THE POSTMODERN MALADY OF DR. PETER HUDSON

PART I

THE POSTMODERN MALADY OF DR. PETER HUDSON

Of Peter Hudson I have this to say, that the circumstances surrounding the death of him, an eminent doctor, are among the most remarkable I have ever known. As rare, singular, and extraordinary as they are, I was left with the overriding compulsion, and thus no real alternative, but to set them down. In doing so, it is important to make clear, for reasons that will become apparent as his surprising tale nears its tragic conclusion, it cannot all come from the hand of one man. For justice, the story of Dr. Hudson requires several authors, case notes that I have assembled if you like, but sadly, with an end which only I am able to provide.

I

First, one must imagine a window. This window overlooks the past. Through it lies the past, grey and untouchable, spread out like a rich, yet monotone, vista. The contrast between night and day is strangely enhanced, unearthly and ephemeral. This is not the past as one wishes to remember it, as a thing of warm tangibility. This is the past of a man like Hudson; it is the past for the man that he would become.

News of Lord Byron’s death sweeps London, it is the great tragedy of the hour. The hour is ten, and the city is dark. Amid the flurry, a man set down from a recently docked ship in the Thames estuary makes his way to a place of sanctuary. The man is in his mid-thirties, he is tall, and well-built, with wisps of grey that adorn the sides of his raven hair, in a manner that softens the harshness of his face. It is not a hard face in the violent way, like it were cut from glass, but it is pale, anaemic. This man has the face of one travel weary and wan. His pace is quick despite his pallor, but his energy is falling away at the sides of him, as if it were the very air his body cut through, as if it were contained within the very sweat that plagued his brow. The news of Byron’s death did not trouble him, it would only have done so had it prevented him from reaching his destination, but it did not. Unfortunately though, something did detain him, for around one whole hour, and it was to be observed the progress of his journey was very much altered as a result.

From the warmth of a club window a gentleman spies the hasty progress of the weary traveller. This gentleman notices the face, and identifies it. The face is paler than when last he saw it, thinner too, and the grey frippery in the jet is also new. Still, unmistakably, his friend was returned. How long has it been the gentleman wonders? Two years, perhaps three. He was sure he would return eventually though, for one cannot travel the globe indefinitely without purpose, unless, the gentleman mused, one falls in love. These thoughts prolonged the gentleman’s efforts to move from his seat, to move to the door and to call to his friend. A fraction of time that proved to be of the greatest significance; a fraction of time in which, when all was finally said, and said to be done, the die of fate were truly cast.

The gentleman next observed his old friend talking to a woman, by her dress and manner, a prostitute. At first he thought, of course, she seeks business. Then he thought, no, perhaps his friend is in search of company, for his expression certainly contained lines of fret and desperation, but then the gentleman noticed something else through his cigar smoke. The young lady was clearly distressed, quite visibly so. He attempted to move from his chair, thinking at first it was a ruse, an attempt to relieve his friend of his purse by force, and then that if it were an unfolding crisis perhaps he too could be of assistance. Yet something, something incalculable, prevented him from proceeding. He remained sat firmly there, and he looked on.

He observed the lady usher his friend inside a nearby building, temporarily his concern heightened, but fell away as swiftly as it had risen. Why should his friend not enjoy a little female company, what business was it of his after all? He was halfway through chuckling over this thought when another man came to his table, and sat with him.