Jaime Petrohl - Juan Carlos Acante (Rundelania)

Bram saw him once, by the side of the road and he saw him again a few days later, dressed in a Mexican made cowboy hat, maybe from Mazatlán, carrying a bag, bicycling between the lake and the town.  And it struck Bram that he had also seen this man weeks before the news of the outbreak.  And he thought he had seen him years earlier.


I don’t know why you are being so offensive.  Bram was seated in the chair facing doctor Pemwick’s desk and doctor Pemwick was asking Bram very personal questions.

This whole thing is being controlled by HS.  Did you know that?

No. Bram said.  No I didn’t.

And we need you.  The doctor said.  We need anyone.  But you have refused to follow the code.  You are going to have to take the physical and take the vaccination or you are no longer going to be able to come here.  Unless….

Unless what?  Bram asked rhetorically.

Unless we give you the paperwork and actually run some tests on you.  You’ve seen our professionalism, nothing here works, it’s 95% theory.  Half of it is actually creating the problem with these people.

But then it wouldn’t work.  Bram said, looking at doctor Pemwick’s diplomas, at his medical licenses to practice in numerous states and countries.

What wouldn’t?

All of this.  Bram pointed to the diplomas and turned, looking at a nurse, even sexy, maybe sexier smocked, passing by the window of the office door.  I mean, what is a blood test going to prove but what you want it to prove?  And I don’t…you seem like a nice guy…where is doctor Feldsham now.  Where is that nurse, head of the clinic, Bumbelle…

Bomtrelle.  Pemwick said.

Their conversation was interrupted by a low flying DC 9 chased by two F16s that shook the windows outside looking over the oak lined courtyard and the bare magnolias of the hospital turned sanatorium that made sense in the bombardment of their deafening engines only.  Those engines were really as musicological as Brahms thought Bram...Rundelania