"The mastermind has a motive, that manipulates the messenger's mentality." Chioma Onwudiwe
Extracts were first published in September and October of 2016
There is a doctor in the field:
Bronid held on tighter to his little satchel, by the time the fifth person shoved past him. They all seemed to be running down further into the other end of fair grounds. Maybe there was some sought of emergency. Or it was merely a race, to grab a price. Whatever the case, the younger healer did not wish to be in the way. Of the dashing traffic, longer than he had to. One more push, thought Bronid. And he might lose his hand, the satchel along with the gem in it. He was looking around at the moment; to make sure he had not missed his appointment already. Since he had unconsciously but gradually shifted away, from the original waiting spot.
He turned back around, just in time for one more body to slam right into him. He reached forward with both hands to separate and steady the head-on crasher. While he tried to catch his breath. “What is going on?” Queried the concerned healer. “Where are you all running to?”
“There has been a shooting.” Answered the stranger in between gasps. “Someone just got shot back there,” he continued looking around them. As he indicated by pointing his finger. “And the shooter is at large.” At the utterance of the last sentence, he slid out of Bronid’s hands and sped on.
The healer looked from the fast retreating figure, back to where he had pointed. If someone had just been shot, reasoned the man. Then they must need some professional, medicinal attention and help. He scanned the area one more time. Looking for any sign of his buyer and if at all a stampede would ensue. Since he had never really seen the person he would be meeting. Any standing and scanning stranger like himself, was suspect. When it was clear that no one had arrived yet and no soul had been trampled. He headed towards the incident scene, as pointed out by collision man.
A shot and a hole of opportunity:
Bronid was stunned, at how easily people leaned over and above a dying or lifeless body, to gawk and speculate. It was not in his nature to be rude, brash or rough. But this crowd left him little or no choice, but to shove them aside howbeit gently. When he got to the body, he knelt beside it and its pool of blood. The gunshot wound was at the fellow’s back. So he did not need to, nor bother to turn the body over. He reached for the right hand, that was half way tucked under the still body. Feeling for any sign of a pulse whatsoever, he began to shout out orders.
“Someone get me two pieces of cloth, a bowl of water and a of string rope!” Shouted the healer, above the din of noise and excited chatter. There was sudden shuffling, as it appeared that some people were endeavoring to comply with the healer’s demands. They were moving to produce what they could. Bronid worked efficiently, to tear off the top tailored coat of the victim still lying on his face. The healer had detected a slight but irregular pulse. Therefore, he was racing against time itself to make the most of that ticker.
“Is he alive?” Came a deeply gruff and unimpressed voice. Right above the healer’s head.
“Barely,” answered Bronid without looking up. Someone had provided the bowl and cloths. And he was cleaning the surface of the wound. He wanted to see the depth of the damage, that he was looking at.
“But if we move quick enough,” the healer supplied still without looking up. “He just might make it.” He finished speaking, as he examined the wound. “He just might live." The voice that had just spoken to Bronid, turned to inform someone else behind him.
Most of the horde had cleared out at this time. It was no longer an intriguing situation, for them to behold. Since someone else had assumed responsibility for it, they moved on. After all, this was the beginning of an anticipated Fair season and a couple of festive days.
“Did we really need all this distraction and delay? And before you know it now, the law will be here.” A second voice asked and commented. It seemed the person had just gotten closer to the body.
“I guess it comes with the territory. Being a jeweler, must mean walking about with a target at your back.” Concluded the first man with dripping sarcasm.
Being the jeweler? Thought Bronid to himself, as he tended to the wound. Was this the jeweler or just any jeweler? There was only one way to find out.
“Excuse me, do you know the victim?” Asked the healer, finally looking up at the man standing over him. “Not personally,” began the man with a quick and impatient shrug. “He was supposed to have a superb piece of gem for sale. That is why we are all here in the first place.”
“A piece of gem for sale?” Bronid ventured further, reaching as he did to his side. He instantly remembered, to feel for his small satchel. Everything seemed to be in place, he noted to himself satisfactorily.
“Yes, a piece of jewel or jewels. I have two very wealthy merchants here, who have travelled quite a distance. They paid quite a lot to come and will pay even more, to acquire a certain magnificent piece of gem.” He finished flatly, looked down at the body and then scratched his head restlessly.
“Can I talk to you, privately?” Bronid began again, this time tentatively.
“Listen,” began the gruffly speaking man. “I think it noble of you, to help this dying or dead man. A very commendable deed, I must add. We need more men like you in society, that’s for sure. Ultimately, that is not my concern. Since I did not come here to discuss bullets and wounds.” He finished, nodded patronizingly at the healer and began to walk away.
“Who says I was planning to talk about bullets and wounds?” Countered Bronid sharply, as began to stand up from his initial stooping position. He had quickly rinsed his hands in the bowl of remaining water. The victim's bleeding hole, was now securely covered with a piece of cloth. That was tied up and held in place by the string rope. The healer wanted first and foremost to stop the blood flow. Then they would have to move the body to the infirmary. He nearly smiled, when the departing man stopped abruptly in his tracks. Then slowly turned back and towards the healer.
Culled (with permission) from 'The MONITORS' by Chioma Onwudiwe/2015