Daniel Steele
Walls
I was born and raised on the island of Elenor, located just east of the mainland. It was, at
one point, a beautiful, flourishing place inhabited by the best carpenters, masons, and
practitioners of the art in the world. Walking across the island, end to end, took only about a day
and one would have seen stark contrasts in surroundings. The outskirts of the island thrived with
lush vegetation at one point; trees of all shapes, sizes, and colors obscured any view of the city
that occupied the center of the island. The prestigious edifices shone in the light. The rich artistic
culture of our ancestors and neighbors were apparent in every nook and cranny of every face of
every building. At one point this was a prosperous community consisting of those who had the
most beautiful visions and ideas of perfect worlds and perfect people. When I grew up, however,
we had passed that point.
I was raised by my father and uncle. My mother had died during childbirth like so many
before her. As obvious a process as giving birth was, it was not a fully understood one and
claimed many victims. My father told me stories of the gorgeous tapestries she would weave.
“Parish,” he’d wax, “if only you could have seen her work, I mean when she really felt her muse.
Honestly, it appeared almost unhealthy. She would have these fits of genius and would start
work at sunrise and not stop until she had finished.” I used to sleep under one of the blankets she
had made. It had a scene of a knight clashing with a dragon woven into it and was so warm.
My father and uncle were painters, the Clairemont Duo they were called. As remarkable
as their art was, it was their sense of showmanship that was the real hook for people. Every
weekend they would take a massive easel out to the square and begin to paint, sometimes it was
landscapes, sometimes great structures. The impressive thing was not the subject, but how they
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painted it. Father would start on the left side of the easel and uncle on the right. They would
paint their way inwards and before the two sides met to complete the image they would stop,
pack up their kits, and leave the painting there for whoever wanted it. Invariably there would be
a white line in the center of every one of their paintings; invariably their works were left undone.
They used to joke with me, “Oh, we just do that because we’re scared our lines won’t
match up and the piece will be a little off in the middle.” I knew this wasn’t the case, if was some
sort of artist trick that I didn’t understand at the time about invoking the spectators’ imagination
or something. Assuredly I saw the beauty of their works, but uncharacteristically of those who
lived in Elenor, I did not find the purest beauty in some form of art. I found beauty, true beauty,
in something more commonplace.
While in the library one day I happened across an entire section of books and journals
devoted to human anatomy. Many of the sculptors and painters used these for reference in their
works, but I was fascinated on a much deeper level. I would leave every day to study the
intricacies of bone structures and the enigmatic complexities of the circulatory system. For years
and years I would go there every day and devour whatever information I could; it fueled me. The
tensions of muscles and mechanisms of the foot were the things I dreamed of. One day, after I
turned fifteen years of age, my father and uncle pressed me not to go to the library that day, but
instead to their show. I politely declined, as I had been tending towards doing recently, but they
insisted that I go to this particular one. I obliged. What was one day without staring at drawings
of eyes and their sockets? There was no one at the square when I went, not even my father or
uncle. However, to my incredible elation, the easel was there and written across it were the
happiest words I had read in my life: Parish, we are so proud of the brilliant young man you are
turning into. Our father did not support our artistic dream whatsoever but look where we ended
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up. We want to give you the support we never received and see how high you can soar.
Underneath the easel leg are the papers you will need to get on the ship headed for the mainland
at sunset tonight. You will also find your acceptance letter to Breckinridge, the most remarkable
medical school we could afford to get you in. We love you so very much, Pop, Uncle, and
everyone else
I lifted up the easel leg to gather up the papers and began to hear applause break out.
People had been waiting in their windows and behind corners to surprise me with this amazing
gift. I found my father in the crowd and sprinted to him and gave him a hug that seemed to last
for hours. Tears streamed down both of our faces as he managed a few words in between sobs,
“Come now Parish, you haven’t got much time to pack up.” We raced home and packed my
whole life into the suitcase my uncle had used in his travels around the world. I grabbed another
pack, rushed to the library and filled it with my favorite texts. I had never been more excited in
my entire life than I was at that moment, things were looking up. My father and uncle walked me
to the docks and helped me load my stuff into the cargo hold. I gave them one last hug and kiss
before I left, not knowing they would be the last I ever gave them.
I waved goodbye as the ship departed. I stared back until father and uncle were but
specks in my vision. Slowly the town disappeared from view into the trees and then the trees
disappeared as I was surrounded on all sides by the vast, ever-present blue that was the ocean. I
wandered around the deck for a little while and thought about how great life would be once I had
made a living doing what I loved. I began to feel queasy and went down to the sleeping quarters.
The cot I slept on was wholly uncomfortable but as it was a step in the right direction for my life
I didn’t mind too much. I was exhausted; giddiness and preparation for travel had taken the wind
out of a fifteen year old aspiring physician’s sails. My awakening was a rather rude one that
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morning though. A violent scream ushered out from above deck and all the passengers scrambled
to see what had happened. A shipmate was curled up in a ball on the deck with the captain
standing over him, berating him.
“Ya know why we tie our lines down now, aye? Cuz if they’re loose they’ll swing about,
catch yer leg, hoist you up instead of the sail, an’ drop ya like a sack a’ potatoes!” The shipmate
was balling. “Now ya gone an’ cracked yer arm to bloody shit an’ there’s none can help ya ‘til
we get ta the mainland!” I felt sorry for him, a fracture like that could wreak havoc on the body if
not treated properly. I started back to the quarters with everyone, but came to a realization: I did
know how to treat it properly. I had spent so much time staring at pictures of every part of the
body in their perfect condition that it wouldn’t be difficult to help restore an imperfect part to its
original state.
I moved slowly towards the crewman and spoke plainly, “I’m going to help you, this is
going to be very painful, but it will help until we get to the mainland.” Amidst the tears he was
weeping he looked up at me, nodded his head, and held out his arm. The wails that followed
were not pleasant, especially with proximity. I managed to set the bone back into place and form
a make-shift splint with scraps of wood about the ship. I pilfered a bottle of alcohol from one of
the other passenger’s bags and poured it on the wound, he howled. I told him to drink the rest
and that it would dull the pain. He grabbed my shirt with his good arm, “Yer gonna be a good
doctor kid,” he downed almost the entire bottle and passed out against the side of the ship. I
hoped he was right.
When we reached the mainland I grabbed all of my things and set off from the boat and
realized I knew nothing about where I was meant to go. I was slightly shocked; the mainland was
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nothing spectacular, perhaps being surrounded by art for my entire life made me unaware of the
concept of functionality. Every building looked exactly the same, no defining characteristics and
arranged one right after the other right after the other. It was a boring place with an outrageous
amount of people drifting slowly from one place to the next with no awareness of any of the
other people. I attempted to ask people for directions to Breckinridge but each person slid past
me with no response or a “Harumph.” I wandered aimlessly around the busy streets carrying my
entire life in two bags. Suddenly, a carriage pulled up next to me. The driver peered down and
inquired, “Look like you just got off the boat, eh? Where you headed to?” I told him my
destination and he motioned to the cart, I got in. My mind was racing, how was I supposed to
study and map the human body, if I had to study and map the place I lived as well? The carriage
pulled to a stop and there was a knock on the roof.
When I exited the carriage I was faced with an enormous building. A clock tower sprung
from the center, its face spun right above a massive bronze bell. The sheer size of the building set
me back, it was as large as nearly half the buildings in Elenor combined. I turned to the driver to
ask how much I owed. “Nah, first one’s free.” He smiled staring up at the building in as much
awe as I was, then drove off. I carried my bags up to the massive front door and knocked. After a
few minutes of silence an elderly man opened the door.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here for schooling sir. I have my papers, my father said he received an acceptance
letter and that I was…”
The man snatched the papers out of my hand. He looked them over. “You’re a day late
for schooling which is unacceptable.” I explained to him how I took the only ship out of Elenor
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and was willing to do whatever it took to make up the lost time. “Very well, because you did not
attend the first day, you will do the necessary missed work ten times over. Get inside Mr…
Clairemont.” I accepted his terms and he directed me to my room and handed me the first day’s
assignments. The room had six beds in it, five of which had already been taken over. On the bed
that was left were three identical uniforms which I assumed one would wear to classes, a few
battered and ratty texts, and a single pillow. When I sat on the bed it squeaked loudly; it was
uncomfortable, but I knew I could get used to it. There was a small desk next to the bed that I
used to get to work on the assignments I had missed. They were simple labeling exercises, parts
of the skull, bones of the leg, bones of the arm, easy things. By the time I had finished my eighth
time doing the assignment a group of boys walked in rowdily and stopped to stare at me.
“Who’re you?” I stood up and introduced myself. I told them how I looked forward to
working with them towards becoming doctors and surgeons. They laughed at me, “Yeah right,
you already missed the first day, you’re ages behind.” I told them I had already done the first
day’s assignment eight times and was working on the last two times. They stood aghast. “You
finished already? Eight times?” I nodded. “That’s… actually impressive. Will you help us with
ours?” They each went to their own desk and pulled out their papers to ask my help on specific
problems. We spent the next few hours getting to know one another and finishing our work. I
went to bed that night under my mother’s blanket, happy, excited that I had made new friends.
On my second day at Breckinridge I found out that the old gentleman who had met me at
the door was our professor. Me and the five other boys all turned in our assignments, what I
turned in had significantly more paper but the professor smiled. “I like a young man who does
what is required of him.” I thanked him and took my seat. For the next few hours he spoke to us
about the parts of the human body. He labeled them on a hanging skeleton and read excerpts
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from our texts. I found the whole thing to be rather uninteresting. I had already learned this
material; this was child’s play to me. I wanted to learn the in-depth material that I couldn’t
follow in the library books; I wanted to learn how to heal the body when it wasn’t well. We were
given our assignments for the day after the lecture, it was more labeling activities. I stayed in the
lecture hall until everyone else had left and approached the professor. I told him how I had
already learned this subject matter in Elenor and wanted to get a more profound education.
“The first class one must take is the Basics of Human Anatomy. Without this ground
work, you’ll be absolutely clueless in higher level classes!” I walked up to the hanging skeleton
and started from the top. I rattled off the name of each 206 bones in the human body and their
function. I moved back to the skull and started naming the muscle groupings of the body and
their function. He stopped me before I had finished explaining the abdominals. “Son, I’m going
to recommend you attend the higher level lecture classes from here on out.” He walked away in
utter amazement at the font of knowledge I had acquired in fifteen years. The next few days I
attended the advanced classes and finally felt I was learning something new. My friends watched
with slack-jaws as I did my assignments every night and then they asked me for help with their
own.
For the next few semesters I learned about standards and practices for medicinal
treatment. I discovered how to set bones with actual materials instead of loose string and wooden
planks. I began to comprehend how syrups, herbs, and salves could heal the body. I mastered
how to sterilize and stitch wounds such that no infection would be apparent. I fascinated over the
ways in which the body, with help, could heal itself. I always had questions for the professors
and they were always willing to answer. They called me one of their brightest pupils and would
constantly attempt to challenge me to achieve more than I already had.
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Eventually I became lost in the work and my friends and I began to have our differences.
I became merely a roommate, always working, never having time to play. In the next couple of
years I graduated with honors from Breckinridge and was offered an internship with one of the
most prestigious hospitals on the mainland. Of course, I had accepted it and worked for several
years there before they put me on staff full-time. I was very skilled at what I did. I was able to
diagnose a problem within a few minutes of being with a patient and could perform difficult
surgeries with ease. I saw the thing I found most beautiful in this world broken and battered, and
returned it to its most gorgeous state. I was so proud of myself and wanted to take the time out to
go visit Elenor again and tell everyone of my success. That was when the rumors started.
Ships had started sailed to Elenor carrying tons of bricks as cargo, and coming back with
none. When I asked about, no one had a true understanding of what the case was, only whispers
about death looming over the entire island. I went to the ferry to charter a boat to Elenor, but was
told that there were no boats headed that way with civilian passengers, only workers. I inquired
as to why, but he refused to tell me. “Just believe me when I tell you, you want nothing to do
with that island.” He was wrong. The air of mystery that now hung around my birthplace had
made me more curious than I had ever been. I needed to know what was going on. My work
became shoddy; nurses told me that I was giving completely inaccurate diagnoses to my patients.
I wasn’t even aware I had patients anymore. My mind was so focused on why bricks and nothing
else were headed towards Elenor. It could have easily been for a massive scale art project, but I
knew that wasn’t right. One day the hospital’s patron called me and a few of the other high
ranking physicians into his office.
“We face a grave situation gentlemen,” his head was bowed and his hands were shaking.
“Every hospital in the nation is being required to provide one of their best physicians to
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investigate the mysterious happenings on the island of Elenor.” My ears perked up and I
immediately stepped forward to volunteer. “Let me explain first Clairemont, you may not be too
excited to go. The people of the island have all been afflicted with some sort of virulent infection
that spreads rapidly and kills even faster.” My stomach dropped, I couldn’t believe it. I held my
ground though. I told the patron that if anyone was going to help the population of that town, it
was going to be me. He motioned the other doctors out of his office. “It doesn’t appear that I can
change your mind, but I am required by the government… to change your identity.”
From under his desk he pulled a menacing outfit: a black cloak that would cover my
entire body, black gloves, a black hat, and the most horrifying mask I had ever seen. It was pale
as death with the nose drawn out to beak-like proportions, circular glass inserts were fastened
into it so that one could see through them. It had a powerful bouquet because the beak was filled
with spices and herbs. I asked why I had to wear it. “Protection, no one knows how this infection
spreads. If by contact, all of your skin will be covered. If by air, it will be filtered through
healing herbs before you breathe it... And because I know you will want to see your family.” I
began to dispel that worry, but was interrupted. “You cannot, under any circumstances, reveal
who you are to any of the people on that island. They know you, they will beg for your help in
easing their suffering and if you cannot provide it, you will lose your mind, knowing you failed
them. With this, you are nobody, a brick in a wall attempting to stop this affliction. Do you
understand me completely?!” I stayed silent for a few seconds, and then nodded my head. He
gave me my papers to board the doctors’ ship to Elenor and told me to prepare to leave
tomorrow.
My head was in shambles for the rest of the day. I left work and didn’t come back. I
packed my bags and wondered if it was really as bad as people had said. It might have been just
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a bad rash that is spreading quickly. Whatever it was, I had decided that I would find a cure and
make sure everyone who raised me was alive and healthy. I had to, I swore an oath to make sure
that the human body stayed in its remarkable healthy state and nothing was going to stop me
from fulfilling it. I didn’t sleep that night. That morning I boarded the ship. There were about
seventy other doctors; some had already put on their terrifying outfits while others simply
complained about having to go out of their way to do the job. One was sitting against a barrel
gripping his knees and shivering. I approached him and asked him what was wrong. “It’s just,
things I’ve heard about what’s going on on that island. I don’t want to go. I’m scared, really
scared that I will catch whatever it is and die just as horribly.” I assured him that he had nothing
to worry about that our suits were designed especially for our protection and it probably wasn’t
even as bad a people were saying. It didn’t change his mind.
The captain came on deck as the island became visible in the distance. “At this point, I
was told to give you this speech: Please don your outfits now. While you wear these outfits you
are no longer the man underneath. You are a physician hired by the state to pass judgment on the
island of Elenor.” Judgment, what did that mean? “If you are capable within the week of
discovering a cure for the disease, construction will halt, and you will be paid a handsome
salary.” Construction, what was he talking about? “However, if in one week’s time, when this
ship returns, no cure has been discovered, construction will continue and for fear of spreading
the infection you will be left on the island.” Gasps escaped the mouths of the doctors. Shouts
began to rings out, comments on how it was immoral to issue such a challenge, renunciations of
oaths were made, claims that they would never voluntarily commit suicide and thusly wouldn’t
take the job. I on the other hand had noticed something very different entirely, the island, it was
no longer the place I grew up on.
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Instead of the greenery along the shorelines being the first thing in view, what I saw was
a massive brick wall being constructed. Instead of attempting to help, the powers that be simply
took it upon themselves to save everyone else by erasing the problem entirely. When the ship
approached the dock there were guards standing by wearing the same sort of outfit we all were.
Of the seventy doctors on the boat, only seven actually left to enter the city. Some said they
needed the money, and an even smaller number truly wanted to help. I looked around at the
streets and building I grew up with but they were not as I remembered them. The buildings no
longer shone, they were dull and lifeless, the streets were filled not by vibrant people, but by the
remnants of their corpses. The seven of us looked at each other and were stunned speechless. We
each moved towards one of the lifeless bodies to make an initial examination.
The body I turned over to assess was that of Mr. Brook, he ran a paint store down the
street from my childhood home. It was very difficult to determine it was him however. His skin
was covered with pus-filled lesions. His entire body was bloated and I’m sure, were it not for the
spices, smelled horrible. I made a small incision into his forearm, what escaped was blood as I
had never seen it before. It had congealed and blackened and came out of the cut in solid chunks.
The seven of us had made the same discoveries and discussed notes. To anyone watching, we
would have looked like a flock of demonic birds conferring on whose eyes we would peck out
next. We determined that the congealed blood was most likely the final symptom and would
ultimately kill the infected. To fully understand, we needed to view a live specimen. I lead the
group, I did not yet want to see my family.
I took the group to Mrs. Hutch’s house; I always knew where she kept her spare key. We
entered and saw her lying on her bed. She looked up at us; the one eye that had not been eaten up
by the rot was vacant. We couldn’t have appeared to be more than a dream to her. We ran some
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tests on the pus and her blood. Nothing we did yielded any results. Her arm reached up and
grabbed the sleeve of one of the other doctors. “Thank you, death, thank you.” Her arms began to
convulse followed by the rest of her body. She shook for mere seconds before it stopped, after
that she hacked up black, congealed blood and died. We set up a laboratory in the library and for
the next few days would conduct tests on the victims we found that were still alive. No oil, balm,
or paste was capable of halting the process.
“Just face it, we’re dead along with all the others on this god-forsaken island!” I refused
to believe that. I refused to give up on returning the bodies of the people here to their perfect
states. I had to succeed. On the morning of the fifth day, four of the doctors had committed
suicide and one had gone crazy, stripped his clothes off, and ran out into the wilderness of the
island. There were two of us left and there were two days left. We had tried everything we could,
and nothing had worked. I turned to the last doctor with me and told him I had to go see
someone, he said he would come along. I didn’t want him to, but it couldn’t hurt, I thought.
I stood in front of the door to my childhood home. I composed myself and went in. The
first thing I saw was my uncle’s corpse lying underneath the window sill. Tears were streaming
down my face as we moved on through the house. I stood in the doorframe of my old room.
Drawings of skulls and spines lined the walls, with all the darkness on this island, this one room
seemed untouched. Then I heard my father’s voice utter a weak word, “Parish.” I ran to his room
where I had heard the voice and my father was holding onto the arm of the other doctor. “Parish
the reason we left the middle of the paintings blank, was so that whoever saw it wasn’t walled in.
Anything was possible in that space. There were no confines, and there never had to be. Parish,
I’m so proud of you.” His arm slipped from the arm of the doctor.
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“I have no idea what he’s talking about. I think he thought I was his son or something.”
In that moment I realized something. The human body was not a strong and gorgeous
mechanism, it was weak, defenseless to the smallest of infections and the most minor wounds.
My body was going to rot, walled in on Elenor the same as my father’s, my uncle’s, and those of
the other doctors. There was nothing we could do because the thing I had spent my entire life
studying and hoping to understand was simple. It wasn’t the body I should have been trying to
understand, it was what is inside of us: our hearts, our minds, our souls. The truly beautiful parts
of people are the parts that have no walls.
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