Record of Reclusion

Undisturbed

Character

Act I: The Exhumation

(2 of Swords) An unidentified Black soldier: I approach a graveyard of soldiers who died in the line of duty. Ones who the society thought was recognition-worthy have gravestones with extravagant reliefs. Those who don’t have gravestones -just a hump of dirt- were most likely slaves who were worthy of proper burial than other slaves.

It’s disgusting to think about people treating people like they don’t matter, as if they’re beasts, or even less, like matters. I remember why I couldn’t stand the seminary school. How can we serve god properly if we dare to rule our own kinds as if we’re gods to them. How can we stand in front of god after mistreating fellow creation of god? But I ask too many questions, which is probably why I never fit in.

I look around to choose my target. Some are already empty. I chose a random grave. It wasn’t long before I finally hit the casket. There was a certain relief to know that this soldier was buried in a casket rather than just be tossed under piles of dirt. However, soon a resentment that in less than 24 hours I will take him apart, crushed my conscious. I opened the casket and I see the man’s face. He hasn’t been decomposed yet. Perhaps he was dead less than 48 hours ago. I know it’s irrational and melodramatic but I couldn’t stand but say,

“Dear brother, I apologise for waking you up from a peaceful sleep. I promise you that I will always respect you in my process of learning, and that I will use my knowledge gained from you for greater goods.”

And pray, “Eternal rest grant unto this man, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon this man, Amen. May this man’s soul, through God’s mercy and love, rest in peace. Amen.”

I put the man into my sack. And dragged it to school.

Act II: The Interlude

(3 of Wands) Coming back from the cemetery, I couldn’t stop thinking that I must make this worthwhile.

Frankly speaking, I never wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to be a holy man. But the path to holy man didn’t require me to be holy, stoic and philanthropic. I needed to be practical, realistic and stern -all of which are not my virtues. I wasn’t the best at memorising the scriptures nor was the best at discussing the history of the Christianity. I had too much thoughts and questions that isolated me from the rest of the church. I dropped out, feeling left out.

With my father’s influence I’m now in medical school. However I struggle at my class. Words fall apart in front of me. Professor’s words vanish into thin air before I could understand.

But I know that this time, I should not let that happen. This man, who most likely came to my land against his will, fought for my land and was buried soon to be dug up by me. I need to make up for him. I need to make his sacrifice worth it. So I review my notes and stay up later than I probably should.

Act III: The Dissection

(I didn’t pick a card here because every dissections start with the skin. And though I know this is just a made-up scenario, I am now attached to made-up John and the made-up soldier to do something so unrealistic and impractical.) Today, we finally dissect the cadaver we brought. The professor demonstrates first with a cadaver of a woman of an unknown origin. I apologise and pray for her in my head.

My turn comes. Before I make the first incision, I stay still, grasp his hand and thank him, apologise him and pray for him. Some students do the same. Most look at people like us as if we’re too 'weak' to become doctors.

I pick up the pseudo-scalpel with a blunt blade. It takes more time to dissect than a proper scalpel but I can avoid cutting fragile superficial nerves. Remembering what I reviewed last night, I guess the location of the superficial nerves and use the pseudo-scalpel to separate skin and fat. When I find a structure that is thinner and paler than its surroundings, I take a scalpel to carefully dissect it. Nerves in post-mortem state are very frail so even a slight tension can break them. Whenever I feel the urge to use the scalpel to rush through the process, I stand up to look at the soldier’s dead face. Then I get back to the arduous work; I do not deserve this man’s body even after death.

Act IV: The Bounty

(Ace of Disks) It’s winter and the semester of anatomy has ended. I am coming back from the end of semester ceremony with an academy award for excellence. People, including my own father, were surprised to see me excel this semester. To be honest I did too.

I owe it to the soldier who ‘allowed’ me to disturb him. My effort to make the usage of his body worthwhile forced me to meticulously dissect him after fully studying the textbooks. The only thing I wish now is to know this man’s name to properly pray for him.

Act V: The End

(1D6: 2) 10 Years later, I am working as an anatomist. My only shining moment was the semester of anatomy and after that it was straight down the hill. I guess nothing really sparked in me except for anatomy. Despite my father’s opposition, I became an anatomist teaching at the medical school. Physicians and practitioners look down on anatomists, but I don’t care. The soldier I dissected 10 years ago is still in my prayers.

Today is the beginning of a new semester. We no longer dig up cadavers but dissect ones donated to the church. We no longer rush to butcher the body but take time to thank, apologise and respect who cadavers once were.

I walk around the classroom, inspecting each students. One student picks up a scalpel and hastily traverse it over the hip of the cadaver.

“You just cut the superior cluneal nerves. Learn the anatomy first and then pick up the scalpel. She donated herself for you to learn. Respect her last wish with care.”

Review

Ten years from now I started my anatomy semester. Back then it was a huge deal. It was the first step of becoming a real doctor. We were put in groups and each group was given a cadaver to dissect throughout the semester.

The cadavers were mostly donated though some were people with no next of kin. Those who donated their body wrote letters to us when they were alive and these letters was clipped onto the stands were we laid our textbooks. The man in my group was a veteran with a near handwriting. He wrote us that he hoped we would become excellent doctors. The old woman of another group wrote a letter with misspelled words. This memory of an uneducated old lady who donated her body to educate others makes me cry all the time.

I want to believe that the process was humane as respectful. We had a moment of silence before starting dissection. During sessions we tried our best to always treat the cadavers as people -which is easier said than done. They look more like shrunken rubber models than actual human due to formalin. As we progress through the semester we take apart the head and the limb which dehumanises them. Yet their names, birth and death dates and letters reminded us that they were and always will be humans. At the end of the semester we attended the funeral along with their family.

I said, I want to believe that the dissection was humane and respectful. That is because some weren't. Some didn’t care who the cadavers were and just happy to chop off the limbs because it made the cadaver lighter. Few sneared when the professor dissected the genitals. Some didn’t even come to the funeral. Intellect usually gives no place for emotions but I believe doctors should have both; that's why we are doctors.

Undisturbed by Grace Goldman reminded me of these. And though I started with a light heart to take a break from Wanderhome, I soon became absorbed with memories of the anatomy semester. I don't think I played it the way the author intended it to be. I certainly didn’t explore the ethical questions regarding the usage of human body for science. Nonetheless it gave me an opportunity to make amends with the cadavers who weren't properly treated ten years ago by some of my classmates.