The Conduit (3)

Landmarks are always disappointing. Like Jeremy Truscott’s 5,000th operation, there was no chance to celebrate. After a busy morning of scheduled operations, the planned late lunch at the Golden Ferret had to be postponed because of an emergency.

 

Surgery is a job that is never routine, not even after 5,000 stabs at it, because every body is different, like a kinder egg you never really know what you’re going to find when you look inside. “Obesity is the main challenge a surgeon faces now,” Jeremy told Morris, the trainee surgeon who was with him that day. “All the vital organs are hidden behind layers of fat, it turns surgery into a kind of lucky dip.”

 

Jeremy guessed that the man on the table had a BMI of about 39.

 

“You cut through the layer of fat,” he explained to Morris, “then you cut through the next layer of fat, then you get to the next layer of fat.”

 

“Like Dante’s seven layers of lard.”

 

“Something like that boy, something like that.”

 

Jeremy was still slicing through the final fatty layer when he realised that there was someone new in the room – a  surgeon has these instincts – in life or death situations the like of which Jeremy dealt with daily you become hyper aware of all around you.

 

Jeremy recognised the figure straight away, it was hard not to, he was over seven feet tall, with a 1930s matinee idol moustached and dressed in full evening wear, complete with bowtie. It was The Conduit.

 

Jeremy gestured at Morris to have The Conduit removed, but Morris just stared blankly at nothing, as if frozen.

 

The Conduit approached. “Your mother is here to see you,” he announced.

 

“Are you mad?” Jeremy barked. “This is a sterilised zone. Get out now. I’m in the middle of an operation. Morris, Tanya, see this man out now.”

 

But neither Tanya nor Morris moved, not even to breath. In fact nothing moved, even the blood had ceased flowing from the patient’s incision.

 

“No need to worry,” The Conduit said, “I’ve stopped time. It seemed the easiest thing, stop us being seen by the earthlings, that sort of thing.”

 

“But my patient …”

 

“His time has been stopped too. No ill effects will result from our visit. After all, I am The Conduit, not some time travelling clown.”

 

“You’ve stopped time? What are you, some sort of god.”

 

“I’ve told you, I’m not a god, I’m The Conduit, although some of my work requires what you'd think of as miracles. Technically I suppose I haven’t really stopped time, I’ve just moved you into a time envelope, outside of your own time but termporarily parallel to it.”

 

The Conduit was interrupted by the arrival of a middle-aged woman, who Jeremy recognised as the woman who had claimed to be his mother on The Conduit’s first visit.  “Darling,” she said, as she approached.

 

“Stay away,” Jeremy barked, “both of you, keep away. This is a sterilised zone, you have to be scrubbed to enter here, you could be carrying all sorts of infection.”

 

“Relax,” The Conduit said, “I explained, we are not here with you in the operating theatre, we’re in a separate time/space envelope.”

 

“And look, I’ve bought you a gift,” his mother said, “just a little thing.”

 

She handed Jeremy a full-sized raccoon, which quickly wriggled free of his grasp. “I can’t keep a raccoon here, this is a surgical theatre.”

 

“The raccoon isn’t here,” The Conduit started to explain, “it’s in a time/space en … oh never mind,” he clapped his hands, “there, the raccoons in your office now, I hope you’re happy.”

 

Jeremy looked around. It was true, the racoon had gone.

“Darling,” his ‘mother’ continued. “I’m sorry about the way our conversation ended so quickly last time. I failed to tell you something really important.”

 

“Really?”

“Really, really important. About you, darling. I lied. I told you you were sent here because you were a reject from our world. This isn’t true. You were sent here …”

 

The emotion of delivering the sentence proved too much for her and she broke down in tears.  Jeremy was impatient.

 

“Why? Why was I sent here?”

“Because people want to kill you.”

 

“Kill me? Who wants to kill me? Why, what have I done?”

 

“It’s not what you’ve done, darling, but who you are.”

 

“Why, who am I?”

 

“Enough,” The Conduit interrupted their conversation.

 

“I can’t tell you dear,” his mother continued, “you know that, you had to go away so that you’d never find out who you really were. It was the only way.”

 

“You’re not going to tell me who I am?”

 

The Conduit shook his head.

 

“Oh daring, you’re cutting up a fat person. Is that your job? Someone’s got to do it I suppose, otherwise they’ll never learn. To think, what you could have been, and here you are, on a wretched planet, cutting up the fatties.”

 

“I am a top surgeon.”

 

“I’m sure they’d let you work on the bottom bit if you worked hard enough, darling. Don’t feel bad. Anyway, I must go. You know how fragile these time/space windows are. Take care of the racoon.”

 

“His name is Emerson,” The Conduit added.

 

“Though you should always address him as Your Highness Emerson The Raccoon,” his mother explained. “He is of royal heritage you see.”

 

“Your Highness Emerson The Raccoon,” Jeremy repeated, but it was too late, his mother and The Conduit were gone. Around him the room had returned to life, he had left the envelope.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mr Truscott, Tanya said, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

 

“I said I’m going to need the scalpel with the extra long handle,” he said, as if repeating himself. “I haven’t got through the fat layer yet and I’m already up to my elbow.”

“Of course, sorry sir, I must have misheard,” the nurse said, as she hastily passed him the desired instrument.

 

“Oh, and Morris,” he said, turning to his trainee.

 

“Yes Mr Truscott.”

 

“Would you mind just popping out with a message for the caretaker.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Tell him there’s a racoon loose in my office. If he could please catch it and keep it in a cage for me. He’s to treat it with respect, it’s said to be of racoon royalty.”

 

Jeremy loved being a surgeon. He could say or do anything and he would be obeyed.

 

“Of course, Mr Truscott, I’ll go right away.”