The Infinite Matrix | Michael Swanwick & Francisco Goya | The Sleep Of

Reason 58

04.17.03

the sleep of reason

by Michael Swanwick

with illustrations by

Francisco JosÉ de Goya y Lucientes

Click image to enlarge

Digital image © copyright

Davison Art Center,

Wesleyan University

DAC permission required

for any other use.

58. [Plate 40]

Prick the Physician

In his lifetime, a man wears many hats. So, too, with Prick. Student,

Lover, Musician, Statesman, Warrior, and now... Physician. It takes years

of training to become a doctor, unfortunately, and Prick didn't have the

years to expend. He was simply looking for a respectable profession to

fill his declining years. So he relied upon an honorary degree from Johns

Hopkins University, and the good will of his clientele.

This he had in spades. To begin with, Prick accepted only the very best

class of patients. Then too, he made house calls. Right to your penthouse

he would come, little black bag in hoof. Ducking his head as he passed

through the doorway, he would briefly pay his respects and then make

straight for the sickroom. Trailed by star-struck relatives of the

afflicted, he would gracefully sink down beside the bed.

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T H A N K S !

Prick's bedside manner was a marvel. His steady gaze was empathy itself.

His touch was soft and sure. He took a pulse with all the care and

attention he had once given to running the country. Rather more, in fact.

Admittedly, Prick had only the faintest idea what he was doing. He had

never quite gotten the hang of which thermometer was for the mouth and

which was not. There were bottles in his bag he didn't dare open.

But consider his positives. He never got the patient addicted to

dangerous drugs through over-prescription of painkillers. He never

performed experimental surgery in hopes that a lucky accident might teach

him something interesting. Because he believed anything he was told, he

never doubted the patient was sick. Thus, not a one of them died after

being reassured that nothing was wrong.

Also, he was a celebrity. The social status conferred by his visits far

outweighed the purely hypothetical progress that a rich and usually aged

relation might have made under other circumstances.

Consider this as well. When, as sometimes happened, a patient died in his

care, Prick would calmly sign the death certificate and draw the sheets

up over the head of the deceased. He never slid a watch from the

patient's wrist and onto his own. Not once did go through the pockets for

spare change. How many doctors in the AMA can say as much?

A man who employed Prick had an ass for a physician. Quite frankly, he

could have done worse.

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This is the 58th of 80 stories by Michael Swanwick written to accompany

Francisco Goya's Los Caprichos. For a listing of the most recently

available stories, go to The Sleep of Reason.

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