Dr. Hugh Mann

by Mark Tufo

  “Why did you not tell me?” he asked, bowing his head, his heart wrenching to think that his only offspring did not even deem his presence necessary at such a momentous occasion.

  “Sir, I delivered the message personally. It was my hope that we could get to know each other better. I had wished to properly ask for your daughter’s hand but she would not allow it. Something about that being a silly old custom and that she was her own person that could not be ‘given away.’ I think is how she put it,” Jonathan smiled at his wife.

  A dim light began to flicker deep in a hidden crevice in the doctor’s brain. He vaguely remembered a good looking chap coming to his door and handing him, what was it, it was an envelope. The envelope which now sat with a multitude of other unopened envelopes on the table within his foyer.

  “I missed your wedding,” the doctor choked out. “How… how could I miss something so important?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that,” Marissa said. “I’m sure that there will be bigger events which you can also come to forget. Like the birth of your grandson or granddaughter.”

  “Marissa!” Jonathan shouted. “This is your father and our guest, I will not have you treat him so rudely.”

  “Rudely you say!” she said, her tone matching her husband’s. “Pray tell me, my dear husband, was your father there the first time you rode a bike? Was your father there at your first athletic competition? Was your father there when you were being picked on in school? Was your father there the day of your wedding? Oh wait, yes he was,” she said triumphantly. “I have seen the pictures to prove it.”

  The doctor looked as if every question out of his daughter’s mouth were a physical blow. Each one hammered him down a little further.

  “I missed all of those things and more,” he whispered, taking a seat.

  “The important thing is that you are here now,” Jonathan said as he sat next to the doctor placing his arm around him.

  The doctor looked up with pleading eyes at his scowling daughter.

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” Marissa scowled, throwing her arms up in the air. “I will get some tea while you two men talk.”

  “Thank you my dear,” Jonathan said, putting on his award winning smile, the same one which had melted her heart on their first date.

  “You owe me,” she mouthed.

  He beamed even wider.

  “My God, man, is there something wrong with your face? Do you have lockjaw?” the doctor asked.

  Marissa laughed as she strode away. Immoral thoughts crossed Jonathan’s mind as he watched her turn into the kitchen. And then he stopped short with his lascivious thoughts when he realized who he was sitting next to.

  “Ahem. Sorry, sir,” he said as if the doctor could pick up on his thoughts. ‘He is a scientist though, is that possible?’ he thought to himself nervously.

  “You still appear as if something is wrong with your face, perhaps you should see a medical professional.”

  “I will be alright sir, what brings you here?”

  The doctor immediately turned serious, his normal faraway look was replaced by one of determination. “I am afraid that I have put you and my daughter at risk.”

  Jonathan looked confused.

  “I think I may have put everyone at risk,” the doctor added for clarification.

  Jonathan didn’t look any less confused.

  The doctor related the entire story of discovering the Hugh-Manns and the dust mites and the war in which they were locked.

  Jonathan nodded at this point. It had been in all the papers and was the largest news story of the century.

  The doctor continued. He told of his meeting with the Dean and how the Dean had seen fit to use the discovery as a prime means to recruit donations for the university. “But he twisted everything to suit his needs, Jonathan,” the doctor said mournfully. He did not wait for a response as he pushed on with his story.

  “The pictures of the Hugh-Manns have been subjected to an artist’s imagination. I have been doing test after test on this species and I have found these living beings to be nearly the three horsemen of the apocalypse. They are a virulent scourge which I now believe that the government wants to exploit for their own purposes.”

  “Dr. Mann, this sounds all very unbelievable,” Jonathan said, sliding a bit away from the doctor.

  “More unbelievable than a yet undiscovered miniature prototype of man?” the doctor asked querulously.

  “Fine, I see your point. Marissa, are you almost done with the tea? My mouth is getting a little parched!” he yelled in to the kitchen. “Do you need any help?” he asked his wife, looking for a reason to get up. He had an inkling now what might lie in that suitcase and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. He got up before she could respond and started toward the back of the house.

  “I’m fine!” she yelled back as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Whoa, you startled me,” she said as she prepared a tray of biscotti. “What’s the matter, you look a little pale, husband. Is it my father? He tends to have that effect on people.” She laughed. “Go back there, I’ll be right in, I thought you wanted to get to know the myth that is my father.”

  “I thought I did,” he answered as she pushed him into the hallway.

  “I am glad you are back,” the doctor said wanly. He had risen and was pacing by the front windows.

  “Are you waiting on somebody?” Jonathan asked.

  “I should hope not,” the doctor shot back. He stood facing the bay window, hands clasped behind his back. He did not turn around as he began to speak. “What do you know of the Spanish Influenza that hit last year?”

  Jonathan wished he had that tea now, his mouth felt like he had been sucking on cotton. “Sir, I know that at least 50 million people worldwide died from it and they say that likely ten times that number were infected with it.”

  “Do you also know that the origin of the virus and the reason for its high rate of infection have remained extremely elusive?”

  “I believe that I was more concerned with keeping Marissa and myself safe from it rather than wondering where it began.”

  The doctor turned to face his son-in-law. He eyed him with a new regard. “A pragmatist, very well.”

  “There is nothing pragmatic about wanting to have loved ones be safe and survive above all other things.”

  “A perpetuationist perhaps?” the doctor asked with a sad smile.

  “I like the sound of that, sir,” Jonathan answered with his own smile.

  The doctor got back to the business at hand. “I understand that you may not care about the beginning of the plague, but you need to know if you wish to keep your family and yourself safe. You may want to sit down for this,” the doctor said, motioning towards the couch.

  Marissa came in with the tray loaded with biscotti, a silver tea pot and three delicate china tea cups. “Why so glum, husband?” she asked as she placed the tray on the table.

  “I believe your father is about to relate a story that I would much rather not know about,” Jonathan said as he sat down, shoving an entire biscotti into his mouth. He rather hoped that the loud chewing would keep him from hearing what Dr. Mann was about to say.

  “Father you dare to come into my… our house and cause discord?” Marissa asked angrily, placing her hands on her hips.

  “How I love you, daughter,” the doctor said with a small tear in his eye.

  Marissa looked confused, half on the edge of tears herself and the other half ready to explode with accusations of neglect. She could not bring herself to do it and sat down hard next to her husband. “I almost thought that I would never hear those words, and now that I have I do not know what to make of it.”

  “You do not have to make anything of them, dear daughter, just let them stand on their own for what they mean.”

  Marissa’s mouth was half open but words could not be found to match the motion of her jaw.

  “Honey, maybe now is not the time for one of your clev
er retorts. Maybe we should listen to what your father has to say.” Jonathan put his arm gently around her shoulders.

  Marissa’s mouth closed on its own volition.

  After an hour the doctor had related the entire story, from his discovery of the Hugh-Manns to the war for survival that they were locked into with the dust mites, and how the Dean had skewed everything perversely in his quest to secure millions for the university. Where things had truly gone awry was when man had tried to eradicate the threat to their miniature cousins. “They were so misguided,” the doctor said lamentedly. “We had fed them from a deep pool of lies and they drank greedily.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jonathan said. “What did killing some dust mites have to do with the Spanish flu?”

  “Everything and nothing,” the doctor said cryptically. “The flu was no such thing. The plague as it should have been called was caused by the imbalance of the Hugh-Manns to the dust mites. The dust mites were and are our only defense against them. Once the balance of power shifted and the Hugh-Manns, God how I hate that name, began to win their war, a whole new arena of resources opened up for them.”

  “People?” Marissa’s quick mind put two and two together. “But how?”

  “They are an opportunistic virus. The appendage that the Dean led everyone to believe was a sword used for defense of their homes was actually a stinger much like a mosquito’s. But unlike a mosquito who sucks up blood for fertilization of its larvae, the Hugh-Mann deposited its larvae straight into the blood stream of its host. In small doses even an infant can be ‘infected’ and suffer nothing more than a minor spike in temperature. The pupae are eventually discharged through excrement and begin their cycle all over again. But in multiple injections the host’s immune system becomes overwhelmed and eventually begins to shut down under the strain of trying to deal with so many invaders.”

  Jonathan began to feel unnaturally itchy and began to shift uneasily.

  “Stop it,” Marissa said chiding him. “You’re giving yourself the willies.”

  “Who knows what could be lurking on our skin,” Jonathan said absently, rubbing his arms.

  “Yes, they could be biting you now,” the doctor said seriously.

  Jonathan jumped from his seat, vigorously rubbing his body down. Dr. Mann smiled at the performance.

  “Father!” Marissa squealed in delight. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “I am sorry,” Dr. Mann said. “He seems so squeamish.”

  “So they are not really here?” Jonathan asked.

  “Oh, I assure you that they are most likely here, but since we have stopped trying to kill their enemy, and the mites have begun to become immune from our efforts, the Mannites once again do not have the numbers to impose their deadly will upon us.”

  “I take no comfort from those words, Doctor,” Jonathan said as he reluctantly sat back down.

  “As well you shouldn’t, but take heed in the fact that the threat is not present now.”

  Jonathan felt marginally better. “I’m going to take an alcohol bath tonight,” he told his wife.

  “What do you mean by ‘now’ father?” Marissa asked impatiently.

  “The army has taken an interest in my discovery and I do not believe their intentions are good.”

  “They wish to weaponize these miniature men?” Jonathan asked.

  “I have never heard of that word,” the doctor said. “But it has a ring of truth to it.”

  “What do you want us to do then?” Jonathan asked, squaring his shoulders.

  “Nothing more than to take this suitcase,” the doctor said, pushing the black bag over with his foot.

  * * *

  It was early Saturday morning when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, honey,” Jonathan said as he stepped out of his warm bed and into his leather slippers. Marissa did not even acknowledge his statement, much less the second ringing of the door chime. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” he said as he put his robe on.

  “Yes?” he asked brusquely as he opened the door.

  “Good morning sir!” a husky young boy said, a wide chocolate stained grin framing his mouth.

  Jonathan so wanted to be able to shut the door in the face of the person who had interrupted his slumber, but one look at the boy and his grin had convinced him otherwise. “What can I do for you, young man?” Jonathan asked. “Wait, are you selling something? What is that you are holding?

  “It’s baklava, sir,” the boy answered.

  “What is on top of it?” Jonathan asked, intrigued.

  “Chocolate strawberry glaze, sir.”

  “Isn’t that rather sweet?”

  “Extremely, sir,” the boy said, his smile growing wider.

  “Have you made any money or have you eaten all your profits?” Jonathan asked, laughing.

  “They are very good sir. Would you like to try a bite?”

  “Samples? Normally I would not eat sweets at such an early time, but I really must.” Jonathan grabbed a small portion that had been cut for just this reason. “Mmmm, this is incredible, lad! My wife is pregnant. She will love this! I must know your name if we are to do business together.”

  “My name, good sir, is Tomas,” the boy said with an infectious smile.

  “I must have another sample! How many do you have of these? I will take them all. Please come in while I get my coin purse.”

  Tomas placed the box of pastries down on the table next to the door. He watched as Jonathan headed down the hallway, his smile quickly vanishing as he strode over to the foyer closet. He opened the door, removed a stack of sweaters and grabbed the suitcase that was hidden underneath. He carefully shut the closet door, concentrated for a moment with his hand placed against the door, and removed himself from the premises long before Jonathan could return with the money.

  “Alright my culinary genius, how much for the box?” Jonathan asked as he turned the corner counting out how much change he had. The foyer was vacant and the front door stood wide open. Jonathan might have thought the whole thing a sleep walking excursion if not for the box of pastries sitting happily on his table. Jonathan walked to the front door, looked both ways down the street but could not see the lad. “Strange,” he murmured as he shut the door.

  “Stay safe Mr. Talbot,” Tomas said from behind the bushes of the neighbor’s house as he hurried off.

  Jonathan was on his second pastry as he entered into the bedroom. “Hon, you really must awaken before I eat all of these wonderful concoctions.”

  Marissa turned to look at her husband. “What do you have there? You have chocolate all over your face,” she laughed and took a handkerchief to the corners of his mouth.

  He related the encounter with the boy and his mysterious disappearance.

  “It is truly a crime that you did not pay for these!” she exclaimed, licking her fingers.

  They laughed and talked most of the morning in bed until several heavy handed blows hammered on the front door.

  Marissa and Jonathan looked at each other and laughed again. “I think the boy just remembered about the money,” she smiled.

  “I am glad you are back, young sir!” Jonathan said loudly as he approached the doorway. “We would not have known where to get more…” The rest of the sentence stopped short as he looked at the five military personnel on his doorstep.

  “Jonathan Talbot, we have orders to search your house,” the leader of the detail said. His name plate read Bergeron.

  “What is this in regards to?” Jonathan asked. “Ánd by whose authority?”

  “Move out of the way sir, or my men will detain you.”

  Detain sounded more like incapacitate to Jonathan. Anger rippled through his frame but five on one were never good odds.

  “I would like to meet this boy,” Marissa said in a sing song voice as she came down the hallway.

  The men tensed from this new ‘threat.’ Jonathan met her at the juncture to the living room before anything irreparable could occur.

 
Marissa took in the scene immediately. “What is happening here, Major Bergeron?”

  “We have orders to search your house, Marissa,” the Major answered.

  Fear spread through her. She knew this had something to do with that damn suitcase her father had brought over.

  “How do you know this man, Marissa?” Jonathan demanded.

  “The military are large donators to the university’s research department. The Major knows my father very well, I’ve met him a few times when I would go over to take care of Sausages.”

  Marissa and Jonathan sat on the couch in the living room as a uniformed man stood above them, not guarding them according to the Major, but merely to make sure that they did not get in the way.

  “Your superiors will hear of this!” Marissa yelled to the Major who was in the kitchen.

  He came out after whispering some orders to one of his men. “Marissa, I am merely a major, who do you think has sent me here?” he answered in a caring tone, Marissa had always been pleasant to him and he saw no reason to change that now, no matter how distasteful this encounter.

  Jonathan stood up quickly after a loud crashing emanated from their bedroom.

  “Sit down!” The ‘not’ guard shouted, placing his hand on his holster.

  “It’s alright, Sergeant,” the major said. The sergeant eased slightly from raging rabies infested Rottweiler to pissed off Pinscher. It was not a vast improvement. “Marissa, you could save a lot of time and potential property damage if you would just tell me if your father brought something over here and where he put it.” It was phrased more as common knowledge than a question.

  Marissa crossed her arms. “I really don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, staring out the window.

  “And you, Jonathan? You seem to be a man that has his wits about him,” the major said, changing tactics.

  “You are upsetting my wife, Major. She may know and respect you, but I have no such reason to feel the same way. The sooner you and your thugs are out of my home the better. Even if I did know what you are speaking of, I would feel absolutely no compunction whatsoever to tell you. So basically I’m telling you and your men to Fuck Off,” Jonathan said calmly, but his words packed with menace.