Over the Darkened Landscape - By Derryl Murphy Page 0,28
over to the other. Large white flakes hung from various places on his scalp. His nose was red, with a street map of many telltale broken capillaries.
Both men responded with how-do-you-do’s of their own, and then the doctor turned to lead them beyond the lobby and to the ward where their destination lay. As he walked he pulled a large key ring from his belt and fumbled about until he found what was obviously the right key. A few steps later they were at the first locked doors.
“How is Wain today, Doctor?” asked MacDonald.
The doctor cast a glance back before attempting to insert the key in the lock. Over the doctor’s shoulder Wells could see almost a dozen patients had gathered at the sound of the keys and were standing in a semi-circle around the doors, silently watching the latch.
“The same as usual, sir,” replied the doctor. He twisted the key that he had finally managed to get into the lock, and then pushed the doors open. Both interns rushed ahead to herd the patients back and away, barking “Get back!” in sharp tones that echoed up and down the halls, but none seemed to be interested in escaping; they all moved back silently, shuffling feet and hanging heads as they went.
The doctor closed the doors behind them and inserted the key once more, locking them in. Then he stepped around the patients and led the way again.
As they walked, Wells let his eyes rove about, keenly taking in details. There were several closed sets of doors to the left, and what appeared to be a common area not too far ahead. To their right as they walked was another set of double doors, from behind which came moans, screams and other wretched noises often popularly associated with the mad. He briefly paused to look in through the wire and glass, only to jump back startled as a patient flung himself against the door, causing it to shake. A trail of spittle was left on the glass as the madman slowly sank to the floor, dazed from the impact or perhaps drugged with something that was only now taking effect.
Behind him one of the two guards MacDonald had brought along chuckled, and the former Prime Minister said, “Good job, Wells. Nothing like giving them a reason to get all worked up.” Face flushed, Wells turned and rejoined the entourage, trying his best to ignore the sounds still emanating from behind those doors.
The doctor still walked in front, consulting with one of the large interns and waving off requests from other staff members that tried to approach the party. The quietly insane that inhabited this ward lined the walls, watching their unlikely, well-dressed visitors with a sort of unattached, vacant curiosity, as if they were of interest only because they were there, and that would all change as soon as they were out of sight. Movement and colour in an otherwise dormant, static world.
“Doesn’t say much for your hopes for a utopian society, now, does it, Wells?” commented MacDonald.
Wells looked at him with a sidelong glance, trying to judge if he was being put-upon or if the man was serious. Wells himself had run twice for the Labour Party; the second time MacDonald had formed a minority government, although Wells himself had been unsuccessful both times. As well, they had both been members of the Fabian Society, and yet he still had trouble figuring the man out. But for now he decided now that this was no joke, that MacDonald was indeed feeling very grim about their surroundings.
“I still think it is possible,” replied Wells. “We should start with sterilizing all these poor creatures and those who have a history of creating them. Stop the bloodlines before they take over the world.” He swept his arm about, taking in all of so-called modern psychiatry in one gesture. “And then, I think that sooner than you might think we will be seeing some wondrous scientific and humanitarian achievements that should make this a thing of the dark ages.” At this the doctor grunted, but made no further comment. Wells chose not to pursue it.
MacDonald snorted. “Sooner than I might think could still be a thousand years away, Wells. Too many stains, too many stains.” He picked up his pace, obviously through with the conversation for now. The rest of the party sped up in kind.
They stopped outside a room with a lock on the door. An intern moved to unlock it but