What Happened to That Nose? (Part 3)
Josef... Paul Joseph Goebbels.
Don't tell me this bastard is related to that infamous propagandist. The eras are completely different, of course, but given the circumstances... there is a very real chance they share blood. For starters, that pale, sullen countenance of his looks downright uncanny.
"Frightened, are you?" Josef sneered with boundless arrogance, catching me lost in thought as I mentally connected his name and vile anti-Semitic slurs to the Nazis.
Naturally—though finding it 'natural' was rather hilarious in its own right—Liston was the first to react.
"Ridiculous," Liston barked. "Do you truly believe Kim Taepyeong of London would be intimidated by a wretch like you?"
"Kim Ty-pyeong of London?"
"The bastard can't even pronounce it right," Liston muttered under his breath.
"Hmph. I see no reason to be faulted for failing to properly enunciate an Oriental's name."
"Ha!"
Liston began rolling his massive fists in slow, deliberate circles. To be completely honest, I had no desire to stop him. The bastard thoroughly had a beating coming.
"Whoa, whoa, hold on now."
The Director, however, seemed to think differently. Given the way he had recognized the man earlier...
Is this fellow actually famous?
The real issue wasn't giving him a thrashing—killing a prominent figure and disposing of the corpse was just a massive headache. Of course, with the underworld connections we had forged while sourcing beef pancreases... We could always have our friendly neighborhood gangsters feed him to the pigs, so disappearing him wouldn't be impossible, but still...
The brother is an issue, too.
If a man whose nose had been sliced clean off could swagger around like that, would he simply keep his mouth shut? Well, a sound thrashing would probably quiet him down. In my experience, quiet men start blabbering when beaten, and loudmouths shut their traps. Beat them a bit more, and everyone falls dead silent anyway.
Still, he's Colin's brother...
If he were a total stranger, we could just bolt the clinic doors and deal with them both right here. But he was tied to one of my pupils. I couldn't resort to that.
Bear with it, my boy. Liston mouthed, slowly shaking his head as though reading my grim thoughts.
In the meantime, the Director stepped forward, clapping a reassuring hand onto my shoulder.
Are you confident? he mouthed silently.
Of course, I signaled back.
Nodding at my response, the Director let out a hearty chuckle before addressing Josef.
"Now then, Josef. I trust you are well aware of this hospital's sterling reputation."
"Hmph... Englishmen getting lucky with a bit of fleeting fame, nothing more."
At that insolent retort, the Director glanced back over his shoulder toward us. He silently mouthed: Can we kill him without leaving a trace?
Unfortunately, Liston shook his head. We could kill him, but it would leave tracks, his grimace implied. Not being entirely sure of the legal fallout myself, I kept my mouth shut. Though if I mobilized every underground contact at my disposal, we probably could have pulled it off somehow...
"Bloody hell," the Director cursed under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing at all! A competition, you say... Hmm... Very well, we accept."
"Not afraid of utterly humiliating yourselves, I see?"
"Does that mean you're backing out? Sounds to me like we have your blessing to operate on the lieutenant ourselves."
"No, absolutely not. I happen to owe a debt in that regard."
Just how on earth had the officer fallen into debt with a creature like Josef? I was dying of curiosity, but that was something to unravel after grinding this quack into dust.
And looking at the brother's face... The more I inspected that missing nose, the clearer it became that it would be no simple procedure. Even so, there was one thing I knew for certain: in this century, there was no chance in hell I could lose. Call it prejudice if you like, but there was no way in the world I was losing to a rat-faced quack like him. Not a chance.
"Excellent," the Director declared. "Then let us make a grand spectacle of it!"
"A spectacle...?"
"We must recruit patients first, wouldn't you say? We shall gather our subjects and conduct the operations right in the public square!"
Wait... what?! Could I actually lose this now?!
Director, after everything I've preached day in and day out about antisepsis and the deadly danger of post-operative infection, what on earth were you listening to? A public square all of a sudden?! Are you deliberately trying to shatter my composure and throw the match?
"A square. Fine by me," Josef said. "But must we really go through the tedious trouble of recruiting patients?"
"What are you implying?"
Regardless of my inner turmoil, the negotiation marched forward—and not in a pleasant direction. To be frank, I had quite a favorable impression of German craftsmanship in the modern era. My surgical instruments were exclusively German-made, and I never touched a laparoscope or endoscope unless it possessed German engineering. Aside from my impoverished days as a military surgeon, that had always been my rule.
"On my way here, I noticed quite a few subhumans crawling about," Josef remarked casually. "Those Jews... Why not simply slice off one of their hooked noses and fashion a nose from that?"
Hearing this vile garbage spill effortlessly from his mouth made my head spin. Modern Germans made fantastic medical equipment, but were people of his ilk really running around back then? Did the Nazis not just appear out of thin air after all?
Hun savages will always be Huns, won't they? Ah, no offense intended toward you, of course, Liston leaned in and whispered as I shook my head in disbelief. I had no idea what he meant by that historical jab. I would have to ask him later.
"The laws of the British Empire do not tolerate such barbarity," the Director stated firmly.
"Only through sheer luck have your laws remained so soft. If this were the great Germanic race..."
"Um, Dr. Josef," Colin's brother interjected, shifting uncomfortably. "Let us accept the contest for now. While in London, it would be wise to follow their terms."
"Ah, fine, fine. But is such a contest truly necessary? I am already the finest in the field."
"Well, the thing is..."
Looking closely, even Colin's brother appeared somewhat rattled as he listened to the man prattle on. Anyone with half a brain in their skull would be. When someone spews virulent hatred as naturally as breathing, it is bound to test anyone's patience.
"If you triumph here, wouldn't it cement your standing to establish a lucrative practice?" the brother urged.
"Hmm, that is true. Well... do not fret over my words. I am, after all, the visionary who devised surgical procedures specifically to correct those vulgar Jews."
"I... see. At any rate, Director?"
The Director nodded at the naval officer.
"When shall we hold the match? Living in this state is hardly easy, and it invites unwanted misunderstandings."
"Well... finding someone in London missing a nose can hardly be considered a difficult task. Three days should be more than enough time to prepare."
"Three days. Very well. We shall return then."
"Yes, do that. We will be coordinating with the Metropolitan Police anyway, so you will hear of the arrangements whether you wish to or not."
"Understood. My apologies for the intrusion."
With that, Colin's brother departed alongside Josef.
Thud.
The instant the door swung shut, Colin dropped heavily to his knees, his anxious gaze darting between Liston, the Director, and me. Joseph and Alfred, who had slipped into the office at some point, were glaring down at him with less-than-charitable expressions.
"I am so terribly sorry! I had no idea my brother would bring such a monster and pull a stunt like this...!"
"Stand up, lad. It's not your fault. However..."
Though the Director told him to rise, his eyes remained fixed on Colin, radiating palpable displeasure. The atmosphere practically screamed that if Colin actually dared to stand, he would catch hell. No, I could guarantee it wasn't just an impression—he would be thoroughly skinned alive. Fortunately, Colin was sharp enough to read the room and stayed planted firmly on the floor.
"That Josef fellow is undeniably an extraordinary piece of work," the Director grunted. "What in blazes possesses your brother to act like this?"
"Well... he was severely disfigured in battle, wasn't he?"
"Aye. Ah, don't tell me..."
"Yes. He will no longer be able to serve at sea. He isn't a bad person by nature... but he must have grown utterly desperate. That was why he conceived the notion of managing a clinic in London..."
"By usurping your position, wasn't he? And you're defending him like that?"
"It's because of his wound, sir. Truly, he didn't mean to..."
"You are foolishly, hopelessly soft-hearted. Still, take a smack for it."
Smack!
"Urgh!"
The Director delivered a sharp cuff to the back of Colin's head, then turned toward Liston, me, and the rest of the apprentices.
Whoa... Has he always looked this terrifying?
Perhaps it was the fury in his scowl, but even if he wasn't built like Liston, he looked more than capable of having a couple of bodies quietly dumped into the Thames.
"Can you win this, you lot?"
"Ah... yes."
I found myself nodding vigorously before I could even process the question. Apparently, that wasn't the answer he wanted. His scowl didn't soften in the slightest.
"Do you say that knowing who Josef actually is?"
"No, frankly, I don't."
"If you were Colin, I'd have clouted you across the jaw, but I'll spare you since you are Doctor Pyoung. Does it make a lick of sense to boast when you don't even know who you're up against?"
"I... I apologize."
I apologized out loud, but inwardly I felt rather aggrieved. Lose to a nineteenth-century surgeon? Not a chance in hell. Of course, I wasn't foolish enough to voice that aloud, so I held my tongue and waited.
"Josef... as mentioned earlier, is a man who specializes in rhinoplasty," the Director explained. "His clientele consists mostly of Jews. One of the stereotypical traits associated with them is a hooked, aquiline nose, isn't it? He reshapes it so they won't be suspected of being Jewish based on their features."
"Hah... dorsal hump reduction?"
That was actually somewhat surprising. Shaving down a nasal hump was relatively straightforward compared to total nasal reconstruction. That meant the bastard was surprisingly shrewd in selecting his surgical cases. My thoughts drifted for a moment—shouldn't I be feeling sympathy for the persecuted Jews first? But my surgeon's instincts took precedence.
"And so, I hear he is exceptionally skilled in reconstruction as well."
"What does shaving a nasal hump have to do with total nasal reconstruction?"
"Are you truly confident in this match?"
"I am, but... that logic simply doesn't connect."
The Director let out a weary sigh at my question before continuing. "When surgeons operate on the nose, tissue necrosis happens all too frequently."
"Ah..."
"Because they don't disinfect, you see. In any case, that is why he is said to be adept at reconstruction."
"Doesn't that cause massive legal trouble?" I asked. "Patients come in to alter their nose, and it ends up rotting away to nothing!"
"Trouble? Hah... When operating on disenfranchised Jews, who would hold him accountable? If anything, Josef's people would likely murder the complainant to bury the matter."
"Ah, right..."
I see. He's an utter monster, then. No wonder he had the audacity to spout insolence right into Liston's face.
"At any rate, can you still win?"
"Well... I am quite certain I can."
"Very well... Doctor Pyoung. If it comes from your lips, I choose to believe it. But if things go awry, the responsibility rests solely on your shoulders. You understand?"
"Of course."
"I won't fire you or anything of the sort. But if you lose, you will devote yourself entirely to diabetes treatments. When the aristocracy calls, you'll trot over and attend to them diligently."
"Understood."
Nodding my head, I pondered Josef's surgical history.
Why would the noses rot?
It wasn't just a lack of disinfection. While antisepsis certainly played a massive role, the truth was that even in the twenty-first century, complete sterilization inside the nasal cavity is practically impossible. How could anyone completely disinfect the mucosa of the internal nasal passages? At best, you scrub the external skin and incision margins. Rather than just infection, his surgical technique itself had to be atrocious.
Could he truly be good at reconstruction?
Not a chance in hell. Conviction settled deep in my chest. A surgeon with such an abysmal mindset couldn't possibly possess refined technique.
Above all, reconstructive surgery only truly flourished after the twentieth century. Before then, it was an absolute slaughterhouse mess. In fact, before the advent of anesthesia, all surgery was a nightmare of butchery.
Wait... anesthesia?
"Are you truly confident?" the Director asked again.
"Absolutely."
"How can you be so certain? If he has decades of experience behind him... even you might..."
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Aha. You truly are... a genius, my boy."