DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Futuria Fantasia, v. 1, issue 4, Spring 1940

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Futuria Fantasia, v. 1, issue 4, Spring 1940

Page 6

6

ous surgeon had laid claim to before the Leader had decided that men of his religion had no need for money.  Lans placed half of the gold in a money belt and strapped it around his waist. His wife concealed the other half somewhere about her ample person.

IT WAS AN hour and twenty minutes later that Lans put down the last instrument, nodded to the surgeons assisting him, and commenced to strip off operating gloves. He took one last look at his two patients before he left the room. They were anonymous under the sterile gowns and dressings. Had he not known, he could not have guessed dictator from oppressed. Come to think of it, with the exchange of those two tiny glands there was something of the dictator in his victim and something of the victim in the dictator.

DOCTOR LANS RETURNED TO THE hospital later in the day, after seeing his wife and daughter safely settled in a first class hotel. It was an extravagance, in view of his uncertain prospects as a refugee, but they had enjoyed no luxuries for years back there---he didn't consider it his home country--and it was justified this once.

He inquired at the office of the hospital for his second patient. The clerk looked puzzled. "But he is not here..."

"Not here?"

"Why, no. He was moved at the same time as His Excellency---back to your country."

Lans did not argue. The trick was obvious; it was too late to do anything for poor Samuel. He thanked his God that he had had the fore sight to place himself and his family beyond the reach of such brutal injustice before operating. He thanked the clerk and left.

THE LEADER RECOVERED CONSCIOUSNESS AT LAST. His brain was confused--then he recalled the events before he had gone to sleep. The operation!--it was over! And he was alive! He had never admitted to anyone how terribly frightened he had been at the prospect. But he had lived--he had lived! He groped around for the bellcord, and failing to find it, gradually forced his eyes to focus on the room. What outrageous nonsense was this? This was no sort of a room for the Leader to convalesce in. He took in the dirty white-washed ceiling, and the bare wooden floor with distaste. And the bed! It was no more than a cot!

He shouted. Someone came in, a man wearing a uniform of a trooper in his favorite corps. He started to give him the tongue-lashing of his life, before having him arrested. But he was cut short.

"Cut out the racket, you unholy pig!"

At first he was too astounded to answer, then he shrieked, "Stand at attention when you address the Leader! Salute!"

The trooper looked dumbfounded at the sick man -- so totally different in appearance from the Leader, then guffawed. He stepped to the cot, struck a pose with his right arm raised in salute. He carried

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6 ous surgeon had laid claim to before the Leader had decided that men of his religion had no need for money. Lans placed half of the gold in a money belt and strapped it around his waist. His wife concealed the other half somewhere about her ample person. IT WAS AN hour and twenty minutes later that Lans put down the last instrument, nodded to the surgeons assisting him, and commenced to strip off operating gloves. He took one last look at his two patients before he left the room. They were anonymous under the sterile gowns and dressings. Had he not known, he could not have guessed dictator from oppressed. Come to think of it, with the exchange of those two tiny glands there was something of the dictator in his victim and something of the victim in the dictator. DOCTOR LANS RETURNED TO THE hospital later in the day, after seeing his wife and daughter safely settled in a first class hotel. It was an extravagance, in view of his uncertain prospects as a refugee, but they had enjoyed no luxuries for years back there---he didn't consider it his home country--and it was justified this once. He inquired at the office of the hospital for his second patient. The clerk looked puzzled. "But he is not here..." "Not here?" "Why, no. He was moved at the same time as His Excellency---back to your country." Lans did not argue. The trick was obvious; it was too late to do anything for poor Samuel. He thanked his God that he had had the fore sight to place himself and his family beyond the reach of such brutal injustice before operating. He thanked the clerk and left. THE LEADER RECOVERED CONSCIOUSNESS AT LAST. His brain was confused--then he recalled the events before he had gone to sleep. The operation!--it was over! And he was alive! He had never admitted to anyone how terribly frightened he had been at the prospect. But he had lived--he had lived! He groped around for the bellcord, and failing to find it, gradually forced his eyes to focus on the room. What outrageous nonsense was this? This was no sort of a room for the Leader to convalesce in. He took in the dirty white-washed ceiling, and the bare wooden floor with distaste. And the bed! It was no more than a cot! He shouted. Someone came in, a man wearing a uniform of a trooper in his favorite corps. He started to give him the tongue-lashing of his life, before having him arrested. But he was cut short. "Cut out the racket, you unholy pig!" At first he was too astounded to answer, then he shrieked, "Stand at attention when you address the Leader! Salute!" The trooper looked dumbfounded at the sick man -- so totally different in appearance from the Leader, then guffawed. He stepped to the cot, struck a pose with his right arm raised in salute. He carried