The Saint, Part II

Finding syphilis patients was not difficult in itself. The symptoms of the disease manifested directly on the skin, almost like a brand of divine punishment, breaking out in unsightly purple rashes all over the body. Even without that, tracking down a patient was hardly a challenge.

"Sister. Our church does not have the resources to take in patients with infectious diseases."

"W-what do you mean...! Didn't a tuberculosis patient just go inside?"

"I am sorry. We cannot help you."

Right in front of the charity hospital's doors, a priest was shaking his head, turning away a syphilis patient. Those afflicted with the disease were treated as sinners. The Bible commanded, 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.' And did these patients not bear the undeniable mark of that very 'adultery' etched into their very skin?

"One would think Mary Magdalene was a sinless saint by the way they act," Freud muttered, his brow deeply furrowed as he shook his head.

"Sigh, I wonder why we even bothered to study medicine..." Landsteiner lamented, looking too ashamed to lift his head.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Medical ethics were still decades away from being properly established. In the modern era, people might clamor for dictators like Hitler or the northern pig to just rot and die without treatment if they fell ill. But 19th-century hospitals actively mirrored such public sentiment: Sinners shall not be treated! Still, shouldn't the church, of all places, be different? To openly declare that the right to judge sinners belonged to the church rather than God was the height of arrogance.

"It truly is the height of hypocrisy," I said.

"...Marx, my boy. Let us not wait. Let's go to those patients at once."

"Yes. I will go speak with her."

The syphilis patient was a woman. The disease had not yet ravaged her entire body; the purple rashes were only just beginning to spread across her skin.

"Excuse me, were you just turned away by that church?"

"...Yes, that's right. I couldn't possibly afford the medicine, so I came all the way here, only to be refused treatment."

"What do you plan to do now?"

"It has always been this way. Though leaving this world feels so unfair and sorrowful... I always knew a day like this might come. I have no choice but to accept it. After all... I am a sinner."

Despite being terribly ill, she fidgeted restlessly, looking deeply apologetic and ashamed. I offered her the warmest smile I could muster and gently took her hand.

"No matter what kind of life you have lived, everyone has the right to survive. Whether they are the Kaiser or a commoner."

"..."

"We have developed a medicine that is highly effective against syphilis. Would you be willing to try the treatment?"

"But the cost..."

"It is entirely free, of course. Though I cannot guarantee how well the medicine will work."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she asked again and again if it was truly free.

"I cannot promise it will cure you. But surely, you cannot simply lie down and wait to die like this, can you?"

"B-but... I am a sinner..."

"Doesn't that church say the same? That all humans are sinners under God. What difference does a little extra sin make?"

"T-thank you... Thank you..."

The doctors and I escorted her—her name was Elisabeth—to Freud's clinic. From our conversation, it became clear that Elisabeth worked in that profession. The trade most vulnerable to syphilis.

In this era, syphilis was an incurable death sentence. At best, the only treatment was a drastic prescription of heavy mercury doses. Even if one survived the syphilis, they would be ruined by heavy metal poisoning. If you asked whether syphilis or mercury poisoning was better, I suppose mercury poisoning won out. Or did it? Die versus enter a state worse than death. What a maddening choice.

Of course, even mercury was hard to come by for working women in the slums. It's insane. This is a mad era where they literally sell mercury as cosmetics. Since they already smeared it on their faces daily, they probably didn't think twice about applying it in massive quantities as medicine. Regardless.

Dr. Landsteiner injected the penicillin into her veins.

"Let us start with a low dosage. We have already confirmed that high doses cause renal complications. But, Mr. Shtal... will penicillin truly be effective against syphilis?"

I nodded, though I couldn't be absolutely certain. I recalled hearing somewhere that if syphilis was still in its early stages, pumping the patient full of antibiotics could clear it. Even AIDS symptoms were managed with a cocktail of antibiotics. Looking at it this way, penicillin truly was a miracle drug.

"We will administer daily doses and monitor your progress. Please return here tomorrow. Will you be able to make it on your own?"

"Y-yes...! Thank you, thank you so much!" Elisabeth bowed to us repeatedly, tears streaming down her face as she left the clinic.

Dr. Freud spoke with a slightly conflicted expression. "This feels rather odd. If anything, we should be the ones thanking her. This is, for all intents and purposes, human experimentation."

"All's well that ends well. Syphilis is terminal anyway, isn't it? And we possess the potential to cure it."

"Hmm... I suppose so."

"More importantly, we need to produce more penicillin immediately. Our current supply is barely enough to treat a single patient."

Due to the limitations of current technology, mass purification of penicillin was still impossible. It was only because I was a chemist with modern knowledge that we could even manage it; otherwise, chemically purifying it to a pure state would have been virtually impossible. On top of that, penicillin's shelf life was atrocious. This was true even in the modern era. In a world without refrigeration, it would spoil after a mere three hours. Consequently, the penicillin had to be administered fresh and warm, straight out of purification.

"Well, it's about time to start synthesizing tomorrow's batch of penicillin."

"You haven't had a fever since the last injection, have you?"

"N-no, not at all...!"

"The rashes on your skin have almost entirely vanished. There will be some scarring, but I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that."

"Oh, no! Please, don't worry about that! You doctors have saved my life! Thank you, thank you so much!"

After three weeks of consistent, low-dose penicillin injections, the syphilis was completely eradicated, leaving no trace behind. She wept tears of joy, offering her deepest gratitude over and over. Having been snatched from the jaws of an incurable death, she could not contain her thankfulness.

"This proves that penicillin can cure bacterial infections."

"Shtal, my boy, we are far from finished. This could simply be a fluke. We must conduct several more trials."

"We have to do this again...?"

The lack of mass production meant that Shtal had to personally culture massive amounts of mold and purify it through grueling, backbreaking labor. It was only possible because it was Shtal, but the limitations of this method were glaringly obvious. Even Shtal had barely managed to meet the demand by sleeping only four hours a day.

And yet.

"Regardless, you have saved humanity. Congratulations, Shtal."

"Ah, is that so...? For now, I just need to sleep."

Before he could even register the weight of the achievement, Shtal collapsed onto his bed and fell into a deep, death-like slumber.

Meanwhile.

"Elisabeth? You had syphilis! How are you still...?"

"This is impossible! Every syphilis patient I've ever seen withered away and died in no time!"

"It's a miracle! A miracle!"

Nine out of ten syphilis patients were doomed to die. Furthermore, the vast majority of them were working women in the slums, who lacked the strength and resources to fight the disease and could do nothing but wait for death. Even in the one-in-a-hundred chance that someone survived, they were left with horrific scars all over their skin. It was not without reason that syphilis was viewed as God's punishment for moral corruption.

But now.

"Elisabeth... how did you do it?"

"Did you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pray to God? How is this even possible...?"

"The Virgin Mary must have aided you."

But Elisabeth shook her head.

"No. A doctor cured me."

"What? Where would you get the money for treatment? Besides, doctors don't even treat syphilis patients..."

"He cured me for free. Meeting such doctors must surely have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been the work of the Holy Mother. I believe the doctor's name was Shtal."

"Heavens... an angel must have descended to earth in human form."

"Yes! That might truly be the case. He said that all people are equal under God."

The rumor that syphilis had been completely cured spread like wildfire throughout the slums. Of course, the slums were still the slums. Though the rumors eventually leaked to the outside world, the reaction was skeptical.

"Mold juice curing syphilis? Ha, does that make any sense?"

"It's far more believable that the Virgin Mary herself intervened."

After all, was it not just a single prostitute who had miraculously overcome the disease? To the established medical community, which was already hostile toward penicillin, the superstitious beliefs of the slum dwellers seemed more plausible than any therapeutic effect of the drug.

And so.

"Since we started with syphilis, let's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠make our next patient a syphilis case as well."

"That sounds wise, Shtal. This time, let's head toward the taverns, where the risk of syphilis is highest."

After a brief rest, the moment Shtal, Freud, and Landsteiner set foot in the slums once more—

"They have arrived..."

"The miracle doctors who cure syphilis are here!"

"Peter! Peter, who heals the sick and raises the dead, has appeared!"

The slum dwellers fell to their knees before Shtal, offering prayers of repentance. Some who were blind or lame even clung to him, weeping and begging to be healed.

...Peter? This is insane.

From my past life to the present, I had always been a die-hard atheist who believed religion was the opium of the masses. Yet here I was, being treated like an apostle of Jesus. While Shtal certainly welcomed public adoration and endless handshakes, being revered as a god or a saint was a bit much.

Freud tried his best to calm the frenzied crowd.

"Listen to me, everyone! This is modern medicine. We have simply developed a highly effective treatment for syphilis."

But the masses, having already witnessed a miracle, refused to listen to a word he said.

"A doctor? Then why would you come all the way here to cure sinful prostitutes?!"

"And a medicine like that must be incredibly expensive! Why would you just give it away to people like us?"

"Even if they aren't real angels or Saint Peter, they are undoubtedly saints!"

"Praise Shtal! Praise Freud!"

The words 'I have nothing to do with Peter or Christ. I am Jewish' rose to the back of Shtal's throat, but he held them back.

There was no telling what a crowd driven mad by religious fervor might do. How could such a thing happen in the 19th century, an era of science and reason? Nonsense. Even in the 21st century, an era of atheism, snake oil and miracle waters were still sold openly. Even highly educated university professors fell prey to cults. How much more vulnerable were these illiterate slum dwellers? To them, magic and miracles were far more familiar than modern medicine.

Let's just... roll with it. Since it's already come to this.

In any case, guided by the slum dwellers, Shtal located another syphilis patient.

"He is going to cure that syphilis patient!"

"Oh, Lord...!"

Naturally, the crowd was expecting a brilliant light to burst forth at his touch, instantly curing the syphilis. Unfortunately, he could not meet those expectations.

After administering the injection to the patient, Freud wiped away a cold sweat and spoke to Shtal.

"Phew, this is exhausting work. Never in my life did I think I would be called Saint Peter."

"For you, Professor Freud, it's not so bad. They were calling me Christ."

"Hahaha! What a masterpiece. If this were the 15th century, we would have been burned at the stake immediately."

"Still, it's not all bad."

Freud smiled, as if in agreement. Even if Shtal felt differently, Freud and Landsteiner were doctors driven by a grand mission to conquer all diseases. Though they received absolutely no material compensation, hearing themselves praised as Christ or saints by a roaring crowd was something money could never buy.

Furthermore.

...Perhaps curing a disease requires more than just good medicine and advanced medical techniques.

In the slums they had visited for the first time in their lives, the two doctors had glimpsed another clue to conquering human suffering.

On the other hand, for Shtal, who possessed no such noble medical calling, the outcome was equally satisfactory.

If I recall, universal suffrage will be introduced in Austria in about seven or eight years, right?

He had already secured the fierce loyalty of tens of thousands of people. Of course, the parliament of the Austro-Hungarian Empire currently held no real power. Even the universal suffrage to be implemented in a few years would serve no purpose other than making the subjects feel good about themselves.

Nevertheless.

The core of 20th-century politics is mass mobilization. Even if I were to launch a completely unjustified coup, these people would pick up rifles and fight for me.

Unlike other established politicians, Shtal's first political steps began at the absolute bottom.

During election seasons, even octogenarians on their deathbeds would open their eyes wide and roam the country like energetic twenty-somethings. Raising the dead was not a power exclusive to Christ. Endless applause and roaring cheers were enough to make even a corpse kick open its coffin.

And though Shtal's eyes were hollow and dark from staying up all night synthesizing penicillin, they burned with an unmistakable, vibrant life.