Autopsy

The alarm clock rang at five-fifteen in the morning. Roland, a criminalist by profession and a sort of a writer’s stunt, switches on the reading lamp and looks at his wife, who had already woken up but with closed eyes lies motionless. Lately suffering from insomnia, she usually sleeps until late.

She did not intend to get up while still dark but vaguely remembering something her husband had said about waking up early, she asks: — Why are you are leaving so early?

— Witness an autopsy. It has to be today, it is already agreed. As I am a writer from the realism school, I want to see it in person. To imagine is not enough. I need it for my next chapter.

— Do you already know whom they are going to autopsy?

— No. I intend to see two dissections. One male and one female. I am still not sure whether in my story I'm going to dismember a male or female. — Roland sometimes, playfully uses dark humour, precisely because the wife does not approve his literary style and she makes it clear. She thinks he does not have to be so conspicuous to attract readers.

— Are you sure the public enjoys these barbarities?

— In general, the male audience likes it, but it is necessary to be stylish, injecting a bit of philosophy into the butcher shop.

— Wouldn't it be an emotional imbalance for these readers?

— Everyone is more or less imbalanced, dear. Some psychiatrists for example are much more ‘’nuts’’ than the regular person.  The danger lies in the fact that anyone who dares speak up can be framed in an academic abnormality. If, on the other hand, he is too reserved, there is something fishy... A “very straightforward” mate would reveal, for this reason alone, a problem to be investigated.

 

An hour later Roland steps into the morgue. He asks an employee the whereabouts of Dr. Moraes' office, his friend and former client. Without his permission, he could not attend the examination. The authorization had already been granted. Minutes later the doctor shows up.

— Hey there, come in, come in… Our Brazilian Zola… — cries out Dr. Moraes, good-humoured, round face, stocky body, white metal glasses. — Watching the Academy, huh? Have you bought the uniform?

— The gown would get into my way;  strip me of my freedom. I, to impress academics, would have to touch up everything I write — replied Roland shaking his hand. — How’s it? I am ready for the massacre.

— What kind of autopsy do you want to watch?

— What do you mean? Are there differences?

— Of course, it depends on the purpose. Well, if there is no specification, I choose. Well ... You will watch the necropsies of two people who died without medical assistance. These are usually people without resources. For burial purposes it is necessary to check the "causa mortis", when the cause of death is unknown. Whether it was violent, a suicide, a necropsy is also required.

— Any death will do for me. The whole body, of course. I need the details.

— Necropsies are made in another sector, not far from here.

— You do not say autopsy. You say necropsy. Is "autopsy" wrong?

— I think it is more appropriate to say necropsy. “Autopsy,” from the Greek, would strictly be a self-examination. Necropsy would be the examination of a body, but this issue of appropriate names is irrelevant.

Walking briskly trying to keep up with the doctor’s pace Roland smelled formalin and other odours he could not identify. He heard some yelps.

— Looks like dogs yelping. Am I right?

— Yeah. Medical students doing experiments.

— Painful? Asked Roland, penalized.

—Sometimes. They try to anesthetize first.

 They stopped in front of a glass door.

— "You mean you’ve never seen an autopsy?" Won't you feel bad, pass out?

— I don’t think so. I am a cold person. If I feel sick or noxious, I’ll step outside.

— Just a warning: once inside do not lean against anything. The corpses may have a contagious disease and you would take the pathogens with you. I strongly advise you to stick your hands into your pockets.

Roland accepted the suggestion and they both entered the large room.

Next to the entrance, on the left side, there was a table with three small bodies. Very young children. Two dark and one white. They had a huge cut from the neck down to the pubis, but the cut was already sewn. Even if they were dressed and lying in a bed, they would not look like children sleeping. Death had left its mark on the eyes, albeit closed. The small bow legs were a sign of rickets. They awaken a feeling of loss and abandonment.

To the right of the door is a row of tables with small wheels. On top of each table, a corpse. Some, with their faces covered. The closest to Roland, his face uncovered, is a dark-haired boy, twenty-five years old, bearded, with a narrow face, a thin body, thus presumed despite being covered with a sheet up to his neck. His face resembles the usual depiction of a light-skinned European Christ. Tall, his thin yellow feet protrude far beyond the sheet that covers him, made for people of average height.

The neighbouring table is occupied by the corpse of a burly man in his 40s. He has a puffy face and an angry man's expression.

           — Excuse me, asks a male nurse, standing between Roland and the corpse of the hard-faced man. He pushes the wheeled table until it is parallel to the autopsy table, which is about three meters long, more or less. On the side where the corpse feet are, there is a stainless steel sink built into the table itself. In this sink, the organs are washed, cut and sliced ​​for examination.

The corpse is transferred with some brutality - practical, routine - from the sliding table to the fixed table, without the slightest "deference" to the human being though dead, as if dealing with a large bag of potatoes. Since the man is very heavy, the two nurses had to work hard, coordinated - “Let's go together: one, two, three, now!” - to transfer it from the table, one holding the feet and the other, stronger, taking charge of the trunk. Because of the removal effort, the heavy corpse was practically rolled onto the autopsy table, almost falling on the other side.

The dead man's arms were stiff and bent, as if in a defensive position, in a boxing match. In such position, it would be impossible for the nurse to work on the chest and head. It was therefore necessary to stretch the arms of the deceased combative mature man. Roland, always imaginative, involuntarily thought: - "Our white Mike Tyson would not agree ..."

Sure enough. Indeed, it was hard to ward the deceased off, due to the cadaverous rigidity. One of the nurses, the skinniest, tried to stretch his right arm, giving it a tug. With no success, he tries harder, his right hand holding the dead man's right hand. They seemed, for Roland, to be engaged in an "arm wrestling contest". The first result was an honourable draw for the deceased, who certainly had been a very strong man.

Not wanting to embarrass the visitor, the skinny nurse, as if guessing Roland's imagination, took a quick look at the writer and used both hands to stretch the stiff arm. Roland, an addict of fiction, immediately imagined the protest of the dead man: "That’s not fair! I'm going to bite this bastard's ear!" Whether or not fair, the living human throwing all his weight, almost suspended in mid-air, won the struggle stretching the dead man’s arm while the other nurse held on the other side of the corpse, preventing it from moving away from the right position.

Thus duly with the arms stretched out, the nurse who was in charge of the head tucked a block of wood, like a wedge, under the back of the corpse, who was standing now with the chest high and the head dropped back. Then he took a large kitchen knife and sharpened the blade in a long knife sharpener. He set the sharpener aside and began to cut into the scalp, starting the operation behind one ear. 

He made a very straight cut, cutting deep, with small movements of the knife back and forth, so that the blade edge reached the skull bone. He kept on working, until he reached behind the other ear. He dropped the knife and dug his nails into the cut. He gripped one of the sides tightly and started pulling the scalp towards his forehead.

The scalp was very tight; it did not come off easily. It popped up "tack, tack" in a row. When the resistance was stronger, the nurse helped cut the holding tissue with the knife, cutting the remaining links underneath. So he did, until the scalp, inside out, reached the mouth of the deceased.

Thus, the sight became unbearable. Since the hair was not short, it looked as if the deceased was bearded — which was not the case — and had part of the face covered by a mask of raw flesh obviously covering the eyes.

Until that moment, Roland had managed to hold on. He was swallowing hard. His Adam's apple rose and fell. It was necessary to employ all his resistance when the nurse picked up a bow saw and started sawing horizontally the forehead producing a lid. The partially bare and bloody forehead, sawed without the least hesitation, was a view, which only did not make Roland vomit because he always had an enormous difficulty in vomiting.

The nurse sawed the skull completely, marking a large cap. Moreover the brains, which were close to the skull, were cut.

After using the fine saw, the nurse tried to separate the cap with the unique movement of his hand. He dug his nails into the crevice of the bones, as he had done before with his scalp, but he did not succeed. Maybe because there was not room enough to insert his nails.

Everything was routine for the nurse. He picked up a chisel and hammer. He placed the chisel blade in the slit on the forehead and tapped the other end with the hammer, easily forcing the edges to separate. He put the chisel aside and, with his nails well positioned on the edge of the bone, separated the cap, which came out with a good portion of the brain.

Using both hands, the nurse carefully removed the viscous brain, which made "cloft, cloft", when detaching itself from the skull.

By then the other nurse had already opened the belly, from the breastbone to the pubis. Roland had not even seen him make the large longitudinal cut in the abdomen, so impressed he was with what was happening in the head of the corpse. When he looked away from the capless head, the chest was already open. The second nurse, equipped with special scissors, with short and curved blades, was busy cutting the protection bones of the chest in order to extract and examine the heart and other organs.

The same nurse — or was it another one? Roland was already a little groggy from the carnage — turned over the green intestines and pulled out the liver, which was placed near the sink, after which it was washed and sliced. The nurse cut and examined the colour of the slices, exchanging a few words with the doctor, who took notes.

Then he took the brain his colleague had given him and proceeded to cut it, also into slices.

While this nurse examined the slices of the organs, the other took a handful of sawdust, which was in an open bag, next to the table, and filled the void of the skull. He replaced the bone cap on his head and pulled the scalp back. The cranial bone was covered again, presentable.

— Now he has become "brainless" — joked the doctor who had lost all sensitivity to spectacles of this nature.

Roland, seeing the dead man's half-open mouth, asked:

— His tongue is very dark, don't you think? Does death darken the tongue?

— Eh? Muttered the nurse, curious. He forced the jaw down, opening the deceased's mouth wide. Not satisfied, wanting a better examination, he gripped the tongue tightly and pulled it out as far as he could.

— Ain’t nothing wrong - he concluded, examining it. - That's about it" he said, looking at the tongue, which almost resembled a cow's tongue, only less bulky. Satisfied with the inspection, he pushed the tongue back, shutting the mouth of the deceased. Then, he started sewing the scalp, using a kind of shoemaker's needle. In this job, he brusquely moved the head of the deceased, paying little attention to the indignant face of the bully who either in heaven or in purgatory — Roland wondered — would be boiling with such disrespect. At certain times according to the needs of his job he pushed the cheeks from one side to another. According to the position, the dead man's expression seemed even angrier at such insults, as if his face was being slapped.

The nurses, very experienced, were well synchronized in their tasks. While the one on the head was grotesquely sewing the scalp, the other was quickly removing blood by the ladle from the abdominal cavity and throwing the organs back — liver, intestines, pancreas, etc. The brain was also thrown into the belly. Roland could not help but imagine the amount of work that this citizen was inducing in Doomsday with the dead coming out of their tombs. To judge souls it would be necessary to examine their bellies. Like many people he knew.

The belly was also sewn quickly, with a little sawdust inside to absorb the remaining blood.

Roland, after the scene of macabre violence, found it necessary to rest a little. He asked to leave. In the corridor, he took a deep breath and then felt a deep need to smoke. He puffed and concluded that he knew little about life, in its deepest sense, despite his forty years.

— How’s it? — asked the doctor. — I thought you were going to faint. It would not be an unusual fact, for those who watch for the first time.

— How many autopsies do you do every day?

— Forty on average.

— I was surprised that the corpse did not stink. At least not as much as I had expected.

— It's just that it came out of from the freezer. But you need to see when the power goes out for a day or two. It has already happened. Fifty corpses decomposing, no Christian can stand it.

— In such cases, how do you do it?

— With bad smell and everything!

— Watching an autopsy, we realize man is nothing. A precarious piece of meat, always about to decompose. A lesson in humility, the horrendous spectacle I have just witnessed... Are you a religious man, Dr. Moraes?

— I'm Catholic... Shall we continue? —   Shrugged the doctor. — At half past nine I have to attend a meeting.

 The author: Francisco Cesar Pinheiro Rodrigues is a Bazilian writer, retired judge who resides in São Paulo, Brasil. 

Contact by e.mail oripec@terra.com.br 

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END (19/01/2021)        

Autópsia

Foto divulgação 

O despertador de Roland, criminalista dublê de escritor, tocou às cinco e quinze da manhã. Ele acendeu a luz do abajur de leitura e olhou para sua mulher, que já acordou mas continua imóvel, olhos fechados. Ela tem sofrido de insônia e geralmente dorme tarde. Não pretendia se levantar ainda escuro mas lembrando-se vagamente do motivo do marido ter acordado tão cedo pergunta: — Por que, mesmo, você vai sair? 

— Assistir a uma autópsia.  Tem que ser hoje, já está combinado. Como sou um escritor da escola realista quero ver a coisa pessoalmente. Não basta imaginar. Preciso para meu próximo capítulo.

 — Você já sabe quem vão autopsiar? 

— Não. Pretendo ver duas dissecações. Uma de homem e outra de mulher. Ainda não sei bem se na minha estória vou esquartejar macho ou fêmea. — Roland às vezes, brincando, usa humor negro, conversando com a mulher, justamente porque ela não aprecia seu estilo literário e é bastante franca. Ela acha que ele não precisa “apelar”, para encontrar leitores.  

— Você tem certeza de que o público aprecia essas barbaridades? 

— O público masculino em geral gosta, mas é preciso, para compensar, caprichar no estilo, injetando no açougue um pouco de filosofia. 

— Não seria um desequilíbrio emocional desses leitores? 

— Todo mundo é mais ou menos desequilibrado, querida. Não existe gente mais adoidada que certos psiquiatras, por exemplo. O perigo, neles, é que qualquer pessoa, bastando ser capaz de falar, pode ser enquadrada numa anormalidade acadêmica. Se, por outro lado, é reservado demais, “aí tem coisa...”. Um camarada “certinho em extremo” revelaria, só por isso, algum problema, a ser investigado. 

Uma hora depois Roland está entrando no necrotério. Pergunta a um funcionário onde fica sala do Dr. Moraes, seu amigo e ex-cliente.  Sem sua autorização, não poderia assistir aos exames. Essa autorização já fora concedida. Minutos depois aparece o médico.

— Ora viva! O nosso Zola brasileiro. . . — disse o Dr. Moraes, bem humorado, rosto redondo, corpo atarracado, óculos de metal branco. — De olho na Academia, hein? Já comprou o fardão?

— O fardão me prejudicaria, tiraria minha liberdade. Eu, para impressionar os acadêmicos, teria que retocar demais tudo o que escrevo — respondeu Roland apertando-lhe a mão. — Como é? Estou pronto para o massacre.

— Que tipo de necropsia quer assistir?

— Que tipo como? Há diferenças?

— Claro, depende da finalidade. Bom, se não há especificação, eu escolho. Bem...Você vai ver necrópsias de duas pessoas que morreram sem assistência médica. Geral­mente são pessoas sem recursos. Para enterrar é preciso verificar a "causa mortis", quando não se sabe porque morreu. Se a morte foi violenta, ou suicídio, também é preciso uma necrópsia.

— Pra mim qualquer morte serve. Uma pessoa inteira, claro. Preciso dos detalhes.

— As necrópsias são feitas em outro setor, aqui perto.

— Você não diz autópsia. Diz necropsia. Dizer “autópsia” está errado?

— Acho mais apropriado dizer necropsia. “Autópsia”, do grego, rigorosamente seria um autoexame. Necrópsia seria o exame de algo alheio, mas isso de nomes não tem impor­tância. Vamos indo. 

Caminhando depressa, para acompanhar o médico, Roland sentiu cheiro do formol e outros odores que não podia identificar. Ouviu alguns ganidos.

— Parece que estou ouvindo ganidos de cães. É isso?

— É. São os estudantes de medicina fazendo expe­riências.

— Dolorosas? — indagou Roland, penalizado.

— Às vezes. Procuram anestesiar antes. 

 Pararam em frente a uma porta de vidro.

— Quer dizer que nunca assistiu a uma necropsia, ou operação? Não vai sentir-se mal, desmaiar?

— Penso que não. Para isso sou algo frio. Se sentir qualquer coisa esquisita, saio um pouco.

— Um aviso: não se encoste em nada, lá dentro. Os cadáveres podem estar com alguma doença conta­giosa e você levaria os agentes patogênicos consigo. Convém enfiar as mãos nos bolsos.

Roland acatou a sugestão e ambos entraram na grande sala.

Junto à entrada, no lado esquerdo, havia uma mesa com três pequenos cadáveres. Crianças bem novas. Duas escura e a outra branquinha. Apresentavam imenso rasgo do pescoço ao púbis, mas o rasgo já fora costu­rado. Mesmo que estivessem vestidas e deitadas numa cama, não pareceriam crianças dormindo. A morte deixara a marca nos olhos, ainda que fechados. As perninhas são bem arqueadas, sinal de raquitismo. Despertam um sentimento de perda e abandono.

Ao lado direito da porta vê-se uma fileira de mesas com pequenas rodas nos pés. Em cima de cada mesa, um cadáver. Alguns, com o rosto coberto. O mais pró­ximo de Roland, de face descoberta, é um rapaz moreno, de seus vinte e cinco anos, barbudo, rosto estreito, corpo magro, assim percebido apesar de coberto com um lençol até o pescoço. Seu rosto lembra a representação usual de um Cristo europeu de pele clara. Alto, seus pés magros e amarelos saem muito além do lençol que o cobre, cortado para pessoas de estatura mediana. Roland fica observando o moço e, conforme a posição do olhar, o cadáver lembra também uma conhecida imagem de Tiradentes, esquartejado depois de enforcado.

A mesa vizinha está ocupada pelo cadáver de um homem corpulento, de seus 40 anos. Tem o rosto inchado e expressão de homem bravo.

— Com licença — pediu um enfermeiro, interpondo-se entre Roland e o cadáver do homem de feições duras. Em­purrou a mesa com rodas até que ela ficasse bem paralela à mesa das autópsias, que tem o comprimento de três metros, mais ou menos. Do lado onde ficam os pés dos autopsia­dos existe uma pia de aço inoxidável embutida na pró­pria mesa. Nessa pia os órgãos são lavados e cortados e fatiados para exame.

Este cadáver foi transferido com alguma brutalidade — prática, rotineira —, da mesa móvel para a mesa fixa, sem a menor “deferência” a um ser humano, mesmo morto, como se lidassem com um grande saco de batatas. Como o homem era bem pesado, os dois enfermeiros tive­ram que fazer muita força, coordenada — “vamos juntos: um, dois, três, já!” —, para transferi-lo de mesa, um segurando nos pés e outro, o mais forte, encarregando-se do tronco. Por causa do esforço da remoção, o pesado cadáver foi praticamente rolado em cima da mesa de autópsias, quase caindo do outro lado.

Os braços do morto estavam rígidos e dobrados, como em posição de defesa, numa luta de boxe. Nessa posição impossibilitaria o trabalho do enfermeiro que se ocuparia do tórax e da cabeça. Era, portanto, necessário esticar os braços do combativo defunto maduro. Rolando, sempre imaginativo, involuntariamente pensou: — “Nosso Mike Tyson branco não vai concordar...”

Dito e feito. Foi duro, de fato, conseguir baixar a guarda do falecido, devido à rigidez cadavé­rica. Um dos enfermeiros, o mais franzino, tentou es­ticar o braço direito, dando uma puxada. Nada conse­guindo tentou de novo, fazendo mais força, sua mão direita segurando a mão direita do morto. Pareciam, para Roland, estarem disputando uma "queda de braço". O primeiro resultado foi um empate honroso para o defunto que, certamente, fora um homem fortíssimo.

Não desejando passar vexame frente ao visitante, o enfermeiro fran­zino, como que adivinhando a imaginação de Roland, deu uma rápida olhada para o escritor e usou as duas mãos para esticar o braço enrijecido. Roland, viciado ficcionista, logo imaginou o protesto do morto: "Assim não vale!". Valendo ou não, o vivo, usando o peso do seu corpo, quase pendurado, ven­ceu a parada, esticando completamente o braço do fa­lecido, enquanto o outro enfermeiro segurava do outro lado, impedindo que saísse da posição certa.

Esticados os braços, o enfermeiro que cuidava da cabeça enfiou um bloco de madeira, à guisa de calço, por baixo das costas do cadáver, que ficou com o peito bem erguido e a cabeça caída para trás. A seguir, pegou uma faca de cozinha, das grandes, e afiou a lâmina em um amolador comprido. Colo­cou o amolador de lado e começou a cortar o couro cabeludo, iniciando a operação por trás de uma das orelhas.

Fez um talho bem retilíneo, cortando fundo, com pequenos movimentos de vai e vem da faca, para que o fio da lâmina chegasse até o osso do crâneo. E assim foi trabalhando, até chegar atrás da outra orelha. Largou a faca e fincou as unhas no corte. Agarrou com força uma das bordas e começou a puxar o couro cabeludo na direção da testa.

O couro cabeludo estava bem aderente aos ossos, Não desgrudava facilmente. Estalava com seguidos “tac”. Quando a resistência era maior, o enfermeiro ajudava a separação com a faca, cortando os liames ainda existentes por baixo. Assim fez, até que o couro cabeludo, já pelo avesso, veio parar perto da boca do defunto.

Com isso o cadáver ficou horrendo, com uma cobertura sanguinolenta cobrindo o rosto, desde a testa até o lábio superior. E como o cabelo não era curto, parecia que o cadáver era barbudo e tinha parte do rosto coberto por uma máscara de carne viva cobrindo os olhos.

Até esse momento Roland conseguira aguentar. Vinha engolindo em seco. Seu pomo de adão subia e descia. Mas foi preciso mobilizar totalmente sua resistência quando o enfermeiro pegou um serrote de arco e começou a serrar a testa, para tirar a tampa. Aquela testa nua e ensanguentada, serrada com a maior sem-cerimônia, foi um espetáculo que só não provocou vômito porque Roland sempre teve imensa dificuldade para vomitar.

O enfermeiro serrou completamente o crânio, demarcando uma larga calota. Com isso cortou também os miolos que estavam próximos ao crânio.

Terminada a utilização da serra fina, o enfermeiro tentou separar a calota com o mero emprego da mão. Fincou as unhas na fenda dos ossos, como fizera antes com o couro cabeludo, Mas não conseguiu seu intento. Talvez por não conseguir um espaço suficiente para in­trodução das unhas.

Tudo era rotina para o enfermeiro. Pegou uma talhadeira e um martelo. Colocou a lâmina da talhadeira na fenda da testa e com o martelo deu algumas pancadinhas a na outra extremidade, forçando facil­mente a separação das bordas. Guardou a talhadeira e, com as unhas bem apoiadas na borda do osso separou a calota, que veio com boa porção do cérebro.

Usando as duas mãos, o enfermeiro retirou com cuidado o encéfalo viscoso, que fazia "cloft, cloft", ao se desgrudar do crânio.

Nessa altura, o outro enfermeiro já havia aberto a barriga, do púbis ao externo. Roland nem o vira fazer o grande corte longitudinal do abdómen, de tal modo se impressio­nara com o que ocorria na cabeça do cadáver. Quando afastou os olhos da cabeça sem tampa, o tórax já estava aberto. O segundo enfermeiro, munido de uma tesoura especial, de lâminas curtas e recurvadas, dedicava-se a cortar ossos protetores do tórax para poder extrair e exa­minar o coração e outros órgãos.

O mesmo enfermeiro — ou seria o outro? Roland já estava meio grogue na carnificina — revolveu os intestinos esverdeados e arrancou o fígado, que foi colocado perto da pia, após o que foi lavado e fatiado. O enfermeiro cortava e examinava a cor das fatias, trocando algumas palavras com o médico.

Em seguida, pegou o cérebro que seu colega lhe dera e passou a cortá-lo, também em fatias.

Enquanto esse enfermeiro examinava as fatias dos órgãos, o outro pegou um bocado de serragem, que estava num saco aberto, ao lado da mesa, e preencheu o vazio do crânio com esse pó de madeira. Recolocou a tampa de osso na cabeça e puxou de volta o couro cabeludo. A calota óssea ficou nova­mente coberta.

— Agora ele ficou “desmiolado” — brincou o médico que perdera toda a sensi­bilidade ante espetáculos dessa natureza.

Roland, vendo a boca meio aberta do morto, es­tranhou:

— A língua dele está muito escura, não acha? A morte escurece a língua?

— Onde? — perguntou o enfermeiro, curioso. Forçou o maxilar para baixo, abrindo bem a boca do defunto. Não satisfeito, querendo melhor examinar, agarrou com força a língua e puxou-a o máximo que pôde.

— Não há nada — concluiu, dando uma examina­da. — É assim mesmo — disse, olhando a língua enor­me, que quase se assemelhava a uma língua de vaca, só que menos volumosa. Satisfeito com a inspeção, empurrou a língua de volta, fechando a boca do falecido. Em seguida, pôs-se a cos­turar o couro cabeludo, utilizando uma espécie de agulha de sapateiro. Nesse trabalho, manipulava com brusquidão a cabeça do defunto, pouco ligando para a cara indignada do homem moreno que, no céu, ou no purgatório — Roland pensou — deveria estar fervendo de raiva com o desrespeito. Em certos momen­tos, por necessidade do serviço, empurrava as boche­chas de um lado para outro. Conforme a posição, a expressão do morto parecia mais zangada ainda com tais insultos, quase tabefes com a mão espalmada.

Os enfermeiros, com a longa prática, estavam bem sincronizados nas tarefas. Enquanto o da cabeça costu­rava grotescamente o couro cabeludo, o outro rapidamente tirava umas conchas de sangue da cavidade abdominal e jogava os órgãos — fígado, tripas, pâncreas — de volta. O cérebro também foi jogado dentro do ventre. Roland não pôde deixar de imaginar o trabalho que daria aquele cidadão, havendo um juízo final, com os mortos saindo dos tú­mulos. Para ler a sua alma seria preciso examinar a pança. Como muita gente que conhecia.

A barriga também foi costurada depressa, com um pouco de serragem dentro para absorver o sangue que ainda restara.

Roland, depois daquela cena de violência macabra, achou necessário descansar um pouco. Pediu para sair. No corredor, respirou fundo e depois sentiu profunda necessidade de fumar. Deu uma tragada e concluiu que pouco sabia da vida, em seu sentido mais profundo, apesar de seus quarenta anos de vida.

— Como é? — indagou o médico. — Pensei que o senhor fosse desmaiar. Não seria fato incomum, para quem assiste pela primeira vez.

— Quantas autópsias vocês   fazem por dia?

— Umas quarentas, em média.

— Estranhei que o cadáver não fedia. Pelo menos não tanto quanto eu esperava.

— É que saiu do congelador. Mas o senhor precisa ver quando falta energia elétrica durante um dia ou dois. Já aconteceu. Cinquenta cadáveres se decompon­do, não há cristão que aguente.

— Nesses casos, como os senhores fazem?

— Com mau cheiro e tudo!

— Você tem religião, Dr. Moraes? Vendo uma autópsia, constatamos que o homem não é nada. Um pe­daço de carne organizada, sempre prestes a se decom­por. Uma lição de humildade, o espetáculo horrendo que acabei de presenciar...

— Sou católico... Vamos continuar? — sintetizou o médico. — Às nove e meia preciso comparecer a uma reunião. 

FIM (19/01/2021)

 

Earth, Mars and Conjectures

 Foto divulgação

(By Francisco C.P. Rodrigues) 

Could it be that aliens think about colonizing us with viruses? 

Could this be possible? Only in theory, yes, however undesirable and “paranoic” this may seem at this sad time of intensification of a unique epidemic that is both persistent and selective, eliminating the “weak” — the sick and elderly — but sparing the young and strong who are able to keep the “planetary machine” working.  Read the arguments, the logical deductions and think, but with your own head. I must stress that I wish to be completely wrong in my theoretical doubt, as I am among its preferred victims, the elderly.

As there can be some seed of good in evil, the imaginary “Martian danger” would have a bright side: the political union of humanity, something that has never happened before. 

Aware of the risk of ridicule, I must mention that here I am not dealing with science fiction — fantasy, literature —, as this is not my style. I solely wish to draw attention to the remote and undesirable possibility, based on reading, reasoning and conclusions — that seem to me to be logically acceptable — if at least some of thousands of statements, photographs and footage of “unidentified flying objects” were authentic, as they seem to be to me. I say this, little by little, in a cautious manner, as the expression “flying saucers” will immediately scare away half the readers of this article. 

If I am not totally assertive regarding the reality of the danger mentioned in the title, why waste time — both my own and that of the reader —, solely addressing possibilities that are, furthermore, discouraging? My justification follows below. 

The fields of cosmology, astronomy and astrobiology are full of sensible conclusions mixed with tremendous scientific “guesses” that — to us, ordinary laymen — are a thousand times more unbelievable than my modest suspicion mentioned in the title. We shall see. 

The Big Bang (the universe arising from a “magic ball”); the Age of the Universe (nonsense, it was not ‘born” like a baby, coming from nothing, it always existed, as cosmic dust and celestial bodies); Wormholes; Parallel Universes (various, like ghosts); new Dimensions (besides the traditional 3 or 4?); Time Travel; Black Holes (with a rear exit to “another dimension”, impossible if the Hole is only a star that has become extinguished); String Theory, etc., are discussed seriously, without laughing. This, according to scientists, is because these ideas are based on “mathematical calculations”, inaccessible to verification by 99.9 % of human beings. With regard to the remaining 0.1% who have “checked” the calculations, disagreement among them is not a rare occurrence. 

At this point, an immediate change is necessary — solely in the manner in which I have expressed myself, not my opinion — to that which I have just written on impulse using the word “guess”, referring to those astronomers who believe in the Big Bang — just because galaxies are moving away from one another at any given “moment” in cosmic time and they do not know how to explain this observation. It would be sufficient to say that they do not know, for the time being.  However, affirming that all cosmic matter, with billions of galaxies arising, in a second, from nothing, suggests that the excessive abstraction of Astronomy tires the brain excessively, two annual holidays being recommended for neurons to rest. 

According to this theory, prior to the Big Bang there was absolutely “nothing”. A “space” not only empty of “things” but also the very “idea” of empty. With no matter, no energy and no, already immaterial, “time”. If this theory were only a request made to scientists by religious leaders, in order to reinforce the idea of God — a miracle uniting science and religion with a view to diminishing disbelief, wickedness and animal materialism,  it is necessary to remember that any ridiculous explicative theory nurtures a distrust of scientists in the most enlightened public opinion, considering them to be “a bunch of lunatics”. Even when they are right regarding such important issues as preservation of the environment. 

Benevolence, in the wrong place, becomes involuntary wickedness.    

When an astronomer, at sea on a cruise ship, contemplates the night sky and is casually surrounded by laymen who look up to him with respect, asking questions, he feels almost obliged to say something. After all, he is an astronomer, interested in diminishing general ignorance, at least in his area. 

On perceiving that the curiosity of the group is sincere, not merely teasing, the astronomer would probably attempt to be affable to those surrounding him who, as far as the stars are concerned, only know what they have read in poetry books. At most, they remember the verses of the great sentimental poets, associating the moon, stars and immortal love, such as Olavo Bilac and others so inspired. They forget, or do not know, that those twinkling lights are gigantic pitiless and indifferent furnaces that prevent, by “roasting”, or stimulate, by adequate heating”, the emergence and growth of life on thousands of planets whose inhabitants perhaps, at this very moment, are also peering at us through their binoculars or telescopes, conjecturing as to whether or not there is intelligent life in our solar system. 

It is natural, human, professional — and even charitable —, that the most imaginative astronomers — imagination was very highly valued by Einstein — explain what they know or presume, as it is all very distant and complex. With regard to what they do not know — because it is impossible to know, for the time being... —, and only thinking of not deceiving the laymen with silence, the astronomer that I am imagining here prefers to offer a brief explanation, which seems reasonable. This is better than remaining silent, which can be interpreted as arrogance or an incapacity for communication. 

This attitude is similar to that adopted by police chiefs when called to attend a crime scene of great repercussion — for example, a famous film “star” (no allusion intended) is found dead after disappearing for several days. When questioned by insistent reporters, filming the scene, the police chief give his provisory explanation of what could have happened. This mere “hunch” is both natural and useful, as it demonstrates the interest and intelligence of the government agency in fighting crime with rationality and planning. The same thing occurs with the use of intuition in astronomy, showing an intention to combat ignorance rather than crime. This is better than the astronomer remaining silent, like someone bewildered, lacking ideas.   

We cannot forget that the universe, as an object of study, is more ungrateful that any other science, because the astronomer cannot see, close up, what it is that he is investigating, in order to provide a subsequent explanation. Everything is shrouded in mystery, at a distance of light years or Parsecs, or other units of measurement of gigantic inter-stellar distances, however advanced telescopes are. Without such equipment, what would we know of celestial bodies? Practically nothing. Galileo Galilei discovered more than previous astronomers (Kepler, for example) because he used telescopes invented a short time previously by a Dutch manufacturer. Seeing more, he was able to better explain the reality of heliocentrism. 

I imagine the constant frustration of every professional astronomer: — “How is it possible to work like this, almost in the “dark”, so to speak? And in the light of day, it is impossible to see anything at all, because we cannot discern the stars. A biologist can at least see that which he intends to understand. We cannot do this; we have to guess, even take a “shot in the dark”, initially, because with this “shot”, the actual “shot” may be investigated and result in a “goal”, an important scientific discovery”. I even believe that the intuition of the most imaginative scientists was more profitable in terms of discoveries than the severe and cautious skepticism of those colleagues who wait for the truth to appear, already perfect and in its entirety, based on verifiable calculations and in observable form. 

Albert Einstein — for whom I have deep respect, due to his character and the ideas put forward in his books, when written with words rather than formulas — stated in 1915, when his Theory of Relativity was published, that a body of enormous mass could bend a ray of light that passes close to it. 

Until then, it was thought that light could only travel in a straight line. However, when a total eclipse of the sun occurred, five years later in 1919, sunlight was really “bent”, attracted by the gravity of our satellite, as found by telescopic observations. This was visual confirmation of what Einstein had stated only using calculations, as many physicists were unable to understand the Theory of Relativity solely in mathematical terms. 

Begging your forgiveness for my audacity — a characteristic of ignorant people —, I do not think that the bending of the ray of light is so surprising, as light, after all, is also “matter”. It is not a spiritual, immaterial “thing” like a thought. An immaterial idea can be the product of something material

and chemical in nature — synapses between neurons —, but one thing is the synapse, the “cause”, whereas the other, the “effect”, the actual idea. In a beam of light there are photons, or electrons, and other subatomic particles in movement. “Things”, after all, associated with the world of matter, subject to the attraction of gravity. 

There is something “material” in the electricity supplied to our homes, so much so that it is measured on a monthly basis and we have to pay our light bills. If it is measurable, palpable — a shock hurts ... —, there is some kind of “mass” in it that is subject to attraction by the Moon’s gravity, in the case of the aforementioned eclipse. 

According to what I read in a book about Einstein, he also considered this “brouhaha” associated with the scientific repercussion of the eclipse to be exaggerated, with people travelling to other countries just to observe the phenomenon. Unnecessary, because he had already predicted the bending of light, with his mathematics that probably contained some kind of intuitive or imaginative component. If the facts went against mathematics, bad luck of the facts. 

Going back to the title, if my suspicion regarding Martians, flying saucers and vaccines — perhaps disappointing —, is only fanciful speculation, I hereby authorize any science fiction writer or screenwriter to use the considerations shown herein in order to prepare a book or film of this type which, — barring brilliant exceptions — gives me little satisfaction due to exaggerations and illogicality. 

If a writer of unusual imagination wishes for his fantasies to be respected,  he should concern himself with arguments, showing, by means of a + b, that what he says, despite being unusual, is logically possible, even if highly unlikely. Without offending intelligence, O.K., because even appealing common sense may be and already has been, for thousands of years, totally wrong. 

Summarizing the content of my suspicion, referred to in the title, I believe that it is logically possible, although undesirable — that’s all we need in the middle of a pandemic! — that extremely intelligent extraterrestrials, with a technology much more advanced that our own, inhabiting our solar system — the stars and their planets are too far away — may aspire to, or really need a new “home”, i.e., Earth. 

To this end, they keep furtively “spying” on us, using unidentified flying objects, the generic “flying saucers”, which are not always in the form of saucers or disks. They not only observe us from above, but also — many swear —, kidnap and abduct us in order to study our bodies and then return us to the ground with our recent memory affected or blocked. A form of psychological camouflage, encouraging the idea that all this about “flying saucers” is nonsense. 

I do not believe that all reported cases of abduction — there are dozens or hundreds —, followed by partial memory loss, are lies. With the progress of research regarding substances that affect neurons, perhaps this temporary memory block will be within our routine reach in the near future. The “ignorant” Alzheimer’s disease already does this “for free”, without any scientific ostentation, selectively affecting remembrance of recent facts. 

Can the reader guarantee, with precision, what our knowledge of the brain will be like five hundred or a thousand years in the future? A Thousand years is nothing when compared with cosmological, astronomical, biological, physical and evolutionary time. An enormous number of discoveries await us.

In planetary matters, we cannot solely use our current knowledge as a basis. Our “current knowledge” may become an embarrassing “we used to think that ...”. For example, when scientists guarantee that the coronavirus is of natural origin — not created in a laboratory —, they make this affirmation based on their current state of knowledge, as scientists. They are not lying; they only do not know today what they will know tomorrow. Perhaps they do not know that secret laboratories of governments of the first world — or private billionaire groups, with megalomaniacal projects of global dominance, of the Illuminati kind — will maybe manage, in total secrecy, to manufacture viruses that only “appear” to be natural. 

Countries with advanced technology that are political adversaries, fearing that the enemy may fabricate viral attacks, also conduct research into biological weapons, for defense and/or offense. Such “arms” are state secrets. Everyone knows this. If they already compete, in secret, in the field of atomic weapons and missiles, why — I ask —, would they not do the same with biological “weapons” that would allow them to control the minds of their enemies without need to kill them or destroy their assets which, still intact, would come into the possession of the invaders? 

That which can be said regarding conflicts between countries, would be even more applicable in any interplanetary conflicts that come to occur. We are never aware of such conflicts, for reasons of physical or visual impossibility, because the distance between stars, with their planets, is so immense that they would not be within range of our telescopes. 

Calm down, dear reader ... I know that the mere idea of “interplanetary conflict” makes you laugh. For good reason, because it reminds you of “Star Wars” and all the bullshit that appears in films made for adolescents. As you, the reader, have never heard of a real war between planets, it seems “unthinkable” for you to imagine that the Earth may be the object of desire and conquest by the inhabitants of another planet, who intend to live here for reasons of ambition, convenience or necessity. Nevertheless, inconsistently, it seems “normal”, even desirable and “scientific” to earthlings that manned spaceships be sent to Mars in order to remain there indefinitely, initiating colonization of the planet. Earth colonizing Mars is nt absurd, but to the contrary, Mars colonizing us is considered to be “aberrant”. 

This idea of occupying the Red Planet does not shock us, perhaps because we presume that there is no life there. Or, if there is life, it will be very rudimentary. Bacteria or something similar. However, I would go so far to say that if we knew that animals similar to our chimpanzees — the high point of Martian evolution — lived on Mars, this would not prevent us, in moral terms, from conquering the planet, because we would think that we are “doing them a favor” taking our progress, our civilization to the primitive “Martians”, as in the case of Christopher Columbus and Pedro Álvares Cabral when they landed in the two Americas, seizing their lands and riches and enslaving the natives. 

I am totally convinced that microscopic, rudimentary life that is constantly evolving has arisen on all planets that, by chance, unite conditions favorable to life, namely: size, temperature — “reasonable” average distance from their star —, water in a liquid state and even benefitted by the luck of not suffering some kind of catastrophic impact, such as the one that wiped out our dinosaurs, millions of years ago.

On all planets, all living beings, irrespective of size, are born with the same instincts: perpetuation of their lives and their offspring. To this end, they need food, shelter, sex and total freedom —, although strict vigilance regarding the liberty of others that may affect us. No living beings are born hating themselves, unless this is caused by some kind of illness, or total desperation, where death would bring relief. In the event of a need to conquer another country, or planet — in order to not face extinction —, living beings will do this, although in a manner compatible with their degree of scientific, technical and moral culture.

Hence my conviction that Mars, or any other celestial body, if inhabited by intelligent beings, who consider Earth to be their only salvation, the celestial body in question will resolve “its problem” for better or worse. As we would, in a similar situation. If immensely civilized, the invading planet would attempt to do this with a minimum of pain and destruction, to itself and others. Subsequently, at least in theory, the invaded planet, having available space and finding that it does not have technology capable of confronting the invaders, should give a lot of thought to how it is going to react. Fantasizing now, my curiosity is imagining what the appearance would be of the result of interbreeding between humans and extraterrestrials.

I will stop writing here, as this article already has 16,331 characters, including spaces. And there is still a lot to say. This text is not a book. It is an unadvisable exaggeration on the internet. I do not know how you, the reader, have had the patience to put up with me. I thank you two, or three, for your kindness. I will leave the rest that I have typed for another possible article, based on the reaction to that which is written here, which will be published in English to see what kind of response it receives in the northern hemisphere.

I repeat that it is my wish that all vaccines against Covid-19 are effective in providing immunity for the usual period of time. If not, it will be necessary to think: something is up! And it would be better if this “something” has a terrestrial origin — easier to deal with as we are familiar with the nature of the enemy.

 (06.01.2021)

The author: Francisco Cesar Pinheiro Rodrigues is a Brazilian writer, retired judge who resides in São Paulo, Brazil, owner of the website www.500toques.com.br . His blog: francepiro.blogspot.com. Contact by e-mail oripec@terra.com.br

(06.01.2021)