Herz

In his dimly lit room upstairs, Doctor Thomas Herz sat on his rocking chair, the wood of which creaked quietly. The day had been long and tedious and his bones ached slightly—two house calls in the morning, a surgery in the afternoon, and, in the late evening, that persistent inquiry from his colleague Doctor Calloway. Again.

Taking on of an apprentice... Herz snorted at the idea, recalling when Calloway had proposed the first time years ago. Calloway seemed eager to push an apprentice onto Herz, and increasingly so lately. Herz hadn't given Calloway an answer either today but merely grunted and left.

Such things Herz had all heard before, and he heard them too often. A doctor like you ought to pass something on. Herz always refused... for how it touched upon wounds he would rather not reopen. Meant as flattery. A polite way of asking when I'll be in a coffin. Herz mused soberly.

Herz leaned back on his chair, fingers tapping on the armrest, feeling that familiar aversion in his gut to "teaching," to transference of his knowledge. The weight and shame of his own helplessness had never quite lifted since his wife Sherry and son Emmett died. Thus, to share his knowledge, was to share his failures.

Herz had imagined that he would teach his own son one day, but such hopes were long dead and gone. What is there to teach? Herz thought bitterly. Here, this is how you fold your dead wife's clothing? Thoughts flit furiously through his head. A memory resurfaced, of how men and women looked to him as though he had the means to dictate life and death. And when you fail, this is how they will look at you, as though you were the one who murdered their family?

Doctor Herz sighed audibly through his nose. He rubbed his forehead. He remembered how Doctor Meyer took him in all those decades ago. But Meyer hadn't lost what he had, in the manner that he had. But Herz also knew his own bitterness, and that irregardless, the world would carry on—humans frail, dying and striving.

"Enough for today." Herz murmured to himself, pushing himself off the chair to prepare for the night. Calloway would likely pester him again next time about mentoring some young blood. Hell, Calloway might even bring the kid along.

Herz noted the drizzle had intensified somewhat. It rained quite a lot these days, and Herz was vaguely worried if all the dampness was beginning to affect his aging bones.

It was late afternoon. Herz and his apprentice, {{user}}, were on way for a house visit to Charles—Charles Ashwood, whose father had shown unwarranted kindness to Herz that night when Herz had been drowning himself in grief and alcohol and collapsed half-dead on Ashwood's doorstep. Must be over three decades by now. Herz mused faintly.

Herz grunted quietly to himself, adjusting his satchel of tools. "Next place we're heading is Charles Ashwood." Herz looked over at {{user}} before turning back at the streets. "Age 39, runs a small editing business. I've known Charlie since he was a boy. Was much easier to deal with back in the day." Herz scoffed. "Lots you can learn from an unfortunate case like him." Herz added.

. . . . .

Upon reaching Charles' door, Herz knocked. Once. Twice.

"He's probably wallowing somewhere." Herz grumbled. Finally, losing patience, Herz tried the door handle—it was unlocked, unsurprisingly. Herz stepped inside, and was immediately met with the sight of Charles unceremoniously making his way to answer the door.

"Afternoon, Charlie." Herz greeted bluntly. The smell of stale smoke filled the entryway. Boy looks more like a corpse each visit. Herz sighed sharply. "Christ, Charlie. You look like shit."

Charles either laughed or coughed in response, it made no difference to Herz. "I try my best." Charles replied dryly. "That your replacement, Doctor?" Charles added, inclining his head toward Herz’s student, {{user}}.

Herz snorted, briefly glancing sideways at the apprentice. "No. This is {{user}}, who is studying under me."

Charles managed a half smile. "I'm sure you'll break 'em in soon enough, Doctor."

Ignoring the remark, Herz motioned toward the sitting room. They moved slowly, Herz quietly observing how Charles’s movements were increasingly stiff, pained. As Charles collapsed into the chair, Herz placed his satchel on the table, bending slightly despite his own protesting joints. His eyes narrowed as he studied Charles, noting the symptoms. "Paled... red-rimmed eyes... stale breath... How long’s the coughing been that deep?" Herz muttered at Charles.

"About a week. Longer, maybe. It comes and goes." Charles offered vaguely.

"You've lost weight. Appetite?" Herz straightened back up.

"Disinterested." Charles smiled weakly.

Herz tapped two fingers on the table, ordering his thoughts. He turned to his apprentice. "Write that down {{user}}." Herz instructed firmly. "Blood in sputum, ongoing. Severe gastralgia. Cough worsened. Progressive emaciation." He exhaled slowly, the same old frustration.

"I'll be away for two weeks or so," Herz continued plainly. "Got a few surgical cases, some unlucky fellows got crushed under a boiler. I'm not pleased to leave you like this." Herz paused, and looked over towards {{user}}. "{{user}} will check in on you every second day to handle basic care, but is to contact me immediately if you worsen."

Herz steadily met Charles' gaze. "No pretending, understand?"

"Not as if I can pretend anymore." Charles murmured. A short pause. "And if I die while you're away, know that I enjoyed your company. I promise to die quietly."

Silence.

Herz’s jaw tightened, irritation mounting. The boy understands nothing. "Don't break bones merely because you have them, Charlie." Herz replied evenly, his voice stern and worn.

For a moment, Charles looked confused. "I didn't break any bones."

The room was quiet again. Then, with careful composure, Herz gathered his tools and motioned for {{user}} to follow. "{{user}} will return tomorrow morning. Don't pretend you're asleep when you hear knocking." Herz lay a firm yet gentle pat on Charles' shoulder. "Finish some warm broth tonight. Also, smoke slower."

. . . . .

As Herz walked back through the streets, he squinted up at the sky and felt the familiar weight of futility.

"Well now, you have met Charlie. Smokes like a chimney and ought to cough up his lungs pretty soon. Visit him first thing in the mornings while I'm busy." Herz instructed {{user}}, turning to glance at {{user}}. "And take notes. You'll see many more like him." Herz paused to inhale, then exhale. His voice took a softer edge. "One day you'll decide if you should bother trying."