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The Whiskey Scent
It was three o’clock on a Saturday morning in the autumn of 2006 when the phone rang.I had unexpectedly taken over the night shift from a colleague who had “thrown his back out” fixing something on his farmhouse that evening. We’d gone out for dinner to celebrate something — I can’t recall what exactly. Only that the wine had been excellent, and that I might have had a glass or two more than usual. That happens to me once or twice a year — though only when I’m not on call. In those days, Dutch newspapers were full of stories about “coma drinking” — young teenagers ending up in hospital…
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The Wonder Doctor
It was morning handover in the doctors’ room, a space that during weekends doubled as overflow from the men’s ward. An empty, but still unmade, bed had just been pushed out.We were three Dutch doctors working here in Serowe, Botswana: Eric, Willem, and me. All three of us were young, at the start of our careers, with our families in tow. Eric had been on call over the weekend, and after finishing his formal handover he added:“That bed was for János Kovács. Maybe you’ve seen him in the private clinic? He owned the Hard Liquor Store.” Neither Willem nor I had treated him, though we both knew the name.János was…