The Carrier

Epilogue: Overtime

The woman stared at him, with the most intense gray eyes he had ever seen.

“Do you remember who Tomoya Kawakita was?”

The doctor shook his head, turned his back to the woman and ripped the sealed package of the syringe open, checked the fluid level, started the ritual.

He glanced through the glass pane at the broad outline of the single figure on the other side, from the light to the dark. The intention was obviously that he should not see who was standing out there.

The silence became oppressive.

“A baseball player, ma’am?” he finally said.

“Baseball player?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’d be surprised how many like to talk baseball in this situation.”

It was casual chat, gallows small talk: the only strategy he found bearable. Some said that it helped the subject to cope.

“I see…” the woman said. “No, he was a Japanese American, the last one convicted by us of treason, 1948, just over half a century ago. Mistreated our prisoners in the camps during World War II.”

Her voice was hypnotic, as in a lecture hall, or maybe a therapist’s. The doctor had to master himself to continue his preparations. Turned without a word to the woman, rolled up the left sleeve of her tunic as she continued:

“But he was reprieved in 1953, by Eisenhower.”

Still silent he tapped the point on her arm, a few times more than necessary. The vein was clear to see under the skin.

“Do you have any clue what I’ve done?”

The doctor had been here before.

“Of course you’re totally innocent, ma’am, acted in good faith or self-defense. I expect you tried to save the world.”

He gave her a smile. Of respect and of humility for his task.

“Something like that,” the woman said.

She met his gaze, smiled back. The doctor felt the heat spreading through his body, as if he himself were being infused.

Then he looked away and raised the syringe.