III

  Case One

  In the time before the first case presented, about twenty minutes, I went to buy food, refining my theories in my head. The grandma and Peter’s skin were normal. They had blood groups, from the test. I hadn’t seen them eating though. Truth be told, I’d seen few patient care-givers eat, making the point moot.

  If Peter were truly Ebuka’s uncle on the maternal side, the mother’s skin should be normal, too. Unless… they were masking their skin, blood group somehow… if they could mask other aspects for so long, why not that as well… This wouldn’t explain his mom’s absence… Could it be a thing of phenotype, like how in a family you could have both fair- and dark-complexioned children? That would mean either the grandmother or the grandfather. How had they entered our world? How had they co-existed so long? It seemed far-fetched.

  Perhaps the ‘dead’ father was the Kanevorian, and the mother was the only one keeping his beastly tendencies in check. The image of a lion the size of a bus with Ebuka’s face, shooting spikes at villagers rose in my mind unbidden. It explained his mother’s absence.

  I didn’t know how I’d go about obtaining this kind of information from Ebuka’s relatives. The questions to ask… A voice in my head told me to wait for Dr. Aliozor put an end to further theorizing for the moment.

  The first patient of the day was a young girl who’d inhaled a button— one of those very tiny ones on the inside of corporate shirts.

  To be honest, the scene was somewhat comical. Her father in a faded-looking Ankara of blue and black circles scattered in a sea of orange telling Dr. Ekumankah the button had gone in through the right nostril.

  Her mother in a black, shiny gown, saying in Igbo, “No, it went in through the other nostril.” “I asked her,” she added, expression serious, when her husband glanced at her sideways. “But let’s ask her again.”

  Dr. Ekumankah taking the lead. The child, silent, one tiny finger dancing around the side of the left nostril as the three of them stared on.

  “Mmeso, are you sure?” the father said, looking stern. “I thought you said it was the right…”

  “This child, open your mouth,” her mom put in impatiently at the same time. “Speak.”

  The girl shook her head, finger now at the entrance of her left nostril. “This one.” Sullen faced, she took it out, following her mom’s threat of a slap.

  Then you had her brothers, seated on the bench opposite the entrance of the ward. With backward, downward sloping heads, there was no doubting their paternity. Hand across his face, the shorter of them was wiping snot and tears with the sleeve of his shirt— patterned after their father’s. The one who’d handed the button to his sister, I thought. Like I said, somewhat comical.

  Dr. Ekumankah thought the girl had expelled the button in their home when her dad had told her to sneeze. Both parents said they’d seen no button in or around the area, and Mmesoma had continued complaining her nose felt blocked. The Senior Reg. couldn’t make out anything though, when she explored with a phone torch.

  Also, it could have found its way into either the stomach or the airway. If in the airway, the girl was displaying no symptoms to worry. However, Dr. Ekumankah preferred the ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat) team on call give their expert opinion.

  I was writing the consult guided by the template on my phone when Prof. Odili’s voice floated in. Something to do with the notice board outside. You only needed to hear his voice once to never forget it. Dry, with British undertones, words clear and precise. I’ve heard it many times: as a student during clinical rotations in both Adult and Child Emergencies; as an HO, four of the last five days. Being the overall head of the Emergency department, he is at work every day.

  Could he be Dr. Aliozor in secret? The man (Dr. Aliozor) had worn the form of my classmate for … three weeks? A month? Longer? the first time. Worse, we wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t told us himself. This was part of the reason I sent the consultants’ names to him late yesterday. I’d been mulling over what happened last time.

  True, the patient would be well cared for.

  It’s the rest of us I worry about. I mean, he’d try to mitigate damage where he could. For the classmate he’d impersonated last time, he’d assumed the guy’s duties and obligations, bringing him up to speed (academics especially) after.

  Still, everyone but the patient was expendable so much as it furthered his primary goal. And that could be anything... Although right now, the most sinister goal I could see was his viewing this as one other case for his logbook. The College of Doctor-Magicians sets a number of magical cases as one requirement for members to sit promotion exams.

  Was I truly ready to meet such a man face to face again? I’d asked God countless times for strength to forgive, to forget, yet… Could I work with him after what happened to Onyeka—?

  “Dr. Egbo, are you done writing the consult?” Dr. Ekumankah asked.

  “No Chief,” I said, turning off my screen.

  “Who is Onyeka?” Dr. Chisom whispered at the same time, shifting her attention from her phone to the consult.

  It was the last word I’d written, apparently.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Shaking my head, I cancelled his name as Dr. Ekumankah said, “Hurry now.” My eyes (both our eyes) remained fixed on her fair, spectacled face while she continued. “Two people are writing Consult and it’s taking this long… Is it not the above-named patient presented with complaints of inhaled foreign body— you can specify, if you want. Patient is not in any respiratory distress. However, I have been directed by my seniors to invite you for expert care and management. Chikinah. You sign. Or is there a new format? You know…”

  I shook my head. Chisom said, “No” as Dr. Ekumankah called Dr. Ugo, repeating the question.

  He was seated right next to her. “No, Chief,” he said, pausing his documentation of the child’s history. “Chisom, Egbo, you don’t know how to write consult?” You could hear the mock seriousness in his voice.

  Chisom and I said we did, in different words.

  “Chief they’ve written consult for me before. Last week… Nnamani nah…” He pointed to Ebuka’s bed.

  I nodded, glancing his way. His grandmother, who had been tepid-sponging him, turned, and we locked stares. “Mama, nothing o,” I said weakly. Banishing the images from my mind, I returned to my task. No change there.

  Nevertheless, the Senior Reg. told him to crosscheck the consult whenever I finished. (She told me to be fast.) Pulling out a folder from underneath the pile on the table, she headed over to the other arm of the ward.

  My mind would wander again, this time when Prof. Odili walked into the ward some minutes later. Again, his voice alerted me to his presence. He was speaking with the nurses.

  Could Dr. Aliozor have mastered this man’s chocolate-brown complexion, his slow, deliberate step, arms folded, his voice, his manner of dressing, his knowledge, his schedule within hours? Could he be giving off Prof. Odili’s aura (evident in the ground ward round last week when HOs, registrars, and senior registrars were fumbling answers to his otherwise simple questions) so easily? During his impersonation of my classmate, he’d spent at least one week mastering such things. So, unless he was an Anatomist (a Doctor-Magician so adept in the human body. I met one two years ago) it seemed impossible.

  If the priest of the hospital chaplaincy were here, he could tell me if it was Prof or not. Consecrated holy people can discern the trueness of situations and things. Especially important when it came to magic.

  Perhaps Dr. Aliozor would resort to some other trick. Mind controlling the consultants? Invisibility? After all, I didn’t know all a Doctor-Magician could do. And he never said he’d be here in person.

  I quickly messaged him. I should have made sure sooner.

  But… hadn’t Dr. Aliozor told me there was no substitute for physical interaction with a patient? Sure, he never said he’d be here in person. He hadn’t said the opposite either.

  So, I looked Prof. Odili over time and again while rounding off the consult. Nothing odd in his bearing. The symbol of the liberal school of magical thought, a peasant woman with the chains binding her wrists broken, the words ‘Magic Unchained’ written in Latin underneath, was not visible on his person. Not on his short-sleeve, brown, corporate shirt, or his black trousers.

  Inevitably, Onyeka came to mind. A faction of this school had taken him. Where were they now? In the months following his disappearance we’d tried everything short of using magic to find him. Phone calls, online searches, sharing missing persons posters, even sharing information with the police. Could I have done more?

  “Are you done?” Chisom asked, suddenly taking active interest in the consult again as Prof. Odili approached the doctors’ station.

  “Yeah,” I said, sliding the paper over to her side of the table.

  I wiped my forehead as we both stood to greet him, unsure. I even smiled. Stupidly. Perhaps that would evoke a positive response. Something (anything) to show this was Dr. Aliozor masquerading as Prof. Odili.

  From his reply… “Doctor Ugochukwu why are these House Officers smiling to themselves, not doing anything, while you are taking the history? I saw this one, the girl on her phone. Shouldn’t they….” I realized there would be no symbols. Symbols were for college robes, official ward coats. Neither would he have a cape underneath. Those were for ceremony, contest, battle. If Dr. Aliozor had indeed taken on this form, he would be Prof. Odili to a tee until he revealed himself.

  Whoever he’d chosen, if he’d chosen anyone, I needed him to reveal himself sooner rather than later.

  Prof. Odili chose later. If he truly was Dr. Aliozor in disguise. The man left the ward after giving Dr. Ekumankah a tongue lashing. It was her fault we’d been sitting idle, smiling at each other. Later, she’d sign that we had completed our CHER postings, meanwhile we’d learned nothing. It wouldn’t be his children we’d treat in future, thank God.

  I prayed he wouldn’t ask questions when he was on the point of “learning nothing”. I hadn’t recovered from the ground ward round last week. I also made a mental note there and then to make sure he was absent before I brought my forms for signing of any kind.

  Dr. Ugo mouthed at us to apologize.

  Prof. paid no heed to our collective “sorry”, the same way he ignored Dr. Ekumankah’s banter, which was shocking. The banter, that is.

  For her part, Dr. Ekumankah received the tongue lashing graciously. She pointed out that we weren’t idle; she’d asked us to write a consult to the ENTOC. More shocking though… Tongue lashings are a bit like family heirlooms, you hand them down. And we were expecting one from the senior registrar. However, we never got the rough side of her tongue. She just told me to deliver the consult.

  There was some scuffle in getting the girl to stay put while one of the ENT doctors explored the nostrils with ENT-specific tools. At the end, their conclusion was the same as Dr. Ekumankah’s. Prescribing drugs, they gave the girl a Tuesday appointment in their clinic.

  The activities of the day wore on. Administering drugs. Collecting samples for tests. Securing IV access.

  Dr. Ugo told me to set one for the patient with sickle cell. Don’t worry, he had visible veins. Plus, my YouTube tutorials. His mother asked, “Why is your hand shaking?” as I drove the cannula home. I guess that’s the worst you could say happened. And it was not neat.

  Still nothing from Dr. Aliozor.

  The haematology team reviewed Ebuka during their rounds for the day. Mr. Peter was livid, a stormy expression covering his face as he fired back at the haematology registrar in pidgin. “Test, test, test. Since day we arrive. Medicine. Medicine. Yet the boy no dey get well. I dey lie? Im need blood, not all dis tests and drugs! You collect my blood, collect my mama blood, still nothing!” His size lent the outburst a menacing quality.

  Dr. Ugo joined the Haematology registrar in calming him, explaining blood reactions, how their blood hadn’t matched, how the haematology team was exploring all avenues just for this case (collaborating with a private haematology lab, some of the special procedures I’d looked up the night Ebuka came) and that they’d need money and those tests to proceed with further care. He answered that one relation would send money later today. The same answer he’d given me when I’d cornered him the second he returned to the ward.

  Dr. Aliozor hadn’t replied my text. He hadn’t revealed himself.

  In the afternoon, a girl presented with acute severe asthma. We’d been attending to her for a good while when another male consultant walked in: Dr. Edu-Edu Bernard.