The Prize

There was something about Erik Ohman’s expression, so set and avenging, that made Garrett halt his tirade in mid-sentence.

‘-I have a way for you to contend with Carlo Farelli,’ said Ohman.

Ohman’s statement, uttered like a sentence of doom from a bewigged justice on the bench, alerted Garrett’s senses. He waited. Was there hope?

‘Uhhh-at first-I was not sure if I should come to you with this.’ He had brought his thin leather briefcase to his lap. ‘It seemed to me too inconclusive. Yet, if it could be proved, your case would be won in a single stroke. You would not only silence Farelli, you would destroy him. He would vanish from the earth.’

Garrett sat up straight eyes burning fanatically. ‘What is it?’

‘I will explain. Uhhh-after our meeting at the Caroline Institute-after you had convinced me that Farelli was taking credit for sharing a discovery that was not his but yours-and now even attempting to steal your credit too-I decided too-uhhh-casually-uhhh-look into Farelli. If nothing more, at least to try to understand such a man being in medicine. As you know, as I explained at our meeting, the Royal Swedish Academy of Science appoints expert investigators to look into the cause of each candidate-I and another investigated you-and two of my colleagues at the Caroline-they had investigated Farelli. These studies are thorough. I had told you how, back as far as the turn of the century, our committee sent two men to St. Petersburg to-uhhh-see what they could see about Pavlov. To be confidential with you, our medical investigators-they not only verify a discovery and determine its importance, but-and this must remain in this room-they report on the-uhhh-character, responsible character, of the discoverer. Well, Dr. Garrett, such an investigation was made of Carlo Farelli.’

All through this recital, excitement had mounted within Garrett. He could not be mistaken. Something of vital importance was coming. ‘You-you said on the phone you had something important. Is it about Farelli? Did you find out something about that dirty-?’

‘Yes.’

Garrett could not modulate his voice. ‘What did you find? Tell me-I’ve got to know!’

Ohman had slowly drawn the zipper back and opened his briefcase. He fingered through it, and removed two thin sheets of typescript.

‘As you no doubt know,’ said Ohman, ‘Farelli’s background is-uhhh-colourful.’

‘I don’t know, except what’s been in the papers.’ And then, he asked urgently, ‘What do you mean- colourful?’

Ohman tapped the typescript. ‘It is here. This is not the original investigation report. But one of the men who took part-an old friend and former schoolmate-a cardiac specialist like us-he told me from memory what he had found, and I took notes, and then I typed it myself. Of course, it might be possible to see the original report- through my friend-or someone. It is filed away, but I am sure it would be no different from what I have in hand. My friend has the memory of a bull elephant.’ Ohman examined the top sheet in his lap, and then looked up. ‘You know, of course, that in the last days of 1941, when Mussolini had already declared war on Russia and the United States, Dr. Farelli was placed under arrest by OVRA, the Fascist Secret Police?’

‘I don’t know the details,’ said Garrett. ‘He bragged to me once that he was in prison during the war.’

‘Yes, that has been verified,’ said Ohman. ‘It must be admitted, on his behalf, that he has a long record as an anti-Fascist. Even as a student in medical school, Farelli opposed Mussolini’s adventure against Haile Selassie in Africa. When the Second World War came, Farelli, along with several other young doctors, signed an open letter published in Il Popolo di Roma opposing it. Late in 1941, the OVRA learned, through an informer, that Farelli had acted as a physician giving comfort to Il Duce’s underground enemies. At once, the carabinieri came and confined him to the Regina Coeli prison in Rome.’

‘What are you trying to do, make him out a hero?’ said Garrett bitterly. ‘We were the heroes, if you want it that way. You were at least neutral and gave help to refugees, and I was in the landing on Iwo Jima-but, whatever you say, Farelli was an Italian-’

Ohman saw how troubled his friend was and forgave him his lack of objectivity. ‘I am only quoting our neutral report,’ said Ohman. ‘But, Dr. Garrett, I am leading up to something-of importance, as I promised you.’ He rattled the papers in his hand. ‘As I was saying, Farelli was confined to the Regina Coeli prison in Rome, and later, according to our records, he was shipped to another prison, near Parma, an old castle where political agitators were kept and sometimes shot. So far, all well and to the good for Farelli. But then our Academy investigator-the friend of whom I speak-found a mystifying, inexplicable piece of information.’

‘Yes?’

‘Uhhh-hear this,’ said Ohman. ‘The next we know of Farelli, he turns up as a doctor-no longer a prisoner, but a doctor-in Nazi Germany.’

The intake of Garrett’s breath hissed through the silent bedroom. ‘Nazi Germany,’ he repeated, as if it were a blessing. Then quickly, ‘How do you know? Is there proof?’

‘That is the point,’ said Ohman seriously. ‘By our standards, the evidence is flimsy, almost cryptic, but it is evidence. For a while, I was unsure, and was going to withhold it from you. It was so fragmentary. It could be misleading. On the other hand-’

‘Read it to me.’

‘-I felt, in view of Farelli’s behaviour towards you, in view of our-uhhh-friendship, I owed it to you, in all fairness, as something you could think about and measure.’ He lifted the typescript from his lap, but still did not consult it. ‘As you know, Dr. Garrett, the German medical profession, which we esteemed so highly in the years before Hitler, which we showered with Nobel honours-the German medical profession disgraced itself in the Second World War.’

Garrett remembered the stories from Nurnberg in 1947. ‘You mean the Nazi medical trial before our tribunal at Nurnberg?’

‘I mean what led to it. Throughout the war, almost two hundred German physicians comported themselves in such a manner as to make the Marquis de Sade appear sweet and gentle by comparison. These German doctors employed helpless human beings-Jewish men and women, Polish and Russian prisoners of war, their own nationals who opposed Hitler-instead of guinea pigs and rats, for their sadistic experiments. I am-uhhh-it is sickening to know the truth of their record. Do you recollect the record?’

‘It was so long ago,’ said Garrett. ‘And, anyway, I was in the Pacific.’

‘For their insane experiments, these long-worshipped doctors injected human prisoners with typhus, deadly typhus. They sterilized the sexual organs of Jews with X-rays, and murdered most of them. They tried out synthetic hormones on defenceless homosexuals and killed some. They injected yellow fever into persons, not animals. They tried out poison gas on persons, not animals. They made artificial abscesses on persons, not animals to study blood poisoning. They severed healthy limbs in order to experiment with transplants. The list is too nauseating-I will not go on.’

He stared down at the typescript. ‘Then, one day, with the approval of Himmler and the Reich Air Ministry, they undertook a long series of horrible experiments-in the name of aviation medicine, and presumably designed to learn valuable information for their Luftwaffe pilots-with a decompression chamber, to study heart action at abnormally high altitudes. These tests were the ultimate in-uhhh-savagery. According to my notes, Dr. Sigmund Rascher had proposed the tests to Himmler, and Himmler had approved. The decompression chamber was moved into the Dachau concentration camp, and, one by one, these prisoners were led into the torture chamber-and the air was let out of the box-so that the prisoner, without oxygen or any equipment-the guinea pig-would reflect the human condition of a flyer in rapid ascent to an altitude of thirteen or fourteen miles. It was terrible, Dr. Garrett. I have heard the case histories. In the first minutes, perspiration and lack of control; in five minutes, spasms; in eight minutes, the dropping of respiration; in twelve minutes, boiling of the blood and rupturing of the lungs, with the human victim tearing out his hair in bunches and gouging out the flesh of his face to relieve his suffering, and attempt to find oxygen when there was no oxygen-and all this while, the-uhhh-doctors were studying the victim through an observation window, and checking their cardiographs, and later, making their calm autopsies on the corpses.’

Ohman paused. He saw that Garrett had grown pale. Both men were silent. Only the ticking of Garrett’s travelling clock, on the bedstand, could be heard.

Ohman sighed. ‘The names of all the doctors participating in these high altitude experiments are known. One of them was Dr. Carlo Farelli.’