The Mind of Dr. Benziger
There are few men (or women) whose minds are so superior that they seem to be a step above other humans on the evolution scale. One of these rare individuals was Albert Einstein; another was Thomas Edison. A third such genius, born more than a century after Einstein, was Nelson Benziger.
When Nelson entered Harvard Medical School at the tender age of seventeen, he believed that anything was possible through science. By the time he reached his fiftieth year, artificial hearts, kidneys and lungs made the need for organ donors and transplants obsolete. Cancer had been all but obliterated. Diseases that meant certain death sentences in Einstein's and Edison's days could be cured or at least controlled in Nelson's time. Moreover, many of these medical breakthroughs had been discovered by Dr. Benziger himself.
The Nobel Prize-winning medical research scientist not only had a brilliant mind, but he also had a deep sense of compassion and charity to match. As such, he was venerated by all as a true humanitarian. His stellar reputation was well-deserved since Nelson Benziger dedicated his life to medicine not through any desire for personal gain or notoriety; rather, he unselfishly labored only to improve the human condition.
If this paragon of virtue had one weakness, it was his blind devotion to his beautiful young wife, Brooke. It was a paradox that she should inspire such love in him. Where the good doctor exemplified the noblest qualities of human nature, Brooke exhibited many of the worst. She was greedy, self-centered, materialistic and vain. Twenty-five years her husband's junior, she had married the brilliant scientist solely for his money. Nelson was so besotted with the shapely redhead that he not only indulged her every whim but also overlooked her many indiscretions.
"She's a healthy young woman," he confided to Dr. Miles Vedder, his research partner and one of his closest friends. "And I'm an older man who works twelve hours a day in his lab. I don't begrudge my wife her amusements."
Miles shook his head, but made no comment. As a young man, he hoped someday to fall in love and marry, and when he did, he would never tolerate such infidelity in a woman.
* * *
So advanced was medicine in Dr. Benziger's time that most people were secure in their belief that unless they were involved in an accident or became a homicide victim, they would live to a ripe old age. Sadly, in the world's history, there have been several diseases that took mankind by surprise. No one had foreseen the devastation of the Great Plague or Spanish flu, for example, and the resultant loss of life was staggering.
It was on a hot, humid summer day when the first reported case of what was later to be called Benziger's Syndrome occurred in a small Pennsylvania mountain town when an unemployed construction worker woke in the morning without the use of his right arm. By the time he arrived at the hospital emergency room, his right leg was useless as well. By nightfall, he was paralyzed from the neck down.
Although his condition confounded the local doctors, there was no cause for immediate alarm in the medical community. By the end of the week, however, more than twenty thousand cases were reported worldwide. Soon the man from Pennsylvania died, and the subsequent cases were given the same prognosis. Within a month's time, the media coverage of the escalating death toll brought the population to the brink of panic. Terrified people looked to Dr. Benziger for help.
Just as the scientist was beginning to make progress in discovering the cause of the mysterious ailment, he himself was struck with the disease. At the sign of the first symptom—in his case the loss of feeling in his left foot—the doctor immediately called his assistant.
"In another week or two, I'll be dead," he declared matter-of-factly. "I don't mind dying, not really. It's inevitable, after all. But to go now, when I so desperately want to find a cure for this horrible affliction ...."
"I wish there was something I could do."
Benziger's eyes bored into the other man's.
"There is. I want to try something drastic."
"How drastic?"
"Extremely. I want to try something that's never been done before, but I believe it will work."
"What is it?" Miles asked hopefully. "Some new medication?"
"No," the scientist replied. "I'm not talking about a cure for the disease. I'm referring to a way I can sustain my own life, hopefully long enough to find a treatment for others."
"How can you do that?"
"I want you to perform an operation on me. You're an excellent surgeon, and I'm sure we'll have no trouble getting a competent surgical team to back you up."
"What type of surgery are we talking about?"
"An amputation."
"You think that by cutting off your foot, you can stop the disease from spreading?"
"Not just my foot," Benziger explained. "I want you to take off the entire leg, all the way up to my hip."
"That's a rather drastic step."
"So far this disease has a one hundred percent fatality rate. The loss of a leg is nothing in the face of certain death. Besides, I can always be fitted for a prosthetic limb in the future."
Miles reluctantly agreed.
"I'll make the necessary preparations."
"I've already made them. All you have to do is scrub up."
"You don't mean you want me to remove your leg today?"
"I want you to do it right now!"
Thus, Dr. Miles Vedder had no time to change his mind.
* * *
Only hours after the surgery, hardly allowing ample time for his recovery, the doctor was back at work. Propped up with pillows in a hospital bed, he painstakingly went over results of the latest field tests of a number of what had appeared to be promising medications.
While he and his assistant were running through the figures, Brooke's car pulled into the driveway.
"I thought your wife was in Paris," Miles said.
"She must have come back early because of the threat of the disease. It's just as bad in Europe as it is here in America."
After instructing the butler to remove her luggage from the car, Brooke went in search of her husband.
"I'm home," she called as she threw open the door to his laboratory. "I hope you're ...."
She immediately became silent when she saw her husband lying on a hospital bed.
"Don't tell me you've got it!"
"Yes, but I believe it's under control—at least for the time being."
Brooke shook her head, as if by this simple gesture she could deny the evidence of her own eyes.
"I came home because I was afraid of catching it, and here it is in my own house."
"You needn't be afraid of me," her husband reasoned. "We're not even sure if this disease is contagious."
"Not contagious? You've got to be kidding me! Just look at the way it's spreading through the cities like wildfire."
"We're working under the hypothesis that the disease is caused by an environmental factor, not passed from human to human."
"Well, whatever gave it to you is most likely going to give it to me if I stay here."
"Not necessarily," Miles interrupted. "I've been working closely here with your husband, and I haven't come down with any symptoms."
The assistant's argument gave Brooke little comfort.
"Just the same," she insisted, "I'm going to stay at the beach house until this thing passes over."
Brooke assumed, like most people of her generation, that science would find a cure for the deadly disease sooner or later—most likely sooner. All she had to do was remain healthy until that time.
* * *
Miles received the news before his employer did: the president had declared a state of emergency throughout the country. Citizens were advised to remain in their homes. Only personnel providing essential services were expected to report to work. The National Guard, aided by all branches of the U.S. military, was assigned to keep the cities safe from vandals and thieves, yet not even looters were willing to risk their lives going outdoors, even if they could walk away with the contents of the nearest Apple store.
"Conditions are getting pretty bad out there," Miles told Benziger when he entered the sanctum of the latter's research laboratory. "I think it's only a matter of time before martial law is declared."
It was only then, when his employer turned to face him, that Miles noticed the older man was holding his right arm stiffly beside his body. Their eyes met briefly, and Miles saw fear in Benziger's gaze.
"When did it come back?" the assistant asked.
"Late last night. I tried to call you, but there was no answer at your apartment."
"I ... I was visiting a sick friend."
"Obviously, a simple amputation is not going to work. We need to take a more drastic approach."
"What could be more drastic than cutting off your right arm?"
"Have you ever heard of a Dr. Adolph Brunrichter?" Benziger asked.
"No."
The doctor softly chuckled, but the sound conveyed more despair than humor.
"I'm not surprised since he was a madman. Sometime around the year 1900, he murdered six women—decapitated them. He was conducting an experiment, trying to keep the heads alive."
"Dr. Benziger, I ...."
The doctor put up his left arm in order to silence his assistant's objections.
"There have been countless medical advancements since Brunrichter's day. We can replace organs in much the same way our grandparents could change light bulbs. Before the Kevorkian Law was passed, science could keep hearts beating and lungs breathing on life support systems indefinitely."
"That's hardly the same thing. I will not take part in such a ... a ...."
The idea of cutting off his employer's head was so repugnant to Dr. Vedder that he could not put a name to it.
"I don't see why you're so reluctant to perform the operation. What's the difference between keeping a body alive once the brain is dead and keeping the brain alive after the body has failed?"
"It's never been done before. If the operation is unsuccessful, I'll only have succeeded in killing you."
Again the weak attempt at laughter.
"So what? I've only got a few days left anyway."
"Please don't ask me to do this, Nelson. It goes against every instinct I have to preserve life."
It was one of the few times in the doctors' long association that Miles called his employer by his first name. He had always insisted on calling him Dr. Benziger out of respect.
"All right," the old man capitulated. "I don't want to come between you and your conscience."
With his one good hand, Benziger touched the screen of his computer to bring up his contact list of medical professionals.
"What are you doing?" Miles asked.
"I'm looking for a surgeon who doesn't have your high sense of morality."
"You're going to go through with the operation anyway?"
"I have no choice. I'm getting so close to finding a cure. I can't stop now."
Miles grimaced and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. The decision was an agonizing one.
"What if I do perform the operation and it's a success? How will you be able to work? You won't have a body."
"I'll have my mind, damn it! I'll rely on you to be my arms and legs."
Tears came to the young man's eyes.
"I guess it's time to reap what I've sewn," he mumbled.
It was an odd remark, but Benziger was too eager to begin preparing for the operation to question Miles about it.
Later that night, when the preparations had all been completed, Vedder asked his patient one final time if he was sure he wanted to proceed.
"It's not too late to change your mind," he stressed.
Benziger looked at the specially designed life support unit that hopefully would keep his brain alive after his head was removed from his body.
"I'm committed to this course of action."
Miles closed his eyes, and for the first time since he was ten and came to the conclusion that he was an agnostic, he prayed.
* * *
When Dr. Nelson Benziger awakened from his operation, he did not immediately notice anything different. He did not feel the cold steel plate on which his head rested or hear the mechanical heart and lungs droning away beneath him.
I'm thirsty, he thought and realized he had no way to quench that thirst.
"Miles? Where are you?" he called.
Two nurses—one male and the other female—came through the door.
"Your assistant has gone to break the news to your wife," Louise Verwey, the female nurse, replied.
"Is there something you want?" Stu Ringel, her male counterpart, asked.
"Something to drink."
When Stu placed a glass of water with a straw in front of Dr. Benziger's mouth, Louise advised him to make sure the drainage tube to the liquid waste collector was clear. As the doctor quenched his thirst, he heard the water dripping into a container beneath him.
"Are you two here permanently?" Benziger asked once he finished drinking.
"Yes," Louise replied. "Stu and I will be here for the morning shifts, two others will take the afternoons and another nurse will handle the night hours. We're all qualified to assist in your research as well as take care of any personal needs you might have."
"I don't imagine there'll be too many of them," Benziger said.
As the scientist was getting acquainted with his two nurses, Dr. Vedder finally entered the lab.
"There you are!" Benziger exclaimed. "And how is my wife?"
The color drained from Miles's face.
"Your wife? I ...."
"Yes, my wife. Didn't you pay her a visit to inform her of my operation?"
"Y-yes, I did. She's praying for your complete recovery."
"Brooke praying?" Benziger laughed. "Brooke never prayed for anything in her life, except maybe a platinum Visa card."
In all the years Miles had known the scientist, he never heard him speak so callously about anyone, least of all his beloved wife.
"Why don't we get to work?" Vedder suggested. "I'm sure the results from the latest tests at Johns Hopkins are ready to be analyzed."
The two men worked throughout the morning—Benziger issuing orders and Miles and the two nurses carrying them out. As the noon hour approached, it occurred to the doctor that his assistant rarely looked in his direction.
"Miles," Benziger called.
"Yes?" the assistant replied, not taking his eyes from the computer monitor.
"Look at me."
"What is it?"
Still, Miles would not face the bodiless head.
"Am I that repulsive a sight that you cannot bear to face me?"
"No, I just ... it will take some getting used to."
"And what about Brooke?"
Miles's hands began to tremble.
"What about her?"
"Do you think she'll find it hard to look at me?"
"We shouldn't waste valuable time talking about such things," Miles said, his voice strained with suppressed emotions.
"Maybe ... maybe if we do find a cure ...."
"Yes?"
"Maybe I could then devote my time to finding a way to put my brain inside another human body."
Miles finally turned and faced the man he had revered for so long, but he could not speak. He was far too horrified by what Benziger had suggested.
* * *
By the end of the week, Dr. Benziger and his team made the breakthrough for which they had labored so hard. Within hours, the World Health Organization began distributing the medication, hoping it would live up to its promising trials. It did. In a month's time, the disease was eradicated, and all that remained in the wake of Benziger's Syndrome was a populace mourning loved ones who had died from it.
The danger to her health eliminated, Brooke left the beach house. Her homecoming was a tense moment because she had yet to see her husband since his second operation.
"Please don't leave," Dr. Benziger begged his assistant as he awaited his wife's arrival.
"I'm sure the two of you would rather be alone."
"No! I don't know what to say to her. I ...."
"I'm sure everything will be fine," Miles lied. "She knows what to expect."
Benziger erupted into one of his increasingly frequent rages.
"Oh, and what precisely is that? A head without a body! How could she ever love such a freak of nature?"
"It wasn't nature that made you that way; it was science."
"You did this to me, not science," the doctor screamed.
"Against my better judgment, if you remember. As I recall, I was the one who told you not to go through with the procedure. Well, you did, and now you have to live with the consequences. You should have thought about how she'd feel before ...."
The door opened wide, and Brooke's eyes immediately went to Miles Vedder.
"Are you two fighting?"
"It's nothing," Miles replied.
"Brooke, my dearest."
There was no horror in the wife's eyes when she first beheld her husband. In fact, there was no emotion at all. She might have been looking at a high school science project rather than at what remained of the man she supposedly loved.
"Congratulations," she told him, forcing a smile. "There's talk of awarding you the Congressional Medal of Freedom, not to mention a number of foreign honors from grateful nations."
"You know I don't care about such things," Nelson said. "My only concern was saving the lives of millions of innocent people."
"Yes, I know," Brooke said, finding his noble intentions quite boring.
"You look wonderful," her husband observed, changing the subject. "You've got a tan. You must have spent time out in the sun."
"There's not much else to do at the beach."
"Miles has a tan, too," he added. "Although I don't know where he finds the time to ...."
The doctor noticed the quick, unintentional look that passed between his assistant and his wife.
"My tan isn't from the beach," Miles declared, showing definite signs of unease. "I got it while I was out mowing my lawn."
Benziger did not hear his assistant's lies. His incredible mind was busy remembering isolated incidents in the recent past, puzzle pieces that he had at last joined to form a picture. Miles Vedder was in love with Brooke.
Before his surgical decapitation, Nelson Benziger would have given his wife and Miles his blessings and then convinced someone to pull the plug on his life support unit so that he could complete the act of dying. He would not have been bitter; he would have thought that it was human nature for a beautiful young woman to desire a handsome young man. Hadn't he always been open-minded where other men were concerned? Whether it was his lack of a body or the fact that the other man was his assistant and close friend, the doctor was incensed over this particular affair.
* * *
Since finding the cure for Benziger's Syndrome, the doctor had no need for two nurses per shift, so two of them were let go. During the day, only Louise Verwey tended his needs, working from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon, when she was relieved by Stu Ringel.
One morning when Louise came in to find Nelson sobbing like a child, she was anxious to help.
"What's wrong, Doctor?" she cried.
"It's nothing," he said. "Forgive me. I thought I was alone."
Louise took a tissue out of her purse and wiped his tears.
"You poor man," she said soothingly. "You have every right to cry after the sacrifice you've made for mankind."
"It's not that," he said. "It's my wife."
He was immediately silent, fearing he had said too much.
"Oh, her."
"You don't like her, do you?" the doctor asked.
"I've nothing personal against her. It's the way she treats you that ...."
"So, you know about her and Dr. Vedder."
"Yes, all the nurses do. Your wife doesn't even try to be discreet."
"I suppose she knows there's nothing I can do about it."
"You've got excellent grounds for divorce."
"I don't want to call attention to my ... condition. No one outside our immediate circle knows about my operation."
"I don't see why it should matter."
"I'm not a man; I'm only a head without a body."
"Stop that!" the nurse cried. "You've got a warm, compassionate nature. And your brain! You're the most intelligent person in the world. I never told you this, but you're the reason I went into medicine. I attended medical school and was about to begin my residency, when I became ill and had to postpone it. I took this job as your nurse because I wanted to work with you."
"And what about your career?"
"I hope someday to complete my medical training and become a surgeon."
"Well, I'll certainly do whatever I can to help."
"You're way too generous, sir. I'm here to help you."
"You already do an excellent job of taking care of my needs."
Their eyes met, and Nelson saw in her expression what he had never seen in his wife's: Louise Verwey adored him.
"I'd do anything for you," she vowed. "Anything at all."
"I don't see what else you can do," he said and then added with a bitter laugh, "other than helping me get rid of my wife."
"I'd be willing to murder for you, Dr. Benziger," she confessed.
"Louise, Louise," he said with a sigh. "If we're about to enter hell hand-in-hand, you really ought to call me Nelson."
* * *
Dr. Benziger bided his time. With Nurse Verwey's assistance, a duplicate life support system, identical to his own, was created. It was kept in a locked storage room in the laboratory, where Miles would not likely find it.
"You did a good job," the doctor told Louise when he saw the completed unit.
"Thank you, Nelson. I only hope I'm up to completing the next stage."
"I have faith in you."
With not even a hint of aversion, the nurse bent down and kissed her employer on the lips.
"That means a lot to me," she said.
The following week Benziger sent Miles to Washington to collect his Medal of Freedom.
"You know I can't very well go and accept it myself," the doctor said. "Besides, the medal rightfully belongs to both of us."
"I may have done a good deal of the physical work, but you were the brains behind the discovery."
"You never give yourself enough credit, Miles. That's why I want you to go to Washington. I want the world to know I didn't do it on my own. Now, you go and have a good time. Do some sightseeing while you're there."
"I don't like to leave you alone. What if something should go wrong?"
"Nonsense! I'm not alone. I've got my nurses. Besides, my wife will be here. It will be our anniversary, you know. I've got a surprise for her."
"I'm sure she'll enjoy it." Miles said, secretly wishing Brooke could accompany him on his trip.
"I hope so," Benziger said.
* * *
When Dr. Vedder arrived in Washington, he was invited to a reception at the White House. The president and first lady expressed disappointment at not meeting the great Nelson Benziger, but they graciously made his assistant welcome.
Miles accepted the medal on behalf of his employer and then returned to his hotel. He called Brooke several times on her cell phone, but there was no answer. She might be with her husband, he reasoned; in which case she would have her phone turned off. He called her one last time before he turned in for the night, but there was still no answer.
The following day he took a tour of the nation's capital, visiting the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, the Smithsonian Institute, the Capitol, the Vietnam War Memorial and Arlington National Cemetery. He would have enjoyed the landmarks a lot more had he been able to get in touch with Brooke, but for more than twenty-four hours, his calls had gone unanswered.
On the flight from Dulles to Logan, Miles stared out the window at the ominous dark storm clouds that surrounded the plane.
I wish I were home already. I'll feel so much better when I can finally talk to Brooke.
It surprised him how dependent on her he was. He had fallen so deeply in love with her that he no longer felt guilt at deceiving her husband. Had Dr. Benziger been a whole man, perhaps Miles would still feel remorse, but such was not the case.
Upon deplaning in Boston, Vedder immediately took out his phone. Six rings were followed by instructions to leave a message with Brooke's voice mail. He got the same result while waiting for his luggage, when he got behind the wheel of his car and when he turned off the interstate and stopped for a light at the end of the exit ramp.
Rather than going back to his apartment, he drove straight to the Benzigers' home. He unlocked the front door with his own key, walked inside and went upstairs. Brooke was not there.
Where is she? he wondered, his concern turning to fear.
"Miles," Dr. Benziger called, "is that you?"
"Yes, it's me," he replied, and headed toward the laboratory.
"Back from Washington so soon? I thought you'd be gone a few more days."
"I have your medal in my suitcase. I haven't had a chance to unpack yet."
"No rush."
Miles noticed there was no nurse in attendance.
"You weren't left alone were you?"
"Good heavens, no! I've had excellent company—the ladies, you know."
There was something about Dr. Benziger's attitude that sent a chill of apprehension through his assistant.
"I didn't see your wife when I came in."
The doctor laughed.
"And I'll bet you looked for her, too."
"I don't know what you ...."
"Stop pretending, Miles. I know all about you and Brooke."
Vedder saw the futility of denying his employer's allegations.
"You came here to see Brooke, not me, so I won't detain you any longer. She's right in there," he said, indicating with his eyes what had once been a storage room.
Upon opening the door, Miles fell to his knees and wailed with horror. Like her husband, Brooke had undergone a surgical decapitation, but the heinous operation seemed even more depraved in her case. It seemed almost sacrilegious to separate her beautiful face from her perfectly healthy, finely sculpted body.
Miles leaned over a wastebasket and vomited. He had never seen such a horrific spectacle in his life. Not even the sight of a third life support unit and Louise Verwey dressed in a surgical gown and mask, coming toward him with a hypodermic needle in her hand affected him as deeply.
Dr. Adolph Brunrichter was an actual person. He killed several women and then experimented with their heads, attempting to keep them alive with electrical equipment.
The image in the upper left corner is from the DVD Professor Dowell's Testatment made by Lenfilm Studio (Russia)."
This is Salem's idea of a life-support system: a chocolate fountain.
