Louis Hannibal Nez
After the traffic accident, Aquilino opens his eyes again. He feels dazed. He is pale, his vision blurred, with no sense of time or place—but alive. Little by little, his senses return. His body feels numb, almost entirely immobile. He lies on his back in a special hospital bed and surveys the room through slow blinks. It is a modern, immaculate, snow-white ward. A few yards to his left stands another bed identical to his, where a young woman rests. Very slowly, he turns his head to the right. A middle-aged nurse hurries from the ward as soon as she sees him regain consciousness.
Farther to his right, Aquilino sees another bed occupied by a man. The professor turns his gaze toward the ceiling, exhausted but free of pain. He sighs and struggles to remember what happened. At the height of his concentration, a small cry from his left startles him. Slowly, unable to move any faster, he turns his neck and looks that way. The young woman who had seemed to be resting peacefully is now sitting upright in bed, her heart racing. Through the haze of his vision, he thinks he recognizes her. His eyesight had once been defective, yet now, even without his glasses, he can see with effortless clarity.
Her face is familiar to him, as are her hair, her eyes and her lips. He knows her. The young woman clutches her chest with both hands, apparently wrenched awake from a terrible nightmare. He watches her: frightened, distressed, drenched in sweat, agitated, her gaze lost upon the curtain beyond the foot of the bed. Each of the room's three beds has one. Once her racing heart begins to settle, she looks to her right. Their eyes meet. The professor beholds an angelic face and emerald eyes that seem to shine with their own light. Recognition dawns. He knows exactly who she is.
"Miss Machado?" Aquilino calls in a weak, barely audible voice.
The silence reigning there allows her to hear him. With astonishing slowness, the old man barely raises his right hand and moves it in greeting. He wants to smile at her, but cannot.
"Who...? Who is that? Professor Aquilino?"
"Yes, yes. You recognized me, my dear."
Despite his immobile condition, the professor's excitement at seeing her again is plain. The young woman lets herself fall back onto the bed, rolls onto her right side and shifts her legs until her head rests upon a white pillow. Her sorrowful gaze settles directly upon the professor's eyes.
"What are you doing here, Professor? Are you ill?"
"I was in an accident, I think. I do not know how I came to be here."
"The same goes for me. It was on some television channel, and... bah, none of that matters now."
"Why did you scream? Did you have a nightmare?" She takes some time to answer, reflecting for several seconds.
"I was trying to sleep. I heard screams inside my head—very loud screams from women, and babies crying. They were horrible. I did not know where they came from. I tried to find their source. I was terribly hungry and thirsty. It was so frustrating."
"You are awake now, Britania. You have nothing more to fear."
"I am not afraid. I just don’t know... You know I am famous now, don’t you?"
"Very famous. Yes, of course I know, Miss Machado."
"Brittany. I would rather you called me Brittany."
"What if I call you Britania? Isn’t that your real name—María Britania Machado?"
"That name no longer means anything to me, nor does the past bound to it."
"Very well. Brittany it is, then."
"Thank you. As I was saying, when I was poor, I imagined that if I became rich and famous, I would have a prosperous future I could not even glimpse in the distance. I saw no point in studying, you know."
"I know very well, Miss... I mean, Brittany. Without question, you were my most rebellious student."
"Thank you. I thought perhaps that if I worked and saved money, I could buy happiness. Without experience or qualifications, I found nothing more respectable than being a damn waitress in a village. I had always dreamed of acting and singing. What I saw on television infected me: I followed famous people, imitated them, learned from them, practiced. I improved my dancing, acting, and singing. I dreamed so much. I imagined it would be wonderful to be famous, to be loved by thousands of fans—too much happiness to contain."
"Fame does not bring happiness, Britania. Neither does money."
"You told me several times, I know. But how could I know without experiencing it in my own flesh?"
"You were never very good at listening to my advice."
"It was not because of you. I never liked taking advice from anyone, Professor. My parents suffered greatly because of that."
"I know that very well, yes, I know."
"I only wanted to leave everything behind and reach my goal. I wanted with all my heart to escape that horrible, miserable life. And that is what I did, Professor. Nothing stopped me. I do not regret it."
"And you succeeded, Britania. You became rich and famous."
"Yes, I did. But the more famous I became, the lonelier I felt, until loneliness began devouring me from the inside out."
"I saw some of what you are telling me on a television program."
"I know which one. That Ricky knows nothing about me."
"He said you once tried to take your own life."
"Not once, Professor. Three times. And I did not merely try."
"What are you talking about?"
"I successfully killed myself three times. I died, but this clinic has some sort of procedure that brings you back to life. It is expensive, you know? It costs millions, in fact."
"No one can return from the dead, Britania," Aquilino declares, forgetting that he was supposed to call her Brittany. The idea of resuscitation immediately occupies his thoughts—something he considers absurd and impossible. Even so, he listens. "How do you think they do it?"
"I don’t know. When I arrive here, I am never in any condition to start asking questions. I only know they do it. From the moment I agreed to attend my first audition—a call for young women to join a new recurring television series—until now, everything has happened in the blink of an eye." Aquilino adds nothing, pondering her words in silence. "Oh... oh, I feel ill, Professor. Very ill. I’m terribly dizzy. I don’t know what is happening to me."
"Do not fall asleep, Britania. Do not close your eyes." She obeys and struggles to keep her green gems alight. He settles back against the bed and draws the sheet around himself.
"Before I die—for real this time—I want to tell you that you were always my favorite professor, Aquilino."
"Oh! Your words move me deeply, Britania. Truly. Thank you. Do not speak of dying. They have healed you here before; they will do so again. Do not be afraid."
"I do not think so. Not this time. But I am not afraid, so do not worry."
"Talk to me, Britania. Do not fall asleep. Tell me something—anything. Tell me whatever you can to keep yourself awake." Aquilino’s voice sounds weak and somewhat desperate.
"I don’t know. What do you want me to tell you?" Brittany turns a little farther onto her right side, her face toward the professor. She appears sleepy, pale, haggard, and weak.
"Anything. Think. Tell me whatever you want."
"I don’t know. I cannot think of anything. I’m so sleepy..."
"No! No, Brittany, please do not fall asleep. What do you usually eat? Tell me about that."
"Ugh, how boring."
"Um, then tell me about your boyfriend. Do you have one?"
"I have no one."
"Is your manager not your partner? The media often speculate about it."
"Professor, stop watching that shit. Seriously, it is garbage. You would be better off reading your history books. It is a lie. Gabriel was never my partner; the only person he could love is himself. He is a hypocrite, a tyrant, a misogynist, and an opportunist. He is the one who pays for my treatments at this clinic—with my money, of course. He does it so his golden goose will not run dry, you understand?"
"Goodness. Why don’t you find another manager?"
"I shall have to, since I sent him to the Wastegrounds."
"What? Why would you commit such an atrocity? Sending him there is a death sentence," he exclaims in astonishment.
"He deserves it, Professor. An eye for an eye. He did the same thing to someone I loved deeply—the only person I ever loved. I recently discovered that Gabriel was the one who threw him into that place. Now he will feel the same thing."
"Goodness. What you have done is very drastic, Britania."
"If it troubles you, then let me sleep in peace."
"No! I fear your weariness is not merely sleep. Tell me about that young man you loved so deeply."
Aquilino watches the young woman lift her head slightly from the pillow. She looks at something, then lies back as before.
"I met him on Lawrence Island. He was very important to me. He looked a little like the young man in that bed, although mine was more handsome."
"And what happened to him?"
"I had to choose between becoming famous and pursuing my dreams, or remaining with him. You can imagine what I chose."
"I understand. I am sorry."
"Do not be sorry. My popularity grew very quickly. I lived constantly surrounded by people, but when the lights went out and I was alone at home, I missed him so much that it became torture. Perhaps now I would not even recognize him if he stood before me. One afternoon, I slipped out of class with him."
"How unlike you, slipping away from class."
"I used to do it often, yes."
"Did your family know anything about him?"
"Only my little sister, La Pioja, whom I adore. I call her my little sister, although she is a woman now. She is my confidante in everything."
Brittany suppresses a terrible discomfort afflicting her. Aquilino sheds a tear when he sees her suffer so.
"Perhaps it is not too late for you to be with the young man you have always loved, Britania. Find him. Go with him. Escape from all of this."
"Perhaps. But I will no longer be myself."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course."
"Let me go, Professor. I beg you. I have achieved everything I wanted in this world. I am content to leave it."
The professor sheds a pair of tears. A single tear rolls from the eye Brittany has pressed against the pillow, yet she does not look sorrowful. She smiles.
"I am glad you are the last person I will see. I love you, Professor—my favorite professor," she says. Then she allows the intense, extreme exhaustion to overcome her. Her body goes limp. She collapses.
"Miss Machado?" No answer. "Britania?"
On the wall above the headboard of her bed, a projected three-dimensional hologram displays a straight line. At the same time, a constant high-pitched tone sounds from somewhere. One final breath escapes Brittany Condon’s now-pale, long-desired lips. Aquilino grows desperate, calls her by name, even tries to shout at her—though in his severely compromised condition, the latter is impossible.
"No. It cannot be. I did not come here to watch you die."
"Is that my Britu? Is that her?" the man lying on the opposite side of the room suddenly asks in a weak voice. Although his condition makes it difficult, Aquilino very slowly turns his neck to look at him.
"Who are you? Do you know her?"
The young man is handsome and powerfully built. Unlike Aquilino, who wears a hospital gown, his torso is bare. His hair appears to have been shaved almost to the scalp, as have his eyebrows.
"Is that my Britu? Is that her?"
"Calm down. Who are you?"
"Tell me!"
"I do not know whom you mean. Who is Britu?"
Before the bewildered Aquilino can respond, two nurses and a young doctor burst into the hospital room in great haste. The doctor reaches Brittany first and attempts to assess her condition as quickly as possible. The nurses prepare equipment, including a defibrillator.
"Britu! Britu, wake up! No, no! Brituuu!" cries the desperate man in the bed to Aquilino’s right, his voice growing louder and louder.
"Nurse, prepare a CryoLife. Now!" the doctor orders, his voice plainly tense.
"Brituuu! Britu!" the man cries without pause.
"Doctor, remember that we have no reagent left for Brittany Condon’s CryoLife. Have you obtained more?"
"I have not obtained any."
"Brituuu!" the young man insists.
"Please take that man to another room. What the hell is wrong with him?" the increasingly tense doctor orders.
"We have nowhere to take him, Doctor. Every room is occupied today. That is why we had to bring him here."
"Can’t any of you do what I ask?" the young doctor snaps.
Another doctor enters the room, a man much older than the first, dressed in his own medical coat. He is bald, with a graying beard, and taller than the young doctor. He immediately approaches the young artist’s bed. His composure in the face of the crisis catches Aquilino’s attention.
"Dr. Aaron, where can we take the patient? He is extremely agitated, and we have no room available," one of the nurses asks, concern evident upon her face.
"Is that the patient who recently emerged from CryoLife?"
"Yes, Doctor. He is the one you brought from Destiny Building—El Horgas Thirteen—at the request of the client Eva Hausen." Aaron reflects for a moment before answering.
"Return him to CryoLife Sixty-Six. Use the reagents we extracted earlier. Schedule him for another twelve hours," Aaron orders without losing his composure.
"Yes, Doctor. Right away," the woman agrees.
Both nurses hurry toward the epicenter of the desperate cries. Upon reaching El Horgas, they inject him with a sedative and wait for him to calm. Then one of them pushes the wheeled bed, and together they remove him from the hospital room.
"Please excuse this disorder, Mr. Aquilino. I shall attend to you in a few minutes," Aaron assures the professor, then closes that side of the curtains surrounding his bed.
The room becomes utterly silent: no shouting, no dialogue, no electronic tones. The silence exasperates Aquilino. He only wants to know whether they can do anything for his beloved former student, Miss Machado.
"Abraham, you have exhausted the reagents for our most important client. What is wrong with you? Will you never learn?"
"Of course I exhausted them, Dad. How many times have we had to bring her back? This is not normal. At the beginning, we had enough for any ordinary patient."
"You should have anticipated it, Abraham. If you were not my son, I would dismiss you this instant. That young woman’s manager pays us millions to keep her alive, no matter what she does. And that is precisely what we must do. Was it so difficult to request more samples from the source and produce additional reagent?"
"How was I supposed to...?"
"Listen. I want no excuses, so listen carefully. How many hours remain before she becomes unrecoverable?"
"Thirteen."
"Very well. Thirteen. That is how long you have to locate the source, request more samples, extract them, and do what we are paid to do. And we are paid very well."
"She will demand more money."
"Pay her whatever she demands. I shall speak with Gabriel later. If necessary, we will settle the difference in payment."
"What if I cannot locate her?"
"There is no such possibility, Abraham. You have thirteen hours. I suggest you begin now." Abraham does not move. "Go on, Abraham!"
"Ugh, finding that woman will be impossible. Besides, her samples will be more altered than last time. She must be about eight months..."
"Change your attitude this instant, Abraham! You cause me far too many problems. I want solutions, and I want them today."
"I’m going to call her right now."
"Wait, wait. Come here for a moment first."
"What is it?"
"Come speak with this man. His name is Aquilino."
"Ugh. Can’t it wait?"
"Certainly not."
Aquilino ceases to hear the voices just before the curtain to his left is drawn open. The first thing he sees is young Brittany, lying exactly as she was before she disappeared from his view. Overwhelming sorrow overtakes him at the sight of her in that condition. She has not moved. Her emerald eyes remain wide open and lifeless. Aaron’s medical coat blocks the anguishing view when he takes up position on Aquilino’s left; his son stands a little farther away. Both regard the educator. Aaron smiles. Abraham, by contrast, wears a frown and appears hurried and nervous. Aaron’s bow tie is ruby red.
"Good evening, Mr. Aquilino. My name is Aaron, chief physician here at BioGenLife. First of all, how are you feeling? Is there anything in particular that you need?"
"I cannot move—only my arms a little, and my head. Am I going to be paralyzed?"
"No, nothing of the sort. Allow me to explain. Your treatment will be entirely regenerative. You need not worry about anything."
"Ah, well... if you say so."
"We are a subsidiary of UHR Researches. We receive investments of considerable value. We conduct our research, and afterward they acquire the licenses."
Aquilino looks at the doctor without knowing what to say or think. He nods faintly, then looks back toward the son. He tries to speak, but despite his effort, no voice seems able to pass his lips. The shock of seeing Miss Machado lifeless has struck him terribly hard.
"I don’t know what to say. How long will I be here?" he finally manages.
"Do not trouble yourself by speaking. Your condition remains delicate, and you require rest." Aaron smiles after saying this.
"Very well."
"Here beside me is my son, Abraham. Abraham, this is Aquilino. You know what you told me you wished to say to him. Please, go ahead." The son meets his father’s eyes with an unhappy look.
He runs his hands through his long hair, then across his face. Finally, looking the old man in the eye, he addresses him in a hesitant voice.
"Mr. Aquilino, it is my fault that you are in this condition. I want to apologize personally for what I did to you, while looking you in the eye. I was in a hurry. I had to reach the clinic as quickly as possible, and the crowds in the streets delayed me considerably. I wanted to arrive without further delay. There was fog, the road was wet, and... well, you know. I lifted you from the asphalt and brought you here, where we can provide treatment."
"Is there anything else you wish to tell him, son?"
"Once again, my deepest apologies for what I put you through. I promise this will become no more than an anecdote in your life. You will walk out of the clinic in less than two weeks and lead a life every bit as normal as before."
"Thank you, son. Go now and do what I asked of you earlier. I want to speak with Aquilino alone for a moment."
"Yes, Dad. Good evening, Mr. Aquilino."
Without waiting for a response, Abraham leaves the room very quickly. Once in the corridor, he can be seen putting on his iGlasses before he disappears from the educator’s view.
"Doctor... Doctor..." Aquilino tries to speak, his voice extremely weak.
"Do not strain yourself, Aquilino. Everything is, shall we say, better than well. You are in a highly exclusive clinic. You are very fortunate. Had my son not been the one to run you down, you would already be playing a harp among the little angels, to put it poetically. I am the majority shareholder here, as well as the founder and creator of the research laboratory. What I mean is that I enjoy freedom of decision and action within these walls. You have suffered a fortunate misfortune, Aquilino—a horrible, unexpected accident." The professor strains so desperately to say something that Aaron is forced to place his ear close to the old man’s lips.
"Is the young man—your son—all right? Was he hurt?"
"Nothing to worry about, Mr. Aquilino. As you have seen, my son is in perfect health, although terribly shaken by the situation." Aquilino sighs and narrows his eyes, wishing to say something more. Aaron leans closer.
"How long has it been since the accident?"
"Well, you have been here for several days. There is nothing to worry about. You are in the best hands." Aaron notices that Aquilino is growing agitated, shaking his head repeatedly as he attempts to ask something. He places his ear near the old man’s lips.
"My... my dog. I have a dog—Kika. Please, if you know anything about her, tell me whether she is all right." After listening, Aaron straightens, takes a moment, and regards him.
"I am sorry. We went to your home once we were able to obtain the address. We found the door locked. Your key was not among your belongings, so we could not enter. Your pet probably did not survive the obvious starvation. You are our absolute priority. Do not worry; nowhere else would have cared for you better than we have. You can attest to that."
The educator cannot stop tears of grief from falling for his beloved Kika, the companion of so many days and nights. His mourning begins with wrenching sobs that immediately provoke intense pain throughout his body. The effect of the painkiller administered to him is fading. Aaron will not allow the patient’s life expectancy to end here.
"Mr. Aquilino, I am very sorry."
"It is terribly unfair. Kika is all I have." Aaron checks the time on his holographic device. Aquilino once again begins to weep inconsolably.
"Mr. Aquilino, I must tell you several important things before I leave. I have little time; I will be holding a press conference in a matter of minutes. I am going to announce that I have developed a vaccine against the new virus that emerged in Baybeach." Gradually, Aquilino’s sobbing subsides.
"What? Truly?"
"Truly," Aaron says with a proud smile.
"But how? It is an unknown virus."
"It is—or rather, it was. There is no reason to enter into details, but the young man who lay to your right had much to do with it. He bravely volunteered to help us in that unequal struggle. We administered the most aggressive strains to him and then, through certain methods that, as you will understand, I shall reveal to no one—not even at the press conference—we synthesized a vaccine. He received the first inoculation. As you saw, he is in perfect condition. It was a tremendous success."
"I can hardly believe it. Congratulations. But..." Aaron interrupts him.
"Wait. I want to tell you several other very important things."
"Very well."
"We took the liberty of conducting a complete series of examinations, since we had to subject you to this clinic’s signature treatment. Some of the results were not good. I wish to put this as gently as possible. You had a considerable aneurysm. Altruistically, although it was not our responsibility, my expert medical team took it upon themselves to remove it. The procedure was extremely delicate, but successful. Naturally, as a consequence of the accident, we also had to heal dozens of broken bones and contusions of varying severity. You are recovering from everything. You fight like the great lion you are." The professor shakes his head upon the pillow. Nerves, fear, anguish, and helplessness invade him. Aaron takes Aquilino’s right hand in his own.
"But you say I have been here for days."
"That is correct, yes."
"It is impossible to heal everything you describe in a matter of days."
"It was impossible before our treatment: CryoLife. We are revolutionizing medicine, Mr. Aquilino. Neither people’s lives nor death itself will ever be the same."
"I do not understand."
"You have nothing to worry about. As I said before, my experts are the finest, without exaggeration. We inoculated you with the vaccine I mentioned earlier. Your body now possesses the weapons required to combat the Baybeach virus—another demonstrated success. You are healthier now than you were twenty years ago, I assure you."
"I do not think I can pay for all of this. It sounds like something only the most powerful could afford."
"That is the best part, Aquilino: you owe us nothing. It is all courtesy of the clinic, a kindness we wish to extend because of the tragic and unfortunate accident that occurred."
Even with tears in his eyes at the memory of Kika, the educator attempts to absorb this flood of information as best he can. He shakes his head, unable to assimilate it fully.
"I would like to understand what is happening more clearly."
"Mr. Aquilino, I ask only one insignificant gesture from you—if you would be so kind, of course."
"What do you need?"
"It is the sole requirement for all of this, if possible, naturally. I merely need you to sign here."
Aaron brings the holographic screen of his mobile device close to Aquilino. It displays a text the professor could never have read without his glasses; now, however, he reads it without effort. It appears to be some form of contract. Aaron smiles, holding the device in his left hand as he glances toward the corridor. He grows impatient. Beneath the block of holographic text, silhouettes of fingerprints appear on the left and right sides of the screen.
"We found no relative able to sign before the treatment. We took a risk and proceeded without authorization. Now that you are, fortunately, recovering so well both physically and mentally—we never doubted that you would—we need only complete this simple formality. If you sign now, as would be ideal, we will begin the final phase today. We will accelerate the process so that you can walk again soon. You will be discharged very shortly. Simply rest your thumbs where the document indicates, Mr. Aquilino. I would appreciate your hurrying; as I said, I must give a press conference." The old man reads the tiny print, then reviews the text once more.
Aaron senses the professor’s doubts and scarcely blinks. Thousands of images and thoughts pass through Aquilino’s mind. He understands several things now, while others remain unclear. He indicates that he wishes to speak. Once more, the doctor bends close to hear what his patient wants to say.
"Can you assure me that the treatment will be effective?"
"I need not clarify that everything said here is confidential, Mr. Aquilino. No one must learn what happened. The accident never occurred. You will return to your life healthier than before; I assure you of that. My son will continue his successful career—but not before receiving a lesson from me, I promise you. Sign below. We all win. I guarantee the highest degree of quality and durability in your treatment."
Aquilino makes his decision. With tremendous effort, he raises both thumbs and brings them toward the hologram. Halfway there, an idea strikes him—one that may not be well received, yet which he feels compelled to put forward. He wants to ask for something more, convinced they can give it to him. He will sign only if they assure him that they are capable of granting this request. Aaron approaches once more to hear it. A faint, exhausted whisper reaches him. The doctor is startled; his eyes widen as he stares at the patient in disbelief, taking a moment before he can speak. He readjusts his gown and at last addresses him again.
"What you are asking is not part of our agreement, Mr. Aquilino." Aaron waits for the old man to speak, but Aquilino says nothing more. "Very well. What you propose still amounts to extortion, I hope you understand—even abuse, considering the kindness with which we have treated you. I shall accept. I will give you your pet. Now I need your signature, please, and quickly."
The professor tries again. He extends his thumbs and finally rests them within the corresponding holographic silhouettes. A pair of green lights illuminate at the top of the image, after which the virtual certificate closes. Aaron slips his mobile device into a pocket of his medical coat.
"Mr. Aquilino, I must confess that this final demand has disappointed me. It is ungrateful of you to ask for such a thing under these circumstances, when you had no other choice. As you may imagine, treatments of this kind are expensive—very expensive. In any event, I have a press conference to give."
Aaron walks away from the bed, crosses the room, and leaves. Once in the corridor, he speaks with a nurse, then reunites with his son.