novelxo Chapter 18: Alter Idem
“Alter idem, Latin for another exactly the same.” The doctor spoke in a clear voice from the podium, and for effect the gaslights suddenly rose to illuminate a tank. It contained an exact facsimile of the doctor. The body stared blank eyed at the assembled scientists. Gasps of surprise arose, but from the general babble doctor Sebastian Mountebanks smiled. He had won the crowd over.
He waited for the noise to die down before he continued. “This specimen was only a blood sample a month ago, but thanks to the revolutionary techniques I have developed during my long service in the pursuit of the natural sciences.” And he continued to explain the accelerated growth techniques to the enraptured assembly.
In 1849 a youth arrived in England on the SS Great Britannia. As he stepped on to the Bristol quayside, he took in the motherland he was finally back in, after all these years. His father had taken the family to the new world, to revitalise their waning fortunes. And he had struck while the iron was hot, making it big in industry. He soon climbed his way up the ranks, to establish himself in the land of opportunity.
Young Sebastian rode on his father’s coat tails. He was given the best education money could buy, and soon found his talents lay in the field of medicine. So with appropriate letters of introduction, the lad boarded the train bound for London and the Royal College. Doors were opened by wealthy connections, and backed by a talent that left his tutors in awe.
He soon found a place in this great city, both practicing and advancing the medical sciences. Then when the war broke out in the Crimean just half a decade later, he threw it all up to serve over there. “What any decent chap should do”, he explained to his peers on enquiry. And so off he went again.
It was over there that he earned the nickname, the occasional seamstress. For although he sent a similar proportion of his patients to the lime pits. Where all rank and file ended there days, when the surgeons skill was surpassed. He still managed to save limbs to such a high degree, that the stitching could not be seen by the naked eye. Many a soldier would swear the limb had been lost, only to awake from the chloroform dumfounded at his fortunate recovery.
If the public were to know of his successes, he may have been hailed a hero of the day. But he always played down his work, secretively operating in the solitude of his tent. Then there was the incident to be later passed round dark taverns; frequented by the battle weary soldiers in their twilight years. It was generally was known as the sergeant McFinn tale. The soldier in question had caught some Russian shot in the throat, and he was not expected to last the hour. Doctor Mountebanks was summoned, and he had two orderlies take the unfortunate sergeant in to his tent. Then pulling the flaps down he began his work.
As it happened the light brigade was encamped near by. And when strange noises emanated from the surgical tent, the horses became most restless. Although no one can swear to the exact events, rumours spread of a crazed figure of the sergeant tearing from his deathbed. Just before the brigade took flight en-mass towards the Russian guns. “And I swear it was the sight of that fiend back from the dead, what caused them horses to bolt.” The scarred figure would always finish, before downing his pint.
After this incident Mountebanks returned to his lodgings in London, but not to his practise as a healer of the sick. Now he put his moderate fortune to more clandestine pursuits, mysteriously procuring odd specimens from undisclosed sources. But he would then invariable donate them to medical museums, two headed sheep and strange misshapen babies.
One cold February night saw the Doctor returning from a discussion. It had been on the newly published “On the Origin of Species” by Charles Darwin. Over the past couple of months it had caused some considerable up roar. And he was still reeling from an argument on the subject. Sebastian certainly didn’t agree with lord Huntington in that area.
He unlocked his workroom, which no one was allowed to enter. He even cleaned it him self. The far end held a tank of glass sides with steel reinforced edges. Inside of which a murky green liquid swirled, like a strange coffin built for an over large mermaid. This was his latest experiment, and he hoped it to be the fruition of his life’s work. Rechecking a sample of the green liquid, he nodded to himself.
Then raising a silent prayer, he opened the valves that would drain his artificial womb. Slowly the level dropped revealing a form in the tank, which the doctor rinsed down with warm water. Leaning over the tank he had a queer feeling of looking in to a mirror, for indeed the figure below was a true likeness of Sebastian.
With a start it gave a convulsion, and coughed up more liquid. Then like a tender parent administering to a sick child, doctor Mountebanks eased the figure up and helped him to a comfy chair. Next he wrapped his facsimile in a warm blanket. The eyes unaccustomed to the light blinked, as the doctor wiped his face like a mother cleaning an errant child. Finally awake and staring back at his creator, the recumbent figure smiled.
“My name is doctor Sebastian.” “Mountebanks” completed the seated man. They both raised their right hands to mouth in surprise. “My nick name in the Crimean?” “The occasional seamstress.” “My final year tutor?” “Doctor Stanwick.” “The name of the lady who invited me to tea last week?” “That I don’t recall.” “So perhaps we diverted when I took my sample.” They both pondered, then at the same time announced. “January the tenth.”
“Yes, I don’t recollect any thing beyond that point until now. I say Sebastian. Can I put something more substantial on? I feel a tad indecent in just this blanket.” “But of course”, and the other hurried up stairs for a full set of clothes. “I hadn’t realised I’d put on so much weight” mused the doctor, and they both laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“I was thinking while you were gone, on whether this phenomenon of memory can explain past life regression. Like snatches of life long past.” “Splendid idea, and I considered how the young of some species show tendencies to the same behaviour as an adult. Even when reared in isolation from their own kind.”
Just then there was a knock at the door, and both men startled from their in-depth discussion, dashed to answer it. “No this won’t do, we’d shock whoever is without.” “Yes I’ll go hide behind the tank.” When his twin was out of view, Sebastian approached the door. “Who is it?” he enquired through the stout door. “Doctor Mountebanks please come quick,” implored the muffled voice of his house cleaner. “There’s been an accident out front.” At this the doctor tore open the door, and grabbing his medical case he stormed after the now receding figure.
There was indeed such a horrendous scene on the road, that grown men stood by and wept. “Quickly help them into my dinning room”, commanded Sebastian. He soon had a make shift surgery set up, where a boy of nine and two girls of similar age lay on his table. They were all chloroformed when he turned to his helpers. “And now you must leave me to my work.” Shooing out the well meaning crowd and locking the door, Sebastian proceeded across to the other door. Which he unlocked and dashed down to his laboratory. “Quick there is no time to lose” he called to his facsimile. Then a brief explanation took them both up to work their trade. By the time the first patient was coming round, all three were safely drawn back from the jaws of death. And there was only one doctor in the room.
Later that night the two Mountebanks sat exhausted over a well-earned brandy. “Imagine a hospital full of us.” “Yes a fine gift to the world, but as individuals wouldn’t we be devaluing ourselves. Like flooding the market with newly minted currency.” “I see what you mean, and suppose one of our number were to be tempted to do wrong.” “Yes who could they blame.” They sat deflated after this chain of thought, then the original remarked. “At least you must remain hidden until my, I mean our lecture next Tuesday.” Giving each other a steely look both solemnly agreed.
The next day Sebastian had business to do in town. So safely locked in, his other half had agreed to carry on with some experiments they had been working on. It was with some surprise that at a quarter to eleven, the doctor put down the test tube he was examining. When an urgent knock came at the door. “Quick sir there’s been an accident down on Trent Street. Can you attend?” He didn’t recognise the voice. But ever the dedicated practitioner he set forth, quickly scribbling a note and snatching up his bag.
So when doctor Mountebanks returned with arms full, he was shocked to say the least at the turn of events. Trusting the other as he did himself, he quickly devised a disguise of a scarf and dark glasses. Least some one saw a resemblance between himself, and the doctor on call. Then he headed for Trent Street. On reaching the spot his twin had claimed to be at, he found no trace of an accident. In fact, a hasty enquiry revealed nothing untoward had happened there all day.
Dumfounded he slowly retraced his steps. Perhaps his other self had been waylaid en route, for he knew the way here, so the other did too. A sickening feeling was rising in him, like fear for a relative. Understandable he reflected, as alleys and darkened doorways took on a sinister hue. Just then his attention was caught by a knock from an upper story window, and a figure was dragged back. Animated by this ray of hope he charged the door, and thankfully it was not as stout as most. For the lock soon yielded to his shoulder, then he was bounding up the stairs. Sebastian stormed into a small room, where two men were stood over a third. He had just been knocked to the floor.
The speed of Sebastian’s entrance took them both by surprise. He bowled them over and was soon was rolling round the floor, helped now by his twin. Who had realised help was at hand. Blows fell back and forth, but then a knife flashed. And with a frenzy only experienced in battle, the doctors turned their knowledge of human anatomy against their two antagonists. It was only when two men stood panting, and two lay dead at their feet. That one turned to the other, and realised his twin was breathing a little too raggedly. Then both looked down, to see the bloodstain spreading over his chest.
The doctor’s bag was no ware in sight. It had been dropped in the struggle to get the doctor waylaid, no doubt for a ransom. “Let’s get you back home. It’s not far and we’ve all the tools I need.” So holding the scarf over the wound, to staunch the flow of blood. The two moved as quickly as they could. How no one noticed this pair as they staggered back; is a tale in itself. But keen not to be noticed, they practiced discretion to perhaps too much a level. For when they crossed the thresh hold of the laboratory, one man was considerably paler than his counter part. Wheezing he lay on the table, while the other deftly worked his skill. But despite the doctor’s utmost efforts, the wound was too deep. And at last the doctor lay over the other, crying in a wretched state.
Curse those villains, to steal away a kindred spirit and a true friend. But work must go on, and the lecture would be given. An account of their past few days would be needed. He would have to give an explanation of a dead specimen, instead of the living and breathing one expected. But he was ready for that. So when the lights rose revealing the dead doctor, the living one gave the account of his work. He gave also details of the brief friendship, much to the applause of the crowd.
As the doctor left the room, a hand tapped him on the shoulder. And turning he exclaimed, “lieutenant Hardwick glad to see you again. Did you enjoy the lecture?” The other beamed. “Rather, and I suppose back in′54 when I thought I’d lost my arm. You were working up to this with your field doctoring.” “Yes it has been a long route.” Shaking his hand the doctor turned to go. “I see you’ve done some work on yourself. Doctor heal thyself and all that.” A little confuse the other turned back and the lieutenant explained. “Your scar from that sabre cut on your right cheek is gone.” “Yes” the other replied. And turning again thought. “I should do something about that”.