Looking Backward from the Tricentennial

Part II - Chapter Three

Part II: Where am I? (March 10-17, 2076)

It may be through the negroes that the unadulterated message of nonviolence is delivered to the world.

- M.K. Gandhi

As I delved deeper into the philosophy of Gandhi, my skepticism concerning the power of love gradually diminished, and I came to see for the first time its potency in the area of social reform.

- Martin Luther King Jr.

Chapter Three

"He's going to open his eyes. He had better only see one of us at first."

"Promise me, then, that you won't tell him."

The first voice was a man's, the second a woman's, and both spoke in whispers.

"I want to see how he seems," replied the man.

"No, no, promise me," persisted the other.

"Well, I promise," answered the man. "Quick, go! He's coming out of it."

Julian opened his eyes. After several long blinks, he could make out the beaming face of a man of about forty-five hovering over him. The broad smile was framed on his black face by a strong chin and closely cropped hair; it showed concern and satisfaction. "How do you feel?" he inquired.

Nothing looked familiar. "Where am I?" Julian demanded as forcefully as he could manage. His throat was like sandpaper; he wasn't even sure the words were recognizable. He felt sober now, but had he blacked out? Had he done something while drinking that the woman didn't want him to know about?

"We'll talk about it when you're stronger," the unfamiliar man said. "There's nothing to be anxious about; you're among friends and in good hands. How do you feel?"

Julian took stock. "Exhausted." A brief pause was all he could manage before the most pressing questions spilled forth. "What happened? Where am I?"

"There'll be time enough for explanations later, when you're better rested. Would you do me a favor and have a few swallows of this? It'll do you good; I'm a physician."

Julian managed a nod, and the doctor held out a cup with a straw, bending it to accommodate the angle of his mouth. Several swallows of cool liquid relieved his dry throat and left a medicinal aftertaste with a hint of raspberries. It did nothing for his strength; he had no desire to move.

The doctor reviewed something on a digital tablet, almost as a formality. "Feel up for a few questions?"

Instantly, Julian was alert. He didn't have any health insurance, and whatever care he'd received while he was unconscious couldn't have been cheap. There was little-to-no chance he'd be able to afford it. He knew hospitals had to provide emergency care; it was the law. He'd heard it applied even if you didn't identify yourself. They'd probably cut him loose as soon as they figured out they wouldn't get paid, but maybe he could make it hard for them to come after his meager financial assets.

A jumbled memory from the rally at the Washington Monument surfaced. The doctor's questions could be for the benefit of the police. He knew from experience when they decided to go after someone, specific charges could be developed later. Was this an attempt to get him to incriminate himself?

Julian concluded it was best to say nothing. "Another drink, please," he said, making a mild production out of lifting his head up to sip from the straw. Maybe the confusion wasn't as much of an act as he supposed; there was something strange going on with the straw. The tube was tweaked at an acute angle, but there was no accordion joint at the bend. The taste of it on his lips wasn't plastic, either.