by Mike Huett


He sat on his backside, atop a mound of fresh earth. He felt every twinge and ache.  Not for the first time he figured, it's a young'un's game. Still, food must be put on the table.

"Will it be, as vicar says?"  The lantern, set on the ground, cast a dim light; barely enough to reveal the speaker's lower limbs.

He chose not to reply, though he knew as sure as a pebble in a shoe, the question would be pressed again. Persistence. The lad certainly wasn't short of persistence. He was short of much else in that noggin of his, but not persistence. An image of an ant happened in his mind's eye. A tiny ant whose intent was on taking away some bigger treasure, bigger even than itself. The disparity in size, that would deter a sensible fellow, well, that clearly meant nothing to an ant. They did not give up on a thing they'd set themselves to. His companion was much the same.

"Will it be, as …"

"Will you not let me be!" His interruption, harsher than intended. He thought better of it. "You sure you needs an answer now? …  Oh well as might. Best you listen close mind, 'cos I'll speak only the once. This is not safe time for discoursing."

In the gloom a shape grew larger, before squatting beside him. He heard the breathing slow and reg'lar. All that labour, yet recovered his lungs were. Aye, 'tis a young man's game for sure.

"Will it be, as vicar says?"

There it was. The whole thing. 

"That vicar says." He paused, wondering best what line to cast out with?  "It be a knotty thing you ask, "as vicar says"."

"I knows it's a knotty one. 'Tis just I struggle to sleep on it, so I do."

He recognised the truth in it, aye. His young assistant was made of different stuff. He worried and fretted like a lickle woman. Despite him being a huge tree of a lad, the young fellow was wont to worry and fret himself. There wasn't a fingernail unbitten on his hands, what with all his blather about ghosts, and fire & brimstone.  If it were not for the speed he could dig with that wooden spade, he'd a sooner not have brought him in on it. At the time, it seemed like the solution to a problem. A physical problem. He didn't have the energy nor hands enough, so he brought him in. Now he had to deal with a different problem. Not a physical problem. A knotty problem.

"Well, let's begin by way of observations." His voice just loud enough to be heard.

"Observations?" His companion echoed.

"Aye, observations. Think back now to winter gone, what did befall vicar? What did befall him such, that laid him down good and proper?"

"Good and proper?"

"As I said, the very same. Did he not fall under a deep sickness by which not even his dear wife could wake him, all delirious as he was?"

"He did."

"So, at his time of need who was sent for?" 

"Who was sent for?" Came the inevitable reply.

"I'll tell thee who, the good doctor, that's who." His hand felt the pipe in his coat pocket. Best not light her up though. "Now there are few men paid more respect than the vicar. And of those few men the good doctor must be counted head of the queue, would you agree?"

"Head of the queue. I must agree."

"So, with that observed we come to another observation. The doctor could recognise the malady for it was, and what it was not. Aye?"

"Aye."

"You and I brother, we might look all day and all night, but we'd not see what is to be seen because we've not had the training. What is that training, you ask?"

"What is that training?"

"There's book learning. That's a half of it."

"Half of it?"

 "Book learning has a wife."

"It does? A wife?"

"The doing. The learning by doing." Satisfied that he had cast well, he continued. "See, for doctors to learn their doctoring, they need cases. Whether it be bookcases or flesh an' blood, they need cases!" Now his words came easily as he played the line. "That's where our 'volvement be. There's only three types of cases." He was onto something now. "One is books, as said. Two is patients, that are still with us …"

"… Still with us?"

"Aye lad, still of our world. Poorly, but alive!"

"Like vicar was?"

"Exactly. Like vicar himself. Not able to speak sense mind, but able to be treated with various things. Things learned from books, or memoried from times with other patients. You see?"

"I'm thinking so."

Whether his companion understood or not, he couldn't be sure. Still, he continued lest his own thoughts stopped coming.

"Now the third type of case is a man, woman or small one who is not with us anymore."

"Not with us anymore?"

"Them's dead, brother. Them's dead."

"Books. Patients. "Not with us anymore"." In the dark, the young man crossed himself, his voice betrayed his unease.

"That's it. If doctor did not have chance to study the dead 'uns, he'd struggle to make sense of the living. Take surgery. All that cutting o' flesh, sawing through this and that, an a what not. You can't go practising cutting a leg off a healthy man, can ye?

"You can't, by heck as like."

"Now, to learn what's what, the medical school needs cadavers. The doctors must have their practising to save those poor Christians. That my young fellow, that's our 'volvement that is."

"It is?"

"Of course. Without us, there'd be a serious hole in their learning. A man shaped hole, to be exact."

"A man shaped hole."

" .. Well, man, woman or child shaped hole - body shaped - if you will." He added, knowing full well if he hadn't, it would surely only come up later; yet another question. "Our task, our vital important task, be to fill that hole. Fill that body shaped hole."

"We have to fill a body shaped hole?"

"Exactly, brother, exactly. In this way new doctors are made. New doctors get their title and move from school into the world. New doctors able to save good Christian souls, or even heathens if must."

"Heathens!"

"Come now. 'Tis not for us to judge the right nor wrong of it. We fill a body shaped hole. Doctors get taught and practised. Doctors save souls." He paused briefly for effect, quite pleased with himself. "Why if it weren't for our endeavours, the whole cart and bundle would collapse! There'd be no teaching, at least not full and complete teaching. Why, in no small way we are as necessary as the teachers themselves." The conclusion to his logic was now plain. Chuckling, he finished off, "You and I, why you and I, we is teaching staff."

"Teaching staff?"

"Exactly, brother, exactly. You is Mr Teacher, and I is Mr Teacher, for all 'tents an purposes. What's more, our vital work saves souls. Now, let's finish the matter. From these observations it must be clear, in answer to your question, it is not as vicar says. For no man can be damned, if his chosen path is to save souls!"

They sat in silence. One, pleasantly satisfied that he'd found a way. A rather splendid way he thought, all said and done. The other, considering. Slowly considering.

After their brief rest, the darkness had lessened, just a smidgen. It was time to be gone.

They knew the routine well enough. A quick tidying of the bed. It was not an offence to be discovered with a corpse. A dead body was not a property of any man, by rights. That being so, it couldn't be a crime to take it. Disturbing a grave, now that was illegal, on account of being church land and property. More's the point, being seen, well that carried a greater risk than any court summons. Fewer things in life forms quicker than an ugly mob. Lynching, though rare these days, it wasn't unheard of. Nobody'd protest the rope for resurrection men, with or without King's stamp.

After a few minutes of methodical activity, they could be found walking alongside a cart, drawn by a solitary horse. Their latest acquisition lay buried under a heap of old, filthy cloths; its form disguised, in case of any spying eyes hereabouts, at this ungodly hour.

"We fill a body shaped hole, by emptying a body shaped hole." Said the younger man, to himself. His worrying somewhat eased, for now. No doubt he hoped he could sleep later. Undisturbed. In his own bed.