás Gabino, a man not in a condition to be played jokes with. The paper is headed with your hospital’s branding, but is the reference number...’
‘I’m definitely, definitely, not unfamiliar with who you’re talking about.’ he interrupted. ‘And we don’t employ pranksters to have free run with our paper or templates.’
‘Buh... But this letter sounds like something off of the cinema?’
‘The only clowns we sometimes contract, Dr Chandran,’ he disarmed with a friendly tone, ‘run in the children’s ward. It’s not in Prof Barber to run some elaborate placebo either. All of us have poured enough blood, sweat and tears into what you’ve read to fill several labs many times over. We’re not saying we’ve got a polished product here but, as written, we can’t take it further without a battery and Mr Gabino has no other dice to roll. Now, don’t ignore any courier ringing tomorrow, and if you could then get Tomás into your surgery without much haste to kick-start things, his patient record mightn’t have to be lined up for deletion.’
‘I can’t base a discussion on a lett...’ the dial tone sounded ‘...er.’
She picked up the paper again and shook her head at it.
Still at home, Tomás went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He repeatedly open and closed a fist with his nails digging deep into the palm. Suddenly his knees bent like straws and his face pressed against the outer bottom of the sink.
The thud led Estela to shoot upstairs from the kitchen. The muffled radio static sound of running water led her to knock on the door.
‘Tomás!’
She said it again before pushing the door.
Then she screamed it.
Two pairs of feet bolted up to her. Marilyn then knelt beside Tomás. She put her hands on his shoulders and tried to slow down her breathing.
After a minute he started blinking.
‘999!’ said Alberto.
‘Wha’... So they can pump me... With unnecessary drugs... On an unnecessary bed?’ his head fell to one side.
‘He disappearing before my eye! Each tick of clock!’
Marilyn gently squeezed his arm. Tomás’s eyes barely met hers.
After Tomás managed to lift himself up they helped him down to the kitchen. He smacked his lips as Estela opened some cupboards. Gus settled by his side under the table and made him smile weakly.
The dog’s eyes shone like marbles as it looked back and forth between Tomás and Marilyn. Estela had one eye on Tomás too as she navigated the cupboards. Alberto, who seemed to be fighting back tears, shook his head and left the kitchen.
After leaving his plates crumb-free Tomás went out to the corridor and grabbed his coat.
‘You no stay inside, rest?’ she followed him.
‘I’m choking in here.’
‘Marilyn, I no want him go alone.’
Marilyn appeared.
‘Look, I’m not wandering off far. I have my mobile. No need to put Gus’s leash on me.’
Estela looked at him and sighed. ‘Text.’
‘I can manage that.’
It was a two minute walk to the small local park. Tomás sat on a bench and superimposed the swing, slide and climbing frame he remembered from his childhood on a patch of blank tarmac partitioned right of the grass. His younger feet didn’t dance much around the place and his bigger soles only frequented it in the last year for fresh air. The items he superimposed had been removed a decade ago. There never used to be any tarmac. He smiled at the popped mirage.
A few minutes later came the sound of skittish paws pattering on the pavement behind.
‘Your mum doesn’t take no for an answer.’ Marilyn sat beside him.
Tomás turned and nodded.
Her eyes appeared to be scanning the ground for a teleprompter.
‘I’m guessing you haven’t thrown away your check list.’ she said.
‘It’s in my head, fast fading from memory.’
‘...By the way, my mum and dad are on the train tomorrow... Maybe you’re not happy about that?’
‘They turned into gremlins or something?’
Marilyn held her knees and leant forward. Gus squeezed himself between Tomás’ calves and wagged his tail metronomically. Soon after they got up and left.
The next day when her parents set foot inside Tomás studied their faces. They wore expressions that were best matched by black clothing as a wooden box was lowered on an otherwise cheery summer’s day.
Tomás was always able to share a laugh with his in-laws. Her father enjoyed going crazy at football matches with him and her mother played the complete opposite of an evil caricature. He hated, however, that they had come to deliver thinly veiled eulogies. The useless banter that fattens most conversations was mixed with dialogue from a poor Hollywood weepie. He felt as if rigor mortis were setting in. They left after lunch, parting with an open-ended goodbye that he couldn’t reply to.
2
Dr Chandran ripped open a courier packet on her desk and pulled out its contents. She held up a cover letter.
Dear Dr. Chandran,
Re: Mr Tomás Hernan Gabino, d.o.b 07/04/2009
Diagnosis: Anaplastic astrocytoma
Radiotherapy 2042
Craniotomy 2042
Chemotherapy 2043
Treatment: Super-holographic memory recording and transferral (experimental)
Enclosed are confidential documentation regarding this new procedure we are offering this young gentleman.
Please discuss this with him ASAP and arrange an appointment with us if he has any degree of interest.
Yours sincerely
Prof. A. C. Barber
Prof. of Neurology and Neurotechnology
She locked the door then sat back down to study the black and white booklet.
What is SHMR?
Super holographic memory recording (SHMR) is the act of digitally copying the entire mental content of a patient to an ultra-high capacity digital medium (approx. 80y
rs of memories). The recording procedure is thought to have 87% accuracy*, with 100% being attainable upon technology maturation.
Its accompanying memory erasure procedure has a good success rate.
The ability to store a near-complete mental replica can fit many applications.
For medical use with the complementary transferral technology, we are able to offer end-stage patients the gift of extended life in a mentally-blanked ‘vessel’.** Aftercare includes psychotherapy.
A request will be made later this year for a sole initial trial to test the procedure’s efficacy.
*Pending trial
**The definition in this context is pending submission to The Medical Ethics Committee
The second line of small print had a hand-drawn arrow pointing down to a scribble that said “1 candidate approved”.
Is it safe?
The procedure is completely safe. There is no surgical invasion. Preliminary experiments on chimpanzees yielded no noticeable problems in transferral.
Contraindications
The patient opting for memory transferral must be mentally braced for living within a new body. Furthermore, the vessel must be of sufficient physical capability for the procedure to be of long-term benefit.
Side effects
The most common side effect is temporary loss of advanced motor function due to delayed neural reconnection. Further study needs to be completed in regards to speech and long-term psychological prospects.
A list of references ended the booklet.
Dr Chandran’s facial expression was trapped between happiness and shock. She hurriedly unlocked her door.
‘Maggie, get Tomás Gabino on the line. Force an appointment with no delay whatsoever. If there’s no free gap, make one.’
Tomás, looking ghostly white and peppered with stubble, turned up with Marilyn in the waiting room early next morning.
‘Jeez. You’d think I’d be spared this place in my final days.’ he rubbed his baggy eyes.
‘I’m glad she hasn’t just washed her hands of you. You can’t just tolerate that pressure in your head ‘til the end.’
‘You know, just a pillow would do right now.’
Merely minutes after sitting down the buzzer sounded. Tomás looked sideways and made out his blurred name on the electronic message board. Marilyn pulled him up and led him inside.
‘Nothing dreadful happening to you at the moment, Tomás?’ asked Dr Chandran.
‘I need something like gazillion gram doses of paracetamol.’ he looked at the carpet.
She nodded and tapped at her keyboard.
‘Is there some reason you couldn’t do this over the phone for her to collect?’
Dr Chandran remained silent as her printer whirred out the prescription. On tearing it off the perforation she quickly scribbled her signature and handed it to Marilyn.
‘Marilyn, I need to have a chat with your husband alone.’
Marilyn gave him a desperate look then walked quietly out.
Dr Chandran took a deep breath.
‘There isn’t any... Bad news for you today.’ she said.
‘I don’t need my prostate checked, or what?’
‘Death, maybe isn’t inevitable.’
‘You think I can be bothered wasting my time on faith healers or quack crap?’
‘I haven’t uttered the word cure, but this might buy you days in a way that you couldn’t think of.’
‘Is this some odd attempt at humour to put a smile on my face?’
‘Tomás, I don’t sit here to clown around. Your specialists have a cage that they want to put a guinea pig in.’
Tomás upturned his hands to convey ‘what?’ Dr Chandran placed the booklet in them.
Half an hour later the shadow of Tomás’s head covered Marilyn’s phone screen that she was touching in the waiting room.
‘It’s something you can’t share, right?’ she whispered.
‘...Just blabbed about dosing for this.’ he waved another prescription.
She looked at him as if the word lie was flushed in his face.
They walked out slowly. Tomás didn’t blink. Marilyn bit her lip.
A train ride away, Caldwell Prison’s inmates received their post dead on noon.
‘‘ey, come ‘ave a peak a’ wha’ my bruvver sent!’ beamed Jim from his lower bunk.
Pascual quickly jumped down from the top and snatched the glossy prints from Jim’s hands.
‘Oi! I ain’t done wiv ‘em yet!’ Jim got up and tried grabbing them back.
Pascual swerved and grinned.
‘Nice. This can’t be your bitch, right?’ Pascual nodded as he flicked through the batch of amateur poses.
‘Couldn’t be yours eiver! An ol’ flame of my bro’s.’ he snatched them back. ‘Lucky bastard always manages ta get ‘em to flash their birfday suits for ‘is camera. Once ‘e’s flicked ‘em off a copy of the souvenirs always comes in the post. Beats collectin’ footie stickers, eh?’
‘Sick puppy.’ he laughed.
‘Don’t tell me it ain’t got your pants tight.’
‘You must have quite a chest of gold, then? A gold full of chest.’
‘You must be mad if you fink I bin this shit!’
Jim curled a finger and Pascual followed him to a corner. Jim unzipped his shaving case to reveal a messy stack of photos. Pascual smiled.
‘You’re not gonna need all of these tonight, are you, friend?’ Pascual’s eyes glistened.
‘...You ‘ad better make sure I’m in the land of nod and that I don’t see no sticky drops on the floor tomorrow.’
Warden Stanley sat downstairs in his office. He remembered when he joined Caldwell Prison seventeen years ago. The echo of clanking footsteps on cold steel was now recorded onto his eardrums.
‘All we need’s a few more cells packed and this place’ll be a box of sardine tins.’ said a prison guard opposite him slurping tea.
‘No need to get your knickers in a twist about that now.’ laughed Stanley, his accent heavy Lancastrian. ‘The hands from above are flicking some of the fleas out the box. Don’t ask me when but expect our cooks to be chucking some pans away not long from now.’
‘I’d rather see a return of the hangman’s noose. Fuckers stealing oxygen for no reason. The graveyard could always do with more worm food.’
‘You’re a real softy, aren’t you?’
Back at home that night Tomás wound down from a small seizure. He came around within a minute.
‘Tell me. Is it the cute eyes and nose or my witty talk that you really fall for?’ he asked Marilyn.
‘Is that question worth answering?’
‘Don’t shirk it.’
‘Well, if you must know, there’s very little I don’t like about you, somehow.’
‘If a huge boil appeared covering all of my head, forever, would you, really, still be into me?’
‘I’ll ask you that question when my cellulite gets more noticeable.’
‘I wouldn’t mind seeing something else when I look in the mirror.’
‘Hmm. Putting a knife to that face would be a serious crime.’ she touched his shoulder.
Tomás looked at his palms.
‘Would you not hate me if I no longer looked the same?’
‘Tomás, I would still happily spend the rest of my life with you if you turned into a terrier! Now not another word from you.’ she rubbed his chest then tightened her eyelids.
‘Dr Chandran said I don’t have to kick the bucket, but only if they drag out what’s in my mind and clear out the space in someone else... She didn’t frame it in any punchline.’ he exhaled deeply.
Marilyn opened her eyes wide and stared at him.
‘Don’t tell me you can’t form an opinion on that.’ he added.
Marilyn looked at her feet. ‘...Well, I’m not the one staring down the barrel of a gun.’
‘They want a lab rat, and they don’t get guarantees in life. But if they can pull me from my fate
, can pull me, I just need to not be freaked at being in flesh and blood from some foreign womb. Not sure if this is a scratch card worth playing.’
‘So, what sort of donor would they, bring you to?’ Marilyn sat up. ‘They grow one, in a test tube?’
‘I’d have to get a hospital appointment to unlock that mystery. I told Dr Chandran to forget about it, in certain words. Not smart, I guess.’
‘I’m sure she’s heard worse in her time. Get on the phone tomorrow. We couldn’t win over your parents without knowing the whole score.’
‘And a well-written script!’
Two days later Dr Goldberg rapped on Prof Barber’s door and entered.
‘Alan,’ said Dr Goldberg, ‘really should’ve put money on your bet. I see reception has plucked out the file of Mr Gabino.’
‘I’ve no idea how he lost his stubbornness but it saves me posing the dilemma to another poor soul.’ smiled Prof Barber. He returned to frowning at the garbled output of his monitor.
‘How come you want this particular man to be your Jesus?’
‘If we can only retrieve from brains not ravaged by a particularly nasty tumour and medical interventions on it, a competitor will come along and put our work in the scrapyard. Plus, who else is more worthy than a person who has barely seen enough of life?’
‘If I were unfamiliar with this and I saw a write-up of our work, I’d just laugh at it.’
‘Show flat-Earthers a globe and they’d giggle too. Their equivalent today are those who think putting a dying body in a fridge might bring them a cure in the future, or believe that robotic limbs are desirable for amputees.’ his monitor suddenly showed a clean picture.
‘Well, we still need to get him to scribble his name.’
‘I very much doubt that after agreeing to return here that he’ll refuse to pick up a pen. Anyway, Rich, today’s work won’t do itself. I’ll devote some time to you later.’
As Dr Goldberg walked through reception he spotted Tomás and Marilyn. They exchanged smiles.
Twenty minutes later Prof Barber motioned for the couple to enter.
‘He’s not withheld the news from you, has he?’ he asked Marilyn.
She shook her head as if on a rusty neck.
‘Well, he wasn’t having you on.’ he briefly paused. ‘We’re not offering you a guarantee, though, Tomás, as you’re going to try and help us make one. Don’t shoo that from your mind.’