Biomedical Scientist v. Bishop

The duel with the Biochemist is just one in a long list of ignoble, humiliating events that the Biomedical Student's experienced over the past month. Yet not the worst. The worst, which he still thinks on now, and has for several days, was an ill-conceived ploy to reveal - after years of silence - his hidden love for a lab colleague.

The thought of that shame occupies his mind as he stands under the oak, gazing afield, shielded from the rain with the Biologist's umbrella. He's so preoccupied, in fact, that he doesn't notice the arrival of the Bishop.

They greet each other. After a discussion of their surroundings, each giving theories on the placement of bodies, the pyre, the weather, and so on, the Biomedical Scientists asks if the Bishop would judge his story, to determine whether he was in the right or wrong.

The Bishop, a paternal, genial man, agrees. The Biomedical Scientist tells his story, summarized here:

Nearing the end of her post-doc internship, his beloved applied to several competing biomedical firms. The day before a telephone interview with Greenglade Chemicals, a subsidiary of Argus-PanoptyCorp, the lab manager asked her to present a report on the side-effects of a medication designed to offset feelings of unbridled hopelessness (which may include sweaty palms, dry eyes, spontaneous nose bleeds, manic violence, overactive libido, uncontrollable shrieking).

Forced to spend an all-nighter preparing for the presentation, she decided to call off her interview. This is when the Biomedical Scientist stepped in.

He ran to a pharmacy, returning with a small bottle of ipecac. He swallowed its contents, then wretched violently for the next half-hour into a large blue biowaste container. Insisting that the Intern to take him to the hospital, and stay with him the night - to which the she reluctantly agreed - their manager postponed her presentation until the following week. Thus, her interview was saved.

In the car on the way to the hospital, the Biomedical Scientist - weak from the marathon vomit - explained his ruse. Then, in a sudden and sentimental display of emotion (damped only by the very persistent smell of bile on his breath), he confessed his love.

She swung the car around and drove him home to his apartment. She hasn't spoken to him since.

The end.

The Bishop blinks several times. Purses his lips. He makes as if to speak - but catches himself. A false start. Then another. He sighs, obviously thinking deeply, wondering how best to begin.

Finally, after several minutes, he asks if the Biomedical Student has been baptized into the body of Christ.

I'm Jewish.

Oh, the Bishop laughs. Well - I'm sorry, he says, but I think you'd be better off consulting a rabbi. I have references.... The Bishop takes a messy wallet out from under his cassock, rummages through a maze of business cards. Tell me when to stop, he says: Renewal, Conservative, Reform, Modern Orthodox, Karaite....

Agnostic.

Reform, good.

The Biomedical Scientist takes the card of a well-regarded reform Rabbi, pockets it, thanks the Bishop, and offers first choice of weapon.

The Bishop choses his gun, the Biomedical Scientist the remainder. They walk to the field, standing ten paces apart.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.

Biochemist v. Biomedical Scientist

Feeling guilt and professional obligation, the Biochemist lugs the corpse of the Biologist to the two cairns by the creek. Sneezing, coughing, and suspiciously warm, she loses grip of the Biologist's jacket every ten paces or so. She falls often, hands and face now filthy, hair matted, soaked from top to bottom.

At some point while piling stones - the Biologist now half buried - she becomes feverish, delusional. Her footing becomes confused. On a trip further downstream for larger rocks she trips and plunges into the current, hands outstretched. She hits stone beneath the water. Her left wrist cracks clean in the bend of an unseen souse hole. She lashes in pain, screams, grasps for dull roots in the spring rain.

On the bank, panting, groaning, she collapses.

Several hours pass.

The Biomedical Scientist pokes her on the bottom with the Bhikkhuni's staff. She wakes, startled. Then moans, sputtering.

I thought you were dead, says the Biomedical Scientist. After an hour of waiting I started poking everything.

You gave me hyacinths first a year ago, she murmurs. They called me the hyacinth girl....

Are you okay?

No answer.

The Biomedical Student deduces that she's not okay. Gently, he takes her by the crook of the arm and lifts. She reaches out to push, wailing when pressure's put on her left hand. Shocked, he drops her. She rolls on the ground. He waits, then attempts again. She pushes with her right hand and rises. Arm over his shoulder, they walk back to the oak. Her face is marked with scrapes from the struggle. A bruise rises from her forehead.

At the oak, all attempts by the Biomedical Scientist to comfort her go unwanted. She repeatedly crawls toward the table and the pistols. Finally ceding, he helps her up, takes her to the table. She choses a pistol. He takes the other. They walk to the field. She - amazingly - manages to stand, however shakily, on her own. He walks ten paces away.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.