Beloved Poison by E. S. Thomson Read Free Book Online Page A

hard to think who Dr Bain had
not
provoked at some time or other. Not ten days earlier he had riled Dr Magorian by daring to disagree about the merits of pus in a wound. (‘There is nothing laudable about pus, sir!’)
    ‘How fascinating,’ said Will. ‘And what d’you think is happening here?’
    ‘I think Dr Bain is out to make Dr Graves appear a fool.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Yes. Though I admit that at first glance, the odds would seem to be the other way around.’
    Before us, Dr Bain was holding up his hands for silence. When he spoke, his voice was low, but clear. ‘I have a suggestion, sir, if you will hear me.’
    Dr Magorian, perhaps able to read the situation better than Dr Graves, waved a gracious hand. ‘Proceed, Dr Bain.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking about dirt.’
    ‘Dirt?’ Dr Graves gave a bark of derision, as if the subject were irrelevant. ‘Ha!’
    ‘Dirt, sir,’ said Dr Bain. ‘Put simply, dirt must be avoided. Especially when there’s an open wound.’
    ‘Well, I’d no more rub dirt into an open wound than you,’ said Dr Graves. ‘Nor would any doctor. Not even the young gentlemen of the audience would do
that
!’ There was a murmur of laughter.
    ‘Neither would I expect them to,’ said Dr Bain. ‘But there is dirt which we
can
see, and there is dirt which we
cannot
see. I advise that we must try to
see
dirt at all times, so that we know where it is. Only then can we avoid it. To wear these dark old coats is to hide it. To wear a white coat is to make it plain to see.’
    ‘But you look like a baker,’ cried Dr Graves. ‘Or a half-dressed lunatic!’
    ‘A baker wears white because he is dressed in old sacks. And it also happens to hide the fact that he is covered in flour. You wear a black frock coat because you are a gentleman, and also to hide the fact that you are covered in—’
    ‘Blood,’ interrupted Dr Graves. ‘Of course!’
    ‘No!’ cried Dr Bain. ‘When it flows through the veins,
then
it is blood. When it has left the place where it is
meant
to be,
then
it is dirt. But we
must see the dirt
! For this reason I urge you to put away your operating coat, and wear one of these.’
    ‘Excellent logic,’ murmured Will.
    ‘Rational, yes,’ I replied. ‘But I think it would take more than a white smock to show where the dirt lies.’
    But Dr Bain was speaking again. ‘I’m aware, Dr Graves, that you’re about to undertake your one hundredth surgical procedure in that coat. But the greater the degree of cleanliness, the greater likelihood that suppuration of the wound can be avoided.’ At this point Dr Bain produced from his bucket a brass spray pump. I recognised it as the one I used in the small glasshouse at the physic garden. He turned to Dr Magorian. ‘I have made up a 2 per cent solution of pine tar oil. If you will permit me, sir, I would like to mist the site of the operation during the procedure. Miasma, sir. Need I say more? The miasma too contains dirt, I am sure of it. It must be cleansed from the area!’
    ‘Good.’ I nodded, impressed by his thinking.
    ‘What!’ cried Dr Graves. ‘Are we to be sprayed like aphids on a rose bush?’ He looked about, expecting to be supported by the mirth of the students, but now they were silent. Dr Magorian, the great man, was about to speak.
    ‘Miasma?’ he said, raising a shaggy eyebrow. He sniffed deeply. ‘I must agree that the river is at its worst today.’
    ‘If we can prevent the miasma from entering the wound then the likelihood of suppuration is sure to be reduced still further,’ said Dr Bain.
    ‘We close the doors,’ said Dr Graves witheringly. ‘The miasma is kept out that way.’
    ‘But we always close the doors,’ said Dr Bain. ‘And yet the place still stinks, and the patients still die.’
    ‘Miasma,’ repeated Dr Magorian. He stroked his chin, and waited for the silence to deepen. ‘It is a curse upon us. I am willing to try your ideas, Dr Bain.’
    A student leaped forward to help Dr