Circa 1991
They said I should write this down in case I forget everything that happened. Ever since I was little I tended to be a brooding sort of child, not in a sullen sort of way, but I thought about a lot of things all the time. Later, as I grew up people marveled at the level that I liked to introspect. I liked to say that it was that while most people let situations and occurances blur into the mists of time, that I remembered everything including the color and type of clothes the person was wearing. Anyway, the result was that I was a brooding adult as well. While most people are happy until something brings them down, I was the reverse, down until something cheered me up. I let a sense of darkness pervade me and for the growing years it was really no inconvenience.
Caring, I liked to say, was the most important thing in the world. I was a “people” person and even when issues came to fore, it was this people element that let me care enough and deal with those issues. Because I liked to relate to people on a one to one, I soon had many close friends whom to lean on when I would lose control over the darkness and it threatened to overwhelm me. I realize that my chronic depressions must have worried them, yet it was a working relationship: when they needed me I was there for them and when I needed them they responded in like.
I was as any person, I had my sucesses and failures, I fell in love and suffered losses. Yet all the while, when something would happen, it seemed like I would feel the emotions with more intensity than those around me. Perhaps it is an arrogance to believe so, but in that belief, I felt others’ pain.
As I pursued my education it was logical that I ended up in the health profession. I had a hunger for helping others and a sense of caring that gave me insight on how to succor those around me. The more I gave myself to those around me the more fulfilled I felt, yet there was a part of me that was becoming more and more empty; It got so that I would work myself ragged trying to help others to allay the hollowness. It was inevitable that I was doomed to fail. The more people I tried to help the more problems seemed to crop up. I became so involved in my patients that I would be devastated when I would lose one and sink into inconcievable depression. At those times I was incapable of helping anyone and my work would suffer as my patients would back log and my negligence would produce terrible results. Finally the day came when I lost a patient because of my delinquency rather than unpreventable causes, and while I was vindicated in the courts, I knew what I had done and had a terrible time reconciling the fact. I took a leave of absence from the hospital and soon turned to drink to escape the emptiness that was consuming my soul.
If only I could find a way to cut away other people’s problems; if only I had the power to cure the world. I began having messianistic dreams and retreated to those places where I had the power to alleviate the pain and suffering in those around me. I left the hospital and found work in an inner city clinic where thesuffering was greater. Perhaps I thought if I could come closer to the suffering I might find a means to cure it. Disease and sickness weren’t what consumed me with remorse; It was the agony in the people’s faces, the torment that was so tangible that I could feel it in my own soul. Substance abuse, poverty, and age brought countless horrors into the clinic and in each case, the suffering seemed only to intensify.
Finally it got so bad that I began to look for anything, any means of helping those who I came in contact with. In medical school they warn you not to become to involved or attatched to your patients in case you lose yourself in the process. I had lost myself years ago. I began to make house calls and before I knew it, I wasn’t treating just illness, but trying to help their lives otherwise. This may sound like the ideal good samaritan thing to do, but I began paying bills, repairing rooms and essentially giving away anything that I thought could help. And still it wasn’t enough. The emptiness raged unabated, the more I tried to do, the more helpless I felt. As unresonable it may seem to try to cure all evils, I felt as though I could do it, yet I couldn’t I just felt worse and worse. My sense of self-worth was diminishing rapidly and in a world of suffering and hurt, there was I, the powerless messiah.
I eventually had a nervous breakdown and was sent off to travel and recuperate by my wife, and family. As I traveled around the the various cities however, I saw the same suffering and agony in the people’s faces. I even imagined that I could see the suffering in the faces of everyday people as well, for I knew that everyone suffered, even if just a little. Travel really didn’t seem to help and instead exacerbated the problem. An attempt at reconciliation seemed futile. However, as I began to grasp at straws, there came a glimmer of hope, a rumor as I wandered the alleyways of old Chinatown. An old man whispered to me about a mystical sword, a weapon not for war or destruction, but simply to cure, yet when I asked him how I could obtain this instrument of hope, he shrank back in fear. As spittle flew from his mouth, he pointed a crooked finger at me and warned me against finding the sword. He ranted and raved in his dry cracked voice about some vague curse. After I got as much as I could get from the man, I returned home brooded upon the the tale; Sure, the man could have been fooling me or utterly insane but the terror I saw in his eyes was too real for him to be pulling my leg and even if the man were mad, the possibility that he wasn’t was too much of an opportunity to pass up. For think of it, if such a blade could exist, it could cure all the suffering that I, by myself could not. I’m not one to ignore the warnings of another, for if the man was right about the sword, the warnings of the curse was most likely equally as valid. Yet what had he said? That “the burdens cut by the wielder must be borne upon his own shoulders”. If that were the curse, I would willingly bear the suffering of my patients if it would alleviate their agony. Shouldn’t any true doctor do the same?
I’m not so much a fool to immediately go running out searching for a mysterious and occult object like some 40’s pulp hero. After all, if there wasn’t any evidence that such a sword really existed then there really would be no point in undertaking a search for it. Scientific reason made me skeptical of its very existance, but even the possibility of it being real was too much of a lure for my heart to discount completely. So my search began in the deepest recesses of academic archives to the pinnacle of computer data-base technology. I checked and double checked all possible resources and collated information until I was satisfied that such an object did indeed exist and what’s more, that its whereabouts were within physical reason possibly even under my nose.
There were a few disturbing questions that preyed on my mind. I wondered why, if this sword did indeed exist, it was not more famous, whether for its healing power, or for its plagued curse. I must admit I felt giddy with excitement and did not give these worries more than a moments thought. Having checked with my physician as to determine whether I was fit to travel, I embarked on my quest to find humanities’ cure.
The fog-hidden alley seemed to be something from a cheap horror film; the steaming manholes and brickwalls lined with cast iron fire-escapes seemed to loom a crushing darkness. I laughed nervously at myself as I imagined what ever creatures may be lurking in the shadows. I had been searching for months now and was almost at wits’ end when I had heard a rumor whispered in the shadows about a wooden sword that had been pawned for an enormous sum in a local pawn shop of ill-repute. I was back in my own city after much travelling and had almost given up when this information was passed to me. Thus I found myself in a shady neighborhood at the door of a dilapidated pawn shop nestled in the recesses of an alleyway. The owner professed not to know what I was talking about, but after a few harsh words and veiled threats about calling police to inspect the shop he went into his store room to get the sword. He took so long that I was sure that he had run away, but just as I was about to look for him he returned with a seemingly innocent black oak sword. I was a little disappointed at the appearance of the weapon, perhaps I imagined a glow or aura about it or something, but I reassured myself that of course the sword would be a humble looking one. I asked the owner if this was “the sword that had been pawned for an enormous sum”. He nervously affirmed that this was that sword. He asked an exorbinant sum for it but I was in a generous mood and in truth would have paid anything he had asked for it. Taking its solid girth into my hands I felt fulfilled for I knew I had the solution to the world’s evils in my hands.
I didn’t need to ask anyone how to use it for in my studies on the weapon its method of cure was well documented. To cut away worry, one had but to swing the sword across someone’s head where it would pass magically through the head leaving the patient unharmed and free from his worry. In turn you would have to carry what had worried them. To ease suffering, one had but to make a similar stroke through the person’s heart to free their souls of torment, and again the burden would have to be carried by the wielder. I realized that there was a great deal of responsibility to be carried if I were to use the sword and that a great deal of wisdom would have to be used if I was to correctly judge the intensity of the person’s problems. I was a doctor, and therefore I knew I had both the responsibility as a physician as well as the ability to diagnose; Moreover I had the messianistic strength to carry the resultant burdens.
I rushed home and greeted my wife in such happiness that she felt I had become mad. She had been worried about my long absence, but I reassured her that I had found what I had been searching for and that I was now well again. I didn’t show her the sword because I hadn’t explained what it was nor that I had been on a search for it. If I had, at that time, she would not have believed that such an unassuming piece of wood could be such a wonderous instrument of healing. How could anyone believe it unless they knew as I did of its abilities?
That night as I contemplated the choice of the first person to recieve the benefits of my miraculous tool, I heard my wife from downstairs sobbing softly to herself. Quietly I came down the stairs and looked into the kitchen only to find my wife with her head in her hands lookin quite haggard. What could have so troubled her? I did not know. I only knew that I couldn’t stand such torment in someone I cared so much about. It became clear that the first person I should alleviate burdens from was my wife. I took the sword from the bedroom and went downstairs. I knew from my research that I needed to cut across her head to relieve her from her worry. She didn’t notice as I entered the kitchen and didn’t hear me when I intoned the proper phrases.
There was a loud crack like lightning striking a tree and a slight tug as I passed the sword across her head. The effects were instantaneous as, relieved of her suffering slumped forward in tender slumber. I didn’t have the heart to wake her and left her to sleep in the kitchen. I had no idea that my wife had been worried about my absences and inability to work, but as soon as I had cut away her burdens, they passed on to me as if they were always mine to begin with. Yet it did not seem so bad. I indeed had the strength to carry to burdens and sufferings of others. This was indeed a good omen and a validation of the power of the sword.
My wife had still not awakened when I went to work the next morning, but knowing her sleep was of a trouble-free nature, I couldn’t find it in myself to wake her and left her in her blissful slumber. At the clinic, people remarked on my odd choice for a walking stick. Afraid they may try to take the sword if they knew its true nature, I let them think that it was indeed an exotic cane from my travels. In my office, I decided that only the truly suffering should need my sword for I was only human and probably could not take too much suffering onto myself at any given time no matter how strong I was. There was no need to take on minor burdens if it was not necessary. Almost the whole day had passed before I had found someone truly in need of my services.
He was an old man, for all intents and purposes an invalid sustained only by the machines that penetrated his limbs and orifices that fed and drained the various fluids of life. Very concious of his surroundings and in much pain, his torment was tangible even as I entered the room. I suppose I must have looked a sight, for I hadn’t even shaved during all my travels, but the man’s terror in seeing me was a bit of a shock. Quickly I sat down and tried to sooth and calm him but to no avail. Finally, I decided to explain why I was there. As I told him of the marvelous healing powers of the sword, of the nature of my mission. Why he didn’t seem to comprehend I understood, he was so consumed in his suffering that he had become insensible. This was a man truly in need of my services. I pushed aside some of the instruments obstructing the man’s chest and rose my sword high. I flinched before following through, unsure whether I would be able to bear this man’s torment, yet at that instant I was consumed in shame for hesitating. There was a dull thud like a basketball hitting the asphalt. I saw the man convulse once, then was silent, his eyes closed in blissful suffer-free slumber. I felt the pain and torment flow into my body and almost staggered under its weight before dominating it and walking away.
As it was late, I decided to call it a day and return home. After all there was no sense in overburdening myself on the first day without coming to terms with the burdens I had already shouldered. I realize it was an act of neglect not to check on my patient to see if he was well and perhaps welcome a few words of gratitude from him before I left the clinic, but I was so heady from my accomplishments, that perhaps it could be forgiven.
I was in no way prepared for the shock I met upon my return home. I entered expecting to find my wife in happy gratitude on my return yet was instead met with a silent house. As I put away my coat, I called to her but met with no reply. Perplexed, I went into the kitchen half-expecting to find her still asleep, but to my surprise, she was not. I ran around the house in a worried frenzy looking for her but found no sign of her. I had all but given up hope, when the doorbell rang.
I rushed to the door, laughing at myself. Of course, she had gone shopping and forgotten to leave me a note. But the man at the door was not my wife; he was from a local legal firm with some papers for me to read. According to the papers, my wife had filed for a divorce citing as a reason, mental and physical cruelty and somehow insinuating I was insane. I was numb as a read through the papers and by brain raced to try to discover how this had come about. It seemed so impossible that this could have happened, after all only last night I had alleviated her of her worries. It just didn’t make sense. Then it dawned on me, the curse the old man had babbled about was not so much that I would have to bear the burdens that I cut away but rather, once free from the constraints worry and suffering, people change and become different. Apparently love is a worry of some sort, the little bits of jealousy and the dependency upon others that binds you to them. Of course there is more to love than that, but I had cut the burden of love free and having done so, she had no reason to stay. The curse was that I would have to bear the responsibility of the changes I would make in other people’s lives.
I felt crushed, there is nothing more important than love in one’s life, in my life, and I had lost that which was most precious to me. And yet in my loss, I felt something noble, I had sacrificed that which was most precious to give to others. What was done was done and I had to be responsible for the consequences, even if they were far more dear than I had imagined. So with heavy heart I left the scene of hurt and returned to the clinic. I had planned to throw myself into my work and find meaning in life in my sorrow.
It was midnight as I did my rounds checking on each of my patients as the slept. At length, I came upon the old man whom I had cured earlier. He was lying there with a peaceful expression on his face, making little or no sound. I was feeling content when I looked at his diagnostics on the various machines. At first I thought they were broken, for not one was turned on. Then I noticed that all the instruments had been removed from the man and a tag had been affixed to his toe. I grew alarmed as I read the tag which confirmed my worst fears. The old man was dead. I peeled back his hospital gown to examine his chest and found the mark where the sword had passed. I knew I had cured him, so I couldn’t understand how he had died. I mulled for a while until understanding washed over me. In freeing him from his suffering, his soul must have been so relieved that he had ascended to heaven. I had no idea how to judge the maginitude of the strokes I made. I guessed that I had, again, cut away too much and freed the man from his burden of life. Yet this did not make me sad. I had stopped his suffering and he was better for it now. All my anxiety from the incident with my wife abated and I felt at peace with my actions. I had but to learn control with the sword and all would be well.
I left the clinic with sword in hand and a warm feeling in my soul, as I wandered home I marvelled at the miracle that had been bestowed on me. Feeling so fulfilled I felt as though I had to help others and bring more of this happiness to the world. I came upon an old lady on the side of a street who was apparently insane as she muttered to herself in worry while she rooted through the garbage. Feeling sorry for her plight, I came forth to relieve her of her burden of insanity. I came closer softly reassuring her that I was there only to help, after all, who knew how she might percieve me in her state of mind. I poised the sword for a stroke across the head, to be followed by one across the heart to truly relieve her of her worries and suffering when she turned around and screamed. I tried to calm her dowm but to no avail. I decided I would have to perform the procedure without her consent and swung. She move away with motions seemingly too fast for a lady of her age and so the stroke was only a glancing one, hardly one to help her at all. Staggering she turned and ran as fast as her spindly legs would carry her. I sighed at her ingratitude then followed to finish the job. She would thank me afterwards.
I had chased her no more than a block when red and blue lights lit the night and I was roughly thrown to the ground. My precious sword was wrest from my grasp and my hands bound. I tried to reason with the officers but to no avail. There were a lot of happenings after that I don’t recall too well but in the end I was placed in this room and asked to write this so that they would understand. I thought my sword was gone, but I had seen it transformed into the handle of the broom the janitor uses to sweep out the main room, and you know, he looked so very depressed the other day.