Mayor Barton leaded over a microscope in a back room of Doc's office. Doc stood over him with his arms folded, occasionally switched slides for Paul to look at.
“So what, Doc. This doesn't mean a thing to me.” Paul finally said aloud.
“It's dying, Paul.”
“Well stop it. Keep it alive.”
“It's not that easy. It's used up about as much of Philpot as it can.” Doc said, pulling out an X-Ray and placing it on a light board. “You see it's attached here near his renal artery. I think it functions a lot like a kidney, absorbing his body's waste. That would explain its growth over the past several years.”
“So what's making it die?”
“Philpot's just getting old. The arteries are hardening and the amount of waste it needs to survive is diminishing.”
Mayor Barton pointed at the X-Ray. “Why not move it here, to the other side?”
“I would expect the same problem. Besides, Philpot would never survive the surgery in his condition.”
“So what? It could feed off that kidney at least long enough to get us through the championship game.
“No, Paul. If he dies, it dies.” Doc Mastes had no trouble concealing his frustration.
“Did that fiasco last night have anything to do with this?” Mayor Barton shot back aggressively.
“Well it certainly didn't help matters; most likely sped along Philpot’s deterioration.
“I knew it.”
“That night is behind us. What we have to do is figure out a way to keep it alive until the championship Friday.”
“So you think it won't even survive another 48 hours?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well you're the Doc, what do you propose we do?”
Doc Mastes was silent for a moment. It wasn’t often that Paul consulted him for advice. In fact, the last time Paul did so was when Kathy lost her grandfather and started displaying suicidal ideation. Usually, Paul took to Reverend Baker when he needed help making a decision.
Truth was Doc didn’t know exactly how to keep the tumor alive. In spite of all his study, the thing remained a mystery. Nevertheless, Mastes was a rational man, and he knew that this day would one day come. He’d already considered an alternative.
“There is a remote opportunity of saving it.” Doc said.
“Go on.”
“We could transplant the tumor to another person.”
“A tumor transplant?” Mayor Barton sounded incredulous.
“Yes. In the history of medicine, this sort of thing has never been done.” Doc paused, “For obvious reasons.”
Mastes waited patiently as his solution was being weighed. He knew Barton was taking him seriously, he could see the choice turning along the folds in the man’s cheeks, coloring them as they moved.
Mayor Barton remained silent and began to look increasingly twisted up in his countenance. Doc decided to break the silence will a little joke.
“We would need someone willing to ‘take one for the team.’"
Apparently Paul didn’t find that too amusing. He shot a cold stare back to Doc Mastes and still refused to speak.
Doc returned to business. “There's still no guarantee it will work. But I hardly see an alternative. Oh yes, and the transplant will kill Philpot.”
Mayor Barton turned and walked toward the office window. He pulled the blinds open and stared out. This was certainly the longest that Doc had ever seen Mayor Barton go without speaking. After two agonizing minutes of silence, Barton turned around.
“I know just what to do.” Paul said calmly.
“You'll find a host then?”
“I will find a host. I'll do whatever it takes to see this through until kickoff.”
And with that, Paul turned and left the room.
A novel, presented in chapters.
A small town high school football team has gone largely unrecognized after forty years of consecutive wins and a young, ambitious reporter uncovers a stunning secret—behind the small town values and string of impressive athletic victories hides a bizarre pre-game ritual: each player must rub the bulging tumor of their school janitor for good luck. As the janitor's health begins to fade, the town unites around the local body politic to push for the world's first ever tumor transplant in a crazed attempt to save their winning streak. The transplant fails, creating even more fevered desperation to win at least one more game. The town’s proposed solution is both as sickening as it is outrageous: players will consume the tumor during a special called Eucharist served up by the town minister, thereby demonstrating just how far a group will go to stay on top in the ‘dog eat dog’ world of high school athletics.
This book is in no way meant to make light of the terrible disease of cancer, which took my grandfather and many others I have loved. It's a metaphor for a different kind of illness.
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