UNDER THE KNIFE
Carl, endeavoring to get to his feet, was aware of a severe pain in
his side. His left foot, too, pained him and was unable to support any
weight. Struggling at last to an upright position, he staggered forward
a few steps, only to lurch head first into the burning desert sand.
Immediately the other tourists were off their camels and at his side. A
hasty examination proved that his left ankle was badly broken and that,
from all appearances, he had suffered internal injuries in his fall
from the camel.
Everything possible was done to relieve his pain and make him as
comfortable as possible. With great care he was literally hoisted
aboard one of the camels, and strapped on its back, where he was held
secure from a further fall by one of the guides who rode behind him.
The place of Carl’s accident was near the Wadi Draa River, flowing
past the southern end of the Atlas Mountains, so they were still some
two hundred and fifty miles, about four days’ ride from Mogador, the
terminus of the caravan.
Accordingly the caravan headed for the nearest town, Glisscim, but here
they found only a native doctor, to whose care none was willing to
entrust the sick man. Securing an automobile, the only one to be had
and a ramshackle bouncing affair at that, Carl was driven to Mogador.
Here, too, disappointment was in store for him. Suffering although he
was from the pain in his side and ankle, Carl would not consent to
gamble his chances on the more or less speculative knowledge of the
only doctor in that locality.
Another hundred miles of pain-tortured automobile ride and he reached
Marrakesh, the beautiful southern capital of Morocco, lying at the foot
of the Atlas Mountains, whose snow covered peaks provided a wondrous
contrast to the great groves of palms that formed a background for the
city. It was at Marrakesh that the celebrated feudal chieftain of the
southern country, El Hadj Thami Glaouri, made his home, being attracted
to the city by its great groves of cypress and olive trees and its
wonderful gardens of tropical beauty.
At the hospital, Carl, much to his delighted surprise, was placed
under the care of the prominent French physician Dr. Thuillier. After
a thorough examination, which confirmed the belief of the tourists,
Carl was placed in bed. The hospital was rather crowded with soldiers
wounded in the war, but room was found for him in one of the wards.
That was on a Thursday night. The following morning X-ray pictures
were taken to ascertain the true nature of the fracture in his leg,
and Friday not being an operating day, but a “meatless one,” as was
laughingly explained to him, Carl had to wait for “butcher day,” which
was Saturday, for the operation.
Among the nurses at the hospital there were a few white women, one
of whom, Carl soon learned, was an American, Grace Huntington. She
came from New York, where she had been employed as a stenographer and
secretary prior to the outbreak of the war. When the war came she went
to France as a nurse, like so many of her American sisters. During her
service with the armies she had met Dr. Thuillier, who had accompanied
a regiment of semi-savage Moroccan soldiers to France. He, seeing that
she made a wonderful nurse, made her an attractive offer, which, in her
enthusiasm, she readily accepted, going to Marrakesh at the termination
of her work in France.
Grace was young and very attractive, as Carl soon noticed. Carl was
attractive, too, it seemed, as from the outset complaints were made
that she paid more attention to him than was necessary.
Carl was much interested in the sights about him, and particularly in
the behavior of several men, who, still under the influence of the
ether, were brought back to the ward from the operating room. One of
these was a young Englishman who, coming out of the ether became very
restless and talkative. So restless was he that two nurses had to hold
him down, but all the while he kept talking of and to his sweetheart.
This made Carl wonder whether he, when coming back from the plane of
unconsciousness, would talk of Sana, his beloved, for whom his heart
was crying bitterly. He hoped not, after hearing the jeers that greeted
the words of the soldier. Furthermore, he could not reconcile himself
to the thought of having Grace hear anything of Sana. But he reasoned
to himself, that if what he had heard from others was true, he would
talk. Much of this talking on the part of a patient he had been told
was induced by suggestion on the part of the nurses at hand.
Friday night, much to his embarrassment, he was shaved and prepared
for the operation the following morning. Grace, he noticed, was also
visibly embarrassed, although he thought this strange, as it must have
been a usual occurrence in the line of duty. He could not account for
it, but he was too tired and hungry to bother much about her feelings
toward him. Hungry he was, and much to his chagrin had to be satisfied
with half a roll and a glass of water.
Early the next morning Grace again came to his side to make him ready
for the ordeal. Another coat of iodine, “war paint” she called it, was
applied to his side, a white woolen shirt and a pair of long woolen
stockings put on him and he was placed upon a wheel stretcher. Blankets
were put over him with his arms beneath them, and his body tightened
down with two strong belts. A victim, trussed for the slaughter, Carl
mused bitterly.
In the operating room Carl was turned over to three women nurses;
the history of his case being given them. Without further ado he was
transferred to the operating table.
A young French doctor was attending to the ether apparatus while
a nurse came up to Carl with a book in her hand and requested his
signature. Asking what this meant, he was told that it was but a matter
of routine. Anticipating that he was expected to sign his life away
before the operation, in case he died from it, the nurse confirmed
his belief. Reluctantly Carl signed the book, knowing that he had no
alternative.
The doctor was having some trouble with the ether bottles and the
attachment of the gas mask. While fixing things, he laughingly told a
story of two boys, who were bragging about their fathers--the one had
said that his father had electricity in his hair to which the other
retorted that his father had gas on his stomach.
Disgusted beyond words at this lack of consideration on the doctor’s
part for his patient, Carl heard him say, “Come, you had better take
some gas now.”
The mask was adjusted over his face and the ether turned on. A sweet
sickening odor entered Carl’s nostrils followed by a light-headed
feeling. The stuff was doing its work fast. Making up his mind that he
would not say a word of Sana, when coming out of the ether, he began
to count. The possibility of his never coming out of it did not occur
to him. He had reached the count of nine when sparks of all colors
and shades, radiated from his brain, with a tremendous noise, to all
corners of the room and beyond. They were like sparks from a huge
induction coil of a wireless station. The count was thirteen when Carl
suddenly exclaimed, “Oh no--I am not in an electric chair!”
Through his mind ran the argument he had so often propounded to the
men of his profession. He was firmly convinced a person electrocuted
in an electric chair, was not dead and that he could be revived with
a high frequency apparatus. Many an electrical equipment operator has
been successfully revived after receiving equally as heavy or even more
powerful electrical shocks from high tension apparatus in electrical
central stations. These operators lay on the ground as though really
dead; their hearts do not beat and any doctor would pronounce them
dead; yet many of them are brought to life again.
After official electrocutions an autopsy is performed upon the body,
and the heart removed. This, of course, kills the person, but the
electrical shocks do not necessarily kill.
No state, he had contended, making use of the barbaric electrocution,
would dare to apply high frequency apparatus to a criminal after he had
been removed from the electric chair. It would expose the fact that
many an individual had not been legally and according to law, executed
in the electric chair.
When Carl stopped counting the doctor asked him “Do you hear me?”
Carl wanted to reply in the affirmative, but his voice failed him. So
he nodded his head in answer to the query.
The young physician promptly exclaimed, “Hell you do!”
Carl meekly thought, “I ought to know better.”
He now heard Dr. Thuillier, the chief surgeon, say, “Well, where is
that young American?”
Then someone placed a hand on his left arm and he became unconscious
instantly. From that time on, until three hours later, he knew nothing
of what was happening to him.
Besides the doctors and nurses participating in the operation, there
were several other doctors or internes present to study the case. To
these, Dr. Thuillier explained the nature of the accidental injury and
the method of operating. The work was quite complicated because of the
delay that had ensued since the time of the accident. At the end of an
hour, however, Carl was wheeled back to the ward and put to bed, with
Nurse Grace to watch over him until he came out of the ether.
While still under the ether, Carl dreamed that he had at last perfected
an invention on which he had been working for years. This invention was
the one thing that could be acclaimed as one hundred per cent. perfect.
His long cherished dreams had come true! He had devised an apparatus by
means of which he could throw upon a screen scenes from any part of the
globe, that is, the actual scenes of happenings as they were taking
place at some distant point the very moment we projected them upon the
screen in front of his machine. Incidents taking place thousands of
miles away were pictured before one’s eyes as if they were at the scene
itself. If he wanted a street scene say of San Francisco, Tokio, Paris
or London, all he would have to do would be to place the indicator upon
the dial map, pointing to the city in question, and it was done--the
scene was before his eyes.
Carl had been industriously working on this telephoto device during the
war. His idea was to observe the movement of the armies, believing that
with it he could end the war and prevent all future wars. No military
movement would be secret, no advance unobserved, with his machine.
The idea was first born in his mind after a talk with a great detective
who was looking for evidence against some suspected criminals. Carl had
come to the detective’s aid with a device whereby he could see what was
going on in a closed room. He placed wires along the picture molding
of the room, during the suspected one’s absence, and the four ends of
the wire he provided with “eyes,” his secret invention. These wires led
from the room to a place at some distance away, where the apparatus
reflected the entire room upon a large mirror.
This device he had improved upon until at last, instead of wires and
the “eyes” he had been able to accomplish the same result by means of
wireless.
The war over, he continued his experiments on the device, intending to
use it in connection with his lectures on city planning.
In his delirium, he was addressing a large audience and demonstrating
his device. He pointed the indicator to Paris, saying, “Here we have
a city, where Baron Hausmann, under the great Napoleon, remodeled the
entire city, broke through new thoroughfares, made plazas and squares,
at an expense of some two hundred and thirty million dollars. The
scene before you is that of the Place du Chatelet, with the monument
at the end of the bridge, or rather beyond the bridge, acting as a
focal point. Note the good treatment of the traffic waterway, the well
planned boulevards, the uniform height of the buildings as well as the
ornamental shade trees on both sides of all streets. Surely, here are
examples for our American cities.”
Turning the indicator upon Duesseldorf, one of the foremost cities,
where the art of city planning has been practised for generations,
Carl said, “Here is the river promenade on the Rhine in Duesseldorf.
Where can we find in our own country a similar scene of such civic
improvement? At the lower level you see the electric unloading
machinery and the busy vehicles hauling away the freight of the river
boats. On the upper level in the wide promenade, flanked on one side
with shade trees and on the other with the great balustrade, giving
an open view of the river and the monumental bridge in the distance.
Observe, also, the highly ornamental electroliers. Duesseldorf is no
larger than Jersey City, but who ever goes to Jersey City for the sake
of seeing anything beautiful. Where could we, in our own country, find
such a scene, as this, of business and pleasure combined. Yet all this
could be duplicated in America if the principle were but understood. As
will be seen, city planning develops artistic taste, civic pride and
patriotism. It also makes for better citizenship, adds to our comfort
and our happiness and it stimulates industrial prosperity.
“Of late we have heard so much of Tut-Ankh-Amen, one of the great
Pharaohs. Let us see if we can locate him.” Shifting the indicator back
and forth over the map of Egypt, Carl continued, “Here we have the
sand waves sweeping in their slow but inevitable march past the silent
Sphinx and the pyramids at Luxor. Yes, here it is. We see before us the
last resting-place of a great Pharaoh, which for some 3400 years has
remained undisturbed. But now it has been entered and its valuable
treasures taken away by a group of archeologists.
“Witness the procession of visitors in carriages and on camel’s back,
all come to gape with awe at the funeral fittings of a king. We cannot
look down into the tomb itself, but we can see the valuable treasures
as they are carefully carried away on stretchers borne by native
Egyptians who apparently have no scruples against despoiling the grave
of a ruler of their country.
“We see here treasure chests, costly vases, chairs, thrones and the
like, as well as the mummy of the king. Art as well as history may gain
to a great extent, but let us consider a while. Is it right?
“Tut-Ankh-Amen, as well as the other Pharaohs, was buried according
to the rites of the religion of Egypt. In his mortal life he had this
great tomb prepared, so that his body could be placed in it, when death
came, and remain untouched through the ages. After the king had been
buried and the last seal put in place, the tomb became consecrated
ground, hallowed to the memory of the life that had departed. Because
of this, many a logical mind will consider the ruthless digging up
of the remains a ghoulish act and a desecration of the body’s last
resting-place. Surely if it were the grave of a less notable person
than an ancient Pharaoh such would be the description of the act and
the diggers would be called ‘ghouls’ and ‘grave robbers’ instead of
archeologists.
“What would be said if some wealthy or more powerful foreign nation
came to our own country to carry away the bodies of our great
Washington or Lincoln, or say of some of our soldiers who lost their
lives on the field of battle?
“It may be said that the removal of these highly valuable treasures
will serve mankind, but mankind could be better served if the cost of
such removal were used in the aiding of needy peoples.
“Beneath Constantinople, the Turkish capital, are buried the treasures
of the old Pashas, and this is one of the reasons that makes both
England and Russia so anxious to control that city.
“The treasures buried with Kings, Pashas or Pharaohs were buried
in accordance with the beliefs of the people, and no other nation,
especially a nation of a different religion, should have the right to
exploit these graves and treasures to their own advantage.
“However, that is but a matter of opinion and has nothing to do with my
new invention, the telephoto device, which has enabled you to see these
things for yourselves.”
Tremendous applause greeted Carl as he finished his lecture. Immensely
elated, he shouted, “I am satisfied. I have a machine that is one
hundred per cent. perfect.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth, when a great seven-league boot
kicked him off the globe, while a voice said, “The hell you have!”
Falling through space he looked back and saw another man, a young
fellow he had seen in his audience, pick up the machine saying, “Here
we have it, one hundred per cent. perfect.”
And again came the gigantic boot and the voice, “The hell you have!”
and he, too, slid off the planet.
A second man, one of the type termed “nut” came along and seeing the
device, called out gleefully, “Years ago I invented this, but could not
make it work. Now I shall claim it mine.”
And again that sneering “The hell you will!” followed by so forceful a
kick that the old man flew in a wide arc over Carl’s head and descended
rapidly to the depths beneath.
All the while Carl noticed that it was becoming hotter and hotter. At
first he could not grasp the meaning of it, but then came the dawning
of the truth that Hades was his destination. He turned around and
screamed, “What is all this about?”
From somewhere in the far distance, he heard a deep even voice
respond, “Young man, if everybody should come into the possession of
one hundred per cent. perfection, which by the way is an impossibility,
there would be no incentive for improvement, and that would stagnate
all possible progress.”
Carl became intensely hot and was perspiring dreadfully. His very
vitals were burning and a terrible thirst was consuming him, but he
managed to say, “But I have it and I am going to hold on to it!”
A hand was on his arm, and a melancholy yet sweet voice barely audible
came to him, saying, “Please, Mr. Lohman, have a drink.”
Carl was but half awake, his mind still floating in airy regions, but
he managed to rouse himself, and opening his eyes, he saw his charming
nurse, Grace, standing at the side of his bed.
A teaspoonful of warm water was poured between his parched lips. That
was all he could have just then, but to the fevered man it was nectar
of the gods.
Carl, on regaining full consciousness was anxious to know whether he
had said anything of Sana during his coma. He questioned nurse Grace
guardedly, but was told that he had only grunted like a little pig for
a time and then had mechanically delivered a lecture on the tombs of
the Pharaohs.
Satisfied, Carl dosed off into a fitful sleep, to be awakened some
hours later, by plaintive strains of music. Twisting his head in the
direction from which the sounds came, Carl beheld three musicians
standing at the entrance of the ward. He recalled then, of having heard
that they came every Saturday evening to play to the suffering patients.
Upon the strangely stirred spirit of Carl, the magic of this weird
native music had a subtle effect, and burying his face in the pillow,
he wept bitterly, weeping only as a strong man can weep.
That night no sleep would come to his tired eyes. The pain in his side
had increased much to his alarm. Speaking of it to the night nurse, she
gave him an injection, but it had little effect. Through the long hours
of the silent night he lay staring with unseeing eyes at the ceiling
above him.
The whole of the next day Carl received no nourishment save a glass of
lemon water, although food was promised him the following day. That
night another injection of morphine was given him, and peaceful sleep
came to the tired man.
One hospital day was like another. But on the sixth day Carl became
very ill. His pulse raced and his temperature rose rapidly. A high
fever set in, torturing his very soul.
Carl noted that the night nurse had spoken to Grace of his condition
when she arrived in the morning. Her serious face, when asking him
how he felt, worried Carl greatly. He began to ponder on the success
of the operation. Was it likely to end fatally? But then he did not
care. Sana was gone, burned alive, and in a large measure due to his
own fault. Ever since that fateful hour he had been thinking of how he
could have saved his beloved if he had only acted the part of the hero;
the hero of story book and screen. He had saved Sana from the clutches
of Amshied and he blamed himself for not having taken sufficient
precautions when leaving the burning building. As yet he did not know
how he had been put out of action--all he remembered was the blow that
sent him reeling down in a heap.
Such thoughts depressed him, and he cared little whether he lived or
not.
Although puzzled at this turn of affairs, Grace assured him that he was
in no great danger. Two assistant doctors, in the absence of the head
doctor, were called, but they could not say just what was the matter.
When Dr. Thuillier came, however, a hasty examination was all that was
necessary to disclose the nature of the trouble. An abscess had formed
in the wound, and it was necessary to re-open it. This was immediately
done, the abscess removed, and the incision closed.
After this second operation Carl’s fever left him and he was much
easier.
For three long weeks after that Carl remained at the hospital, gaining
in strength slowly but surely. During this time Grace was constantly at
his side, tenderly nursing him with all possible skill and patience.
At last came the day when he was pronounced fit to leave. During the
weeks of his convalescence, Grace had often told him of her desire to
return to New York--she was tired of the desert, of the hospital, of
everything in this foreign land. She wanted to go home. So it had been
mutually agreed that they would go home together.
So together, Carl and Grace, bade goodbye to their friends at Marrakesh
and left for Mogador, where they hoped to find passage by steamer to
New York.