by
Max Ross

The liver, with the gall bladder attached, slipped from his hand encased in the latex surgical glove and Doctor Kyle Kinsell cursed silently as he caught the slippery, wet organ in his other hand and held it against his clean white smock. He expelled a deep breath of relief while he held the white, glass tray with his left hand and let the, still slightly warm, liver slither onto the tray. There, it was safe for the moment. His heart had been in his throat when he thought the precious organ might drop to the floor. This could easily have resulted in disaster, making the liver imperfect and unsuitable for his purposes.

Doctor Kinsell wiped his gloved hands on a tissue before his stripped the disposable covers from his capable surgeon's hands. He always disliked the way the gloves made his hands feel clammy, and he was about to wipe them on his smock when he saw the bloody residue from the liver. He took a tissue instead. Looking down at the purplish liver, that nearly covered the glass plate, through his prescription glasses, gave Kinsell a warm feeling--a sense of accomplishment. This operation wasn't novel for him, he had removed many livers for diagnosis and transplant purposes, but he had taken special care with this one.

His eyes roved over the freshly removed organ... Yes, it was perfect, almost virginal. Only seventeen years old and not yet abused by the poisons of alcohol, drugs, and the contaminants of the polluted atmosphere. This would go in with the others in his private cache, the heart, the lungs, the perfect stomach. All he lacked were ideal kidneys--perhaps the most important organs of all, for he must have a mature pair, yet without contamination.

Thinking of this reminded him he must get the liver and spleen into the rapid freeze unit immediately. The big cabinet was ready, but Kinsell was not thoroughly familiar with it. Damn, he wished Miss Tompkins was here to help him, it was so awkward to work alone. He purposely had not requested the experienced surgical nurse's assistance because this cadaver had no organ transplant authorization. Kinsell had altered the records to show that it had and Miss Tompkins would have surely discovered this. He had risked having her assist him in some of the other operations and this may have been a mistake because he felt she had become suspicious of the stomach removal from the eighteen year old female cadaver.

The surgical anatomist, remembering the liver, reached for the door on the rapid freeze unit to unfasten it. As he placed the organ in the special plastic container inside, his ear caught the sound of a key turning a lock cylinder. It could only be August Martine, the department director and Kinsell's superior. He pushed the switch on the unit and turned to see the old man coming across the room in his familiar mincing step.

"Ah, Kyle, you are moonlighting." The short man, wearing a rumbled suit, stopped by the operating table to adjust his rimless eye glasses and look down at the naked corpse of the young man with it's pale torso opened up. When Kinsell offered no answer or explanation the smaller man stroked the white goatee he was so proud off and added, "A fresh looking subject, very young, too. I must assume from the circumstances that this is not a legal organ donor." He peered closer. "Ah, you were after the liver for your personal project. It must have been a sound one from the looks of the subject."

"Yes, it was a excellent specimen. It would be a sacrilege to condemn such a perfect liver to the maggots in the grave." Doctor Kinsell regretted that his superior and good friend, Doctor Martine had shown up at the autopsy operating room so long after closing hours. Not that it was any threat to him since the older man was aware of what he, Kinsell, was doing. All the same, it was awkward.

Doctor Martine's dark, beady eyes shifted to the corpse again. "Well, he can't go to the grave in that condition. You have a lot of stitching to do. Where is Nurse Tompkins?"

"In these circumstances I didn't think it prudent to have her here assisting me." Kinsell bent over to check the temperature gauge on the freezing unit. He preferred to be alone and the old man's presence made him uncomfortable because he was aware that he disapproved of Kinsell's private research project.

"Probably wise." The Director of Medical Research nodded sagely. "Have you got all you will think you need now, Kyle?"

"Yes, except for the kidneys. The pair I took from the football player showed slight signs of contamination. I'm looking for another pair." He nodded toward the cadaver. "Too bad this young man's were damaged, they would have been fine."

"You're a perfectionist, Kyle."

The younger man gave a wan smile. "Have to be in these circumstances. Nothing less than perfection is going to work."

"Do you think it's going to work at all?" Martine stroked his white goatee again.

The director had asked this question before and Kinsell wasn't fond of answering it because he truly didn't know. Like all new research projects, it was a matter of scientific calculation and careful estimation.

He said, "I have every confidence it will. After all, August, successful transplants have been made of each one of the body's major organs. Singularly, to be sure, but why not all together, or in relatively close succession?"

"For one thing the trauma will be overwhelming. I've reminded you of this."

Kinsell saw the needle on the freeze unit fall to normal and he reached over to press in the "Hold" button before he spoke, "I appreciate your advice, August, and you're the expert, but I've been taking steroids regularly for some time, preparing my body for the shock. Also, my entire system is now well protected with the correct anti-biotics." He laughed with slight bitterness. "You should know that I'm not taking much of a gamble with this heart condition I have."

The Director took his old, curved stem pipe from the side pocket of his rumpled tweed coat. He put the mouthpiece between his lips to suck on it as if he expected to extract smoke, but the pipe was empty of tobacco. "I am aware of your heart condition, Kyle, but don't you think you should consider a by-pass? If that won't meet the bill, you have that excellent heart in storage, won't the heart be enough? You know I will be happy to assist in the transplant."

"I appreciate that, August. I couldn't put my life in more capable hands." Kinsell patted his old friend's shoulder. "Thing is, I'm fifty-four years old with a bad ticker. Implanting that fine heart will be a revelation for me, but the way I view it is like replacing one worn piston in a defective engine. It will work for a while, but the old parts will soon break down again."

Martine nodded. "You seem to be forgetting what I have mentioned to you and what you, yourself, know. You're asking your body and your nervous system to withstand more of a strain than it is capable of."

"Not all at once, my good friend. We are going to start with the heart, which is now the weakest link. When the strong heart is established one organ at a time will be replaced with a period of recuperation in between." Kinsell gave the older man a reassuring smile. "I have given this project three years of intense study. Don't you worry--it will succeed."

Again, the small, stooped research director studied the bland face of his long- time assistant. He spoke slowly as he might to one of his students. "What you have in mind, is more than mere survival, it is the Dorian Gray syndrome. Do you expect to live forever, Kyle?"

The man in the smock gave a nervous laugh, "Not forever, my friend, but with luck, another fifty years."

"I must give your ambitious project more thought." He turned toward the door. "I shall leave you to your work tidying up the mess. Please see me in the morning, we have much to discuss about the donor program."

"Is there a problem, August?"

"There is always a problem." The small man sighed. "The university wants more publicity. They're trying for a large federal subsidy."

As he watched Doctor Martine leave the autopsy room Kinsell realized this was indeed bad news, for it meant their days of privacy and self-determination, here at the research center, would be over. At least he knew August would be with him, for the Director had little choice. With a sigh of resignation, he turned to the chore of stitching up the cadaver.

At nine-thirty the following morning Doctor Kinsell entered the Research Director's office. He waited until the young intern had finished his business with the director before he took a chair in front of the old man's desk.

Doctor Martine appeared taller sitting behind his large mahogany desk, perhaps because of the two cushions he sat upon. His dark eyes sparkled like a birds' beneath his thick glasses "Good news, Kyle. Wang just left the current cadaver report; three bodies and one looks promising for you."

"Kidneys?" Kinsell leaned forward expectantly.

Doctor Martine picked up a sheet of paper. "Yes, a sixteen year old male who died of a gunshot wound to the head just five hours ago. Should be a perfect specimen. The subject is black, but that won't matter to you."

"Not at all. Have we donor rights?"

"Doesn't matter." The small man smiled benignly. "The subject is a 'John Doe', so we can determine the classification."

This news cheered Kinsall. "Good, we can do the operation this afternoon. August, I fear there isn't much time--I'm going to need the new heart sooner than we anticipated."

"I trust not. When do you want to do the transplant?"

"Soon. This is Friday, can we schedule it for Monday?"

The older man looked surprised. "So soon? You are frightened, but you know you're own body. I think we can manage it for Monday. I'll call Mengle in Chicago and tell him."

"Must we have Mengle?" Kinsell's was alarmed.

"Absolutely, I told you that. Doctor Mengle is the very best and only he and Nurse Tompkins will be in attendance. The entire operation won't require more than two hours."

The bland face of the younger doctor held a pleased look as he spoke, "I shall have a new heart before my project begins."

Doctor Martine leaned over his desk with his beady eyes on Kinsell. "Kyle, perhaps you had best leave it at a successful heart transplant and forget about your ambitious project. I've been doing some reading and..."

"I know." Kinsell interrupted. "My immune system rejecting the organs. Well, I've put that and my general body condition in tip-top shape over the past six months, with the newest drugs and antibiotics, preparing for this."

"I know you have. Be calm, my friend." Martine soothed as he lay his hand on an old, well worn book at his elbow. "You are replacing all the major organs in you body, except one which which may be absolutely necessary to tie them all together.

Kinsell said nothing, but waited for an explanation.

It came. "You have left one vital organ off your shopping list, Kyle... the soul."

Doctor Kinsell looked at the old man a moment as a slight smile broke the corners of his mouth. "The soul... an organ? Surely you're joking, August."

"Not at all. This book, a medical thesis, was written by Doctor Klaus Reimer in 1789. Reimer was a pioneer in organ transplants, having made many operations toward that end at a monastery near Poznan. He specifically names the the human soul as an organ and blames most of his failures on the fact that he was unable to locate the soul to remove it."

Kinsell saw the old man was serious and suppressed his smile. "I've no doubt he had. Where did he look?"

"You're making light of this, but it could be pertinent to your situation. Medical men of most cultures have looked for the human soul throughout the ages. Some have thought it was in the stomach, others that it was part of the heart." "Where do you think it might be, August?"

"My opinion is that the human soul is part of the brain--a very small part. Of course, I've never actually seen it."

"You are serious, August. But if it's part of the brain I have no worries, for that's the one organ I won't change. I have an excellent brain."

Doctor Martine looked skeptical. "But we're not certain, don't you think you should be? You have plenty of time, Kyle. Why don't you study this book and others we have at the medical library so you can come to your own conclusions?"

Kinsell's smile had faded. "August, you really think there is something to this theory of yours that the soul is an organ which ties the brain and all body organ together?"

"It isn't my theory, Kyle, but suppose there is a basis to it. More than two hundred years ago Doctor Reimer discovered that multiple organ transplants were impossible without taking the soul of the donor. Since then others have agreed with him." He pushed the ancient book across the desk toward his associate. "Don't you think you should read this and others at the library? To be absolutely positive."

The younger doctor put his hand on the old book as he rose. "All right, August, It should be interesting, at least, I'll know more about the human soul than I do now, which is nothing."

The director gave him a smile. "I'll feel better if you do, Kyle. After all, we are in this thing together, so to speak."

Doctor Kinsell walked slowly down the corridor with his mind on what his old friend had told him. Was the old man pulling his leg? Or was he simply trying to throw a monkey wrench into the works because he didn't believe in it? Well, the mere thought of the soul being part of his complicated plan was food for thought. It was ludicrous because in all his years as a medical doctor he had never come across the mention of the soul as being a body organ. Yet, there was the age old question of what held things together in the human body? What made all the organs act as a team? Any medical trainee who studied anatomy knew there must be a catalyst which held all this together and made it work. Was it the soul?

When he stepped out in the warm sunshine of a perfect spring day he decided to walk to the university medical library, it was but two long blocks from the research facility. He walked briskly, breathing in the fresh spring air.

The librarian, a dour spinster type, gave no indication she thought the doctor's request was unusual and, within minutes, she had three books on the table in front of him. One of these drew his attention, it was a thin, full page thesis published only a year ago at Columbia University. The title was "The Human Soul in Medical Anology". Doctor Kinsell opened it and began to read the contents with interest.

He had carefully read four pages and was becoming engrossed when he felt the first twinges in his chest. He shifted in his chair, annoyed that the murmurs were interrupting him at this time. Kinsell tried to shift his eyes back to the thesis when he became aware these were more than murmurs. He felt a prang of terror as he lay the book down and tried to raise from the chair.

Suddenly, it was like a huge hand gripping his entire chest, the powerful fingers biting into him. He knew he was helpless to rise from the chair--all the strength had left his legs. My God Was this it? Was he too late for the new heart--the beautiful, efficient heart from the young football player? Part of his mind refused to accept this, but that part began to gray out for lack of oxygen.

Doctor Kyle Kinsell's limp body slumped forward in the chair and his forehead came to rest gently upon the open thesis on the soul. His open eyes saw nothing.

At 1:42 p.m. Catherine Parker, the director's personal secretary, received a telephone call that changed her entire, serene day. The small, prim woman went to the door of Doctor Martine's private office and tapped her knuckles discreetly on the heavy wood door. She entered at his command.

"You don't have to knock, Catherine, you know that." Martine looked closely at her. "What's the matter, my dear?"

"It's Doctor Kinsell." She started timidly, then blurted out, "He's dead, sir. He died of a massive coronary attack at the library where he had been doing research. The paramedics were there at once, but they were unable to save him."

The small man looked at her in disbelief before he muttered, "My God! I sent him on his quest for the human soul and it ended in tragedy. He lost his own soul."

[end]