Backteria and Other Improbable Tales

Backteria

He Wanted to Live

Life Size

Man with a Club

Professor Fritz and the Runaway House

Purge Among Peanuts

The Prisoner

The Last Blah in the ETC

Counterfeit Bills

1984 ½

Pride

Now Die In It

Leo Rising

Where There’s a Will (written with Richard Christian Matheson)

Getting Together

Person to Person

CU: Mannix

Haircut

An Element Never Forgets

My name is Emery Wilson, PhD. I work for
The Svennington Laboratory
. What we do is locate, isolate and investigate exotic viruses and bacteria. Such as MY-7, a virus which causes night sweats, cramps and loss of memory. A portion of this extends unhappily to loss of identity.

In the unhappy case of Arthur Bland this identity loss grew so severe that he not only forgot who he was but what he was. This resulted in a total lapse of human traits. Mr. Bland became convinced that he had become simian and insisted on living in a tree, sustaining his bodily well-being on a diet of bananas and leaves. This condition persisted until, during sleep one night, he fell from the tree and broke his neck, dying instantly. The autopsy revealed no more than the presence of MY-7 in his system.

But that is not my account so I will not dwell on it. All I intended to transmit was the information regarding my profession. Such as the investigation of such bacteria as X9-1, which caused such an excessive loss of balance that most victims of its invasion kept falling on their heads, which resulted in a noticeable percentage of concussions. But, that too, is a different story albeit a sad one. What I mean to tell you is another one. A grim and dreadful one.

Stanley Barenbaum, M.D. was rotund and worried. The rotund part was easy to see, visible to the eye. The worried part was more difficult. I had to surmise it. I was able to do this. Dr. Barenbaum had the expression of a man married to a sex-obsessed woman who, arriving home early one afternoon, sees his handsome brother-in-law’s red BMW convertible parked in the driveway of his home. Definitely apprehensive.

“Good afternoon,” he muttered.

I waved him to the chair opposite my desk. He sat down, tentatively, I thought, as though he was prepared to leap to his feet at a moments notice. His smile looked frozen to me.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

He didn’t answer at first but drew in a deep draught of air through his nose. Then he said, “This virus. If that’s what it is. We aren’t certain what it is. We only know it exists. No, we don’t even know that for sure. We only know what we
think
it is and we’re not even certain of that. But we
do
believe it exists and we’re anxious to know –”

At which point he ran out of breath and was compelled to inhale, wheezingly.

“You have a specimen with you?” I asked, speaking quickly lest he interrupt me with another rant.

“We sent it in several days ago,” he said, now sounding almost like a rational human being.

“I haven’t seen it yet, I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I’ll get to it as soon as possible. Have any of my associates given your office an analysis yet?”

“
No
,” said Dr. Barenbaum. Whether in irritation or despair – or both – I couldn’t tell. Part was certainly despair. “We
must
ascertain what it is,” he said. Definitely despair.

“What is it about this virus – if, indeed, it
is
a virus – that concerns you so?” I inquired.

He didn’t answer. I sensed that he was loathe to do so.

“Doctor?” I said.

I hadn’t taken notice of his Adam’s apple. I did now as it dipped abruptly and the sound of his nervous swallow was clearly audible. “Please,” I said. By now my curiosity was piqued.

“We refer to it as
VD-1
,” he said in a muffled voice.

“I beg your pardon?” I responded; not sure I’d heard him correctly.

“
VD-1
,” he told me again.

“Oh,” I hesitated, then added, “Does that – stand for anything?”

“It
does
,” he said. His voice was now thin and strengthless.

“Which is?” I had to prompt him.

He sucked in air.

“
Virtual Disappearance
,” he said.

Dead silence in my office. Was the man serious? Or was I the butt of some inner-office prank? How could I tell?

I decided to pursue the matter. Barenbaum
was
a doctor wasn’t he? He seemed sincere enough. No point in dismissing the situation pro bonum. My mind doesn’t work that way.

His rumination changed my mind in the silence.

“I know this sounds improbable,” said Dr. Barenbaum. (I chose to leave his title unchallenged for the moment.)

“Let me understand this,” I said, “You refer to disappearance. Do you mean that literally?”

“I do,” said Barenbaum.

“In what way?” I asked, I winced at the notion. “The dissolving of organs? Partial or total dissolution?”

“No,” he said.

“All right,” I went on. “What
were
the symptoms then? Sweats, dizziness, drowsiness, diarrhea,
what
?”

“No,” he said.

“For God’s sake, Dr. Barenbaum,” I protested, “What were the symptoms?”

“I told you.” Now he sounded impatient.

“You said –” I began.

“I said
disappearance
,” he interrupted, “I mean total, absolute, complete disappearance.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re saying – !”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” He was furious now. “Don’t you comprehend English? Israel Kenshaw disappeared! Physically! Absolutely! In
toto
!”

I comprehend English. I could not comprehend what he was talking about.

“How did this occur?” I inquired. Quietly. Devoid of rancor. My way.

“He went in the bathroom,” said Dr. Barenbaum. He actually gulped. “And vanished.”

“You mean –?” I started.

“I mean he
vanished
!” raged Dr. Barenbaum. “The bathroom door was opened after a while and he was gone!
Disappeared
!”

I couldn’t accept his account: Not yet. There had to be some logic to it.

“What about the window?” I queried. Surely that was an explanation.

“
It was locked
,” he answered. He was getting tired of speaking to me now. “Anyway, it was too small. Mr. Kenshaw was, to be blunt, obese.”

He leaned forward in the chair and spoke slowly and distinctly. For the last time, I sensed. “Mr. Kenshaw –”

“Your patient,” I said.

“My
patient
.” His voice was tight, almost threatening. “He went into the bathroom on the evening of the twenty-fifth…”

“The twenty-fifth,” I repeated.

“
Yes
,” he said through clenched teeth. “He went in with a smile on his face.”

Ah
, I thought. A smile. Was that significant? I didn’t see how it could be but I was grasping at straws. How could we be talking about a virus now? Or for that matter, a bacteria?

“I didn’t hear the rest of that, “I said. I hadn’t. “Would you repeat –?”

“I
said
,” he declared, “– that Mr. Kenshaw had entered the bathroom –”

“With a smile on his face,” I amended.

“Yes!” he cried, “Which is hardly the point!”

“Which
is
–?” I probed. I felt a need to challenge his account.

“Which
is
,” he held on. “Mr. Kenshaw went into the bathroom –
with a smile on his face
–” he added tensely, “He locked the door. His wife
heard
him lock the door.”

“Go on,” I said.

He shuddered. With aggravation I believe. “An hour later, his wife, receiving no reply to her questions, had the door unlocked.
Mr. Kenshaw was not in the bathroom. The bathroom was empty
.”

“And –?” I asked.

“
And
?” he demanded.

I was really grasping at straws by then. “Was there by any chance –” I suggested totally straw grasping now. “– any… well –
ashes
on the floor?” It was the only thing I could come up with as farfetched as it was. Spontaneous Combustion. I’d read about it. Somewhere.

“
What
?” Barenbaum snapped.

“No… smell of burning flesh in the air?” I asked.

Teeth gritted again. He shook his head slowly. Very slowly.

“And you – believe that –
all this
–” I didn’t know how else to put it. “Had some connection to the virus? The bacteria? whatever?”

“
I do
,” he said. “What else –?”

“You know, for a fact, that
he’d
been infected?” I broke in.

“Of
course
I know! All my colleagues know! The blood test confirmed it!”

“I see,” I nodded. Haplessly. “And you don’t think –” I broke off. I’d been about to ask him if he thought Mr. Kenshaw’s smile had anything to do with – no. That was ridiculous.

“Well, it only remains for us to examine the specimen,” I told him. “See if there are any answers there.”

“I would hope so,” said Barenbaum stiffly.

“One more question,” I said. “Did Mr. Kenshaw display any peculiarities of behavior prior to his –?” Disappearance, I thought. I hadn’t the heart to say it aloud.

“No, nothing,” Barenbaum answered.

“Nothing at all?” I probed. “It might be evidential.”

“
Nothing
.” he emphasized. “The usual.”

“Such as –?” I re-probed. Wondering, to myself, why I didn’t just let go of the whole thing and concentrate on examination of the submitted specimen. Surely –

“His job, his health, his childhood, his car –”

“His childhood,” I thought. “Anything there?” I asked.

“
No
,” he said. “Now will you –?”

“Immediately,” I cut him off. “We’ll start the examination right away.”

And start it we did. And discovered nothing pertinent. Unless establishing that it was definitely a bacteria bore any significance. We suspected that before we began the examination.

But VD-1? Not scientifically acceptable a label. How were we supposed to identify it?
The Smiling Germ
? Suggested one of our jokester assistants.
The Vanishing Cream
?
The Houdini Effecter
? Each suggestion was more absurd then the previous one. Accordingly, we merely assigned it the name BU-1. Bacteria Unknown – one.

Only one oddity emerged during the course of our study. One afternoon a thunderstorm caused a twenty minute discontinuation of our electric service. Much to our amazement, the bacteria sample on our electroscope glowed for a number of seconds, then disappeared from view. When the electricity was renewed, the electroscope plate was blank.