PICTURES THAT PAINT A THOUSAND WORDS ( OR SO…)

WELCOME.

Please spend time and

contemplate a picture,

cogitate on the story with it,

compose a comment and continue on your way,

cheered not chaffed.

DOCTOR'S VISIT

This series of short stories was inspired

by a visit I made to

the National Gallery of Scotland.

I was playing hookey from

an international medical conference

that had bored me to coma.

Instead, I discovered the joys of

meditating on pictures, and the reason

why they might have been created.

Wandering the virtual corridors of the internet accessible

Tate Gallery exhibits, Mike was drawn to a deathbed scene

said to have been painted in 1725. He had witnessed

numerous late twentieth century variants of the same,

mostly professionally, but a couple personally. The

principle features had not changed over a quarter of a

millennium, disinterested professionals watched with

varying amounts of hope and fear by the soon-to-be-

bereaved.

Dr Ridge soon noticed the identical features of the three

professionals in this particular demise. Long noses, wide

foreheads and matching blonde wigs, the three could only

be differentiated by their garb and demeanour.

At the foot of the bed, the priest, with the big book, pious,

bland expression and eyes fixed heavenwards, hoping for

the best for his parishioner. Then the doctor, smartly

dressed for a home visit, intently inspecting the specimen of

urine. Its red colour was from fresh blood, a clear sign of

serious pathology in the patient.

Finally, almost obscured in the corner, the lawyer, counting

the money from the old man’s satchel, no doubt calculating

his fee for administering the will.

Perversely, these three stereotypes drew attention to the

more detailed and individualised mourners-in-waiting,

marginalised but seemingly genuine in their concern. The

four adults and two children depicted clearly had a direct

relationship to the man on the bed, but what? A few

moments cogitating and Mike had forged a possible link

between all the elements portrayed. As a trained

psychiatrist, he enjoyed creating stories from pictures, using

the thousand of individual cases of human experience he

had witnessed over his quarter century carer.

Behind the vicar was an older man, with vivid red, monks

halo hair and beard. His complexion had been weather-

beaten, and his hands were encased in fingerless mittens,

that emphasised the blue fingers. Mike concluded that this

was the gardener cum handyman, with Reynaud’s disease,

due to poor blood circulation to the extremities.

Next to him was the dying man’s daughter, genuine distress

and fear on her face, standing beside her own nanny who

held the daughter’s youngest child.

Leaning over the moribund man was an equally old,

unfortunate featured woman with a parsnip shaped nose,

and a metal blade in her left hand. Why would the painter,

an Egbert Van Heemskerk III, have depicted a knife being

held at such an angle? The blade was too large for a

fledget, the cutting tool that the doctor would use if he

wanted to bleed the patient.

Bleeding, to restore the believed balance of the body

humours, was one of the very few treatment options in the

mid eighteenth century. But vigorously used, even when

the victim was obviously exsanguinating anyway.

As a murder weapon, the stiletto shape was ideal, but the

circumstances were strongly against such an event

happening. Too many professional witnesses for a start.

Mike Ridge concluded that the old woman had rushed up

from the kitchen where she was preparing food, and had

quite forgotten the utensil in her hand.

Which just left the child on its knees at the foot of the

couch, doing what, precisely? Praying for the soon-to-be-

departed, staring at the gardner’s grotesque fingers or

afeared of the blade?

Young Henrik is the eldest son of the only surviving child of

the dying man, Ulshan, a grand-child. Henrik’s father and

Ulshan’s wife both died of the bloody flux about 18 months

ago, just before Ellouise, Henrik’s sister was born. The

family retainers, cook, gardner and nanny have served the

family for many years, and covet a share of the family

estate.

Henrik’s mother, originally from humble working stock, is

also desperate to gain her rightful inheritance. Without

losing too much to the staff or professionals, for services

rendered.

Henrik is about to search under the bed covers for his

grandfather’s hidden wealth. His mother is going to have

the screaming abdabs to distract everyone else. Whilst

Ulshan quietly slips away to his final destination..

As Mike knew, ‘where there is a will, there will be plenty of

relatives and friends waiting to squabble over the remains’.

Always has been so, and probably always will be.

Original story by dave hambidge

published on this blog Spring 2007

revisited in issuu format 26/03/09

free to copy and use with acknowledgement of source