Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part IV – Chapter V – Doctor Tubercuhoofis

Airglow was not exactly happy with how things were playing before her eyes, but neither was she all that upset. Her father making a buffoon of himself? She could live with that. Olva runny around in semi-hysterics over the product of her own "preparations"? Not a big deal.

There were slight exclamations at the beginning of the party, but now a general sense of ease was settling in. A new batch of wine was brought forth, and the game involving those "nasty anecdotes" was as a whole forgotten and never finished. Why waste a birthday on something like that anyway? Maxim was feeling especially bolder now that tensions had lowered. As for Pyre, he had manifested a desire to get up and grab a drink. He was met with Snappo, who suddenly started firing off at him inquires like some sort of interview, prodding into his life, his relationship with Airglow, his hobbies—but he took so long to ask him, and, frankly, with such vague wording, that Pyre told him to get lost and returned to his couch. Snappo huffed in indignation, this having been the last straw, because in truth everypony was ignoring him. Not soon after and he left Golden Oak, stamping his hooves, swearing that one day he would make it big—or something like that.

In the kitchen Bronze came up to his daughter.

"So, how do you figure?" he addressed her while gesturing to his face and the medical patches covering his bruises. "I'm healing quick, aren't I?"

"It's great to see you getting better, dad," Airglow returned with a small smile, and she leaned in to hug him. "You'll be as good as new in no time."

"Listen, I was about to have that robber Nova locked up, and I still haven't made up my mind. Of course, in these fashionable times it's customary to count parents as a prejudice, but the law, it seems, still does not allow ponies to sock their fathers in the mug, in their own house, and boast about coming back and killing them completely—and all in the presence of witnesses, dear! I could break him if I wanted, I could have him put away right now for what he did to me!"

"But you're not going to make a complaint, are you?"

"Cluster convinced me not to; he sent me a letter a few days ago. To tartarus with Cluster, but one thing I do know..." And bending close to Airglow, he said in a quiet voice, yet deliberately so that anypony near by could hear him. "If I put him away, the swine, then his girlfriend Misty would go running to him at once. But if I tell her how he beat me, a weak old stallion, then maybe she'll drop him altogether. Who knows, there's even a chance that she'll fall in love with me out of pity, and that—ha, ha!—that's a third wife right there!"

"Wait, Cluster sent you a letter?" asked Airglow in surprise.

Bronze gave her an unceremonious look. "That's what you take away from everything I told you?" He smacked his lips. "Well, that's the next generation for you..." He wrung his hoof and left the kitchen, without another word.

Next she went to check up on Pyre. Indeed, the irritation on his face had faded somewhat, replaced with a newer and stricter expression. He had a strange look of acceptance, like he had dropped everything and plunged into some sort of inevitable fate, and that, even worse, this may as well have been his last night.

"You need anything?" she asked him.

He fidgeted in his couch, turned around, raised his shoulders, and replied, "I think I'll... hem! I'll be saying everything that needs to be said tonight. Forget Cluster, this isn't for him anymore."

"What do you mean?"

But he only said, "I'll tell you soon enough, maybe when the sun has risen. Right now I need to think."

That certainly did not go anywhere, anymore than it could have. On her way back to the kitchen, to see if there were any snacks left—because it only just then came to Airglow's attention that she was hungry—she bumped into Dr. Tubercuhoofis. They were walking in opposite directions.

"Ah, Airglow, I do believe you and I have not been fully introduced," he said, smiling jovially. "Twinkie talks about you quite a lot, whenever I'm over for her weekly check ups. I have been coming for nearly two months but you and I never got a chance to talk. It's quite funny, if you think about it."

"I know, I know, it's a bad look on me," she replied, chuckling nervously. "Whenever you're over I'm either out or asleep or..." She hummed in thought for a moment. "Well, those are the only two scenarios."

"Better to over-sleep than under-sleep. I'm on my way to see Twinkie right now; I told her to get some rest, but she's acting all stubborn, asking me to let her drink alcohol. Oho!" he let out a chortle. "As if that is up to me."

"I'll come with you. I mean, why not, right?"

"Well..." he started, scratching his cheek. "I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. Come on then, upstairs."

They went upstairs to Twinkie's bedroom. Airglow had little sense of what Dr. Tubercuhoofis was like, but he spoke softly enough and with encouraging tones, so that it was almost impossible to be asocial with him. She knew that he and Olva were friends, and that he offered her special discounts for his treatments. (That is not a euphemism.)

Airglow felt a vaguely yet almost irresistible need to ask the good doctor where he came from and how he landed in his profession. Dr. Tubercuhoofis spoke in an extremely unrecognizable accent, so that it was difficult to deduce his place of origin. She wondered if he was even from Equestria. His physiognomy was thin all around, but he made up for it with puffy cheeks; his thin lips were constantly compressed like a thread and twisting into a genial smile; but his forehead was high, well formed, and made up for the lack of nobility in the lower part of his face. Especially notable was the deathly pallor on his face, which gave the good doctor an exhausted look, despite his robust personality, and which was out of harmony with his sharp, passionate gaze.

Twinkie's room was typically dark, but the shadows were kept in the corner by a bright nightlight. She was sitting upright on her bed, looking with a blank expression at the wall. When they came in she flashed them a glance, but went right back to staring in front of her.

She had grown more lively, with colour having returned to her face. Her previous feisty and rebellious nature was being less and less supported by an almost newly tranquil, albeit gloomy, mindset; her blue eyes were seemingly bigger and more intent; but her gaze was heavy, and was filled with that strange expression which conveyed a personal struggle to "fit in." She seemed internally agitated, as it were.

"You didn't drink yet?" asked Dr. Tubercuhoofis, eyeing the full glass of water on the stand next to the bed.

"You can leave it there if you want," said Twinkie in her thin little voice. But she became quite surprised when Airglow also came from behind the good doctor.

"Come on, you thought I'd leave you here all by yourself?" she said, sitting on the bed. "How are your legs? I've noticed you've been using the wheelchair less and less."

"It... it doesn't matter," she mumbled to herself, blushing.

"Don't be so down in the dumps, Twinkie, your mother would give me a talking to should I ever give up on you," laughed the good doctor. "Don't you know? Pessimism is the precursor to hope: the darker the night, the brighter the stars."

"It's nothing!" said Twinkie, embarrassed by the casual air which the good doctor was showcasing, and, furthermore, to have Airglow witness it all.

"Yes, yes, it's nothing," Dr. Tubercuhoofis continued in an apologetic voice. "But it could be a lot worse. For example, you could have been suffering from a brain disease. That's fatal."

Airglow looked down for a second, as if in reflection. She saw Twinkie and sighed, grabbing her hoof. "Don't be stubborn," she said, smiling. "I know we can be annoying. But—"

"Y-you're not annoying, Airglow!" Twinkie suddenly roused herself, frowning and getting into a fluster.

"Here, one last check up for tonight. Open wide," said Dr. Tubercuhoofis, levitating a little metal spatula with his magic. He placed it on Twinkie's tongue and looked into her throat, while she made a squeaky "ahhh!" sound.

"Hmm, hmm, okay. That... might be... Well, we'll end it here," the good doctor spoke decidely and slowly, storing the spatula away. "Sleep well and drink plenty of water. Your mother has arranged for physical therapy next week; well, isn't that good? You've progressed this far. I'll leave you alone now. Take care, little one."

He walked to the door but halted, seeing if Airglow would come with him or stay.

"Hey, Airglow," Twinkie called to her before she could leave. She was tapping her hooves together.

Airglow looked at her. "Yeah, what is it?"

"What do you do... when you're sad? Do you... talk to other ponies... or...?"

"Talking to other ponies can help. That's what friends are for. But what's this all about?" she asked, peering with evident concern into Twinkie's face. "You don't like being cooped up in here with a party blasting downstairs?"

Twinkie nodded, then looked away, frowning ruefully.

Airglow opened her mouth, but it was replaced by a pensive smile. She deftly leaned in closer to Twinkie, while the latter wasn't looking, and kissed her on the forehead. Twinkie gave her a sudden look.

"Your mom really cares about you," said Airglow. "Think about it: she's doing everything she can to pay for your treatment, and on top of that, she's keeping you here so you can get some rest. It's all... for you."

"I guess," said Twinkie slowly, fidgeting, but she couldn't resist her lips twisting into a weak smile.

"I'm really proud of you, okay? How about this: if by next year you're up and running, I'll take you out to the very edge of Ponyville, on a nice meadow with lots of flowers—we'll go fly kites together, just you and me."

Twinkie's face fell a little; she heaved herself up. "Promise?" she asked.

"You betcha. After all, isn't that what two best friends do?"

That seemed to have been enough to lift Twinkie's spirits. They embraced, but Airglow, in looking past Twinkie's shoulder, spotted a newspaper strip hanging off the stool; she wasn't sure, but the name "Cluster Tale" flashed in her eyes.

"Wait a minute"— Airglow flapped her wings and picked up the strip.

This instantly produced a nervous effect on Twinkie's face. "W-wait, don't—"

"You read my brother's article, the one about... oh... oh! That explains everything."

Twinkie pouted, slumping back down on her bed. Airglow laughed, sparing the poor girl by not asking any questions. She put the article back on the stool, bid farewell, and left the overwrought Twinkie to her own devices.

She was confronted with a smiling Dr. Tubercuhoofis. He motioned for her and both went downstairs together.

"You have a special relationship with her, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I'm still worried. Can't say what exactly."

"Airglow"— they stopped just near the entrance to the kitchen —"medicine, while an excellent medium, is not the endgame of what doctors strive towards. There will always be that psychological aspect brought on by friends and family which will do wonders to a patient's recovery. Call it placebo, perhaps, but it works. I can tell that you are good at heart. Would you like to know why I became a doctor?"

"Actually, yeah!" Airglow's eyes lit up. "I also wanted to know where you're from, but we can start with that. Why did you become a doctor?"

Dr. Tubercuhoofis, even in his speech, fell greedily and loquaciously upon Airglow, as though he had not spoken to anypony about this one particular topic for a long time, and wished very much to get it out there.

"For me it began in poverty," he began solemnly yet good-naturedly. "Poverty is no vice, that's the truth. But destitution is a vice. In poverty you can still preserve the nobility of your inborn feelings, but in destitution that never happens. For destitution one doesn't even get driven out of pony company with a stick; one is swept out with a broom, to make it more degrading. It's in such a state that I was in, and I was the first to insult myself. Hence my former alcoholism."

Near the counter he poured himself a glass, drank it, and lapsed into thought. It was obvious that his penchant for ornate speech was probably acquired as a result of his habit to frequent taverns and enter into conversation with various strangers there.

"Have you ever spent any time in Manehattan?" he asked.

"No, never," replied Airglow. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I come from there, and my decision came to its conclusion almost thirty years ago. It was that one month—it was the end of May—that an associate of mine gave my wife a beating, and my wife was a far cry from me. I could have been doing something to help—serving, for instance. I could have served with the guards. But why wouldn't I serve? And didn't my heart ache over this vain groveling? When that associate gave my wife a beating that month, with his own hooves, I was lying there with my cups. I didn't do anything to stop it; I was a bad husband with bad habits. But, worst of all, didn't I suffer? Excuse me, Airglow, but it's completely hopeless to ask for a loan of money, isn't it? It's hopeless, knowing beforehoof that nothing will come of it. I was never given any loans, because despite all good intentions, I would never repay them.

"And so, knowing that you won't get anything, you'll set out on your way. But what if there is nowhere else to go? It is necessary that everypony has at least some place to go. When my only-begotten daughter was born, I remember, I ventured to go to the tavern. But never mind that... At the time I was a swine, and my wife was a lady. Well, I had the image of a beast, and my wife was an educated lady. She was even an officer's daughter. She had a lofty heart and was full of good sentiments, and if only she had pitied me differently. I would drink up her stockings. I mean, I would pawn everything she owed, right after I finished spending the last of our earnings, all on drinks. Her white-laced handkerchief I also drank up—a gift, a former one, hers, not mine. Our corner was cold, and the winter was bitter. And we had four children in total, and she worked day and night, scrubbing and cleaning, because she was used to cleanliness since childhood, and she had a weak chest and was inclined to consumption. I felt it. And the more I drank, the more I felt it. In drinking I sought compassion and feeling. Not joy, but sorrow only...

"So amid all this disgrace, know that my wife had been educated in a Canterlot school, and on her graduation she received a gold medal and a certificate of merit. The medal... well, I sold that, too. And despite all of our strifes and bickering, and especially the strife with our landlady, she still wished to feel happy about something. And I don't judge, I don't judge, because this was the last thing left of her in my memory. She washed the floors herself, and ate black bread, but she could not tolerate any disrespect. When that associate beat her, she took it with emotion; it reminded her of her first husband, who also beat her, and who was also taken to court and thereupon died.

"Our children could not work, and we barely made fifty bits a week. And, to be honest, she had no special talent. And here the children were hungry... here my wife would pace the room, with flushed spots on her cheek, clearly on the edge of a brain fever. 'You live with us,' she said to me, 'you good-for-nothing, you eat and drink and use up warmth.' I was lying there... with my cups, and I heard my daughter, who was about your age at the time, saying to her mother, 'Why, mama, must I go and do such a thing?' My wife answered that it was the only way to make more money. But I couldn't blame her, not at all. For my wife, when the children got to crying, she would start beating them at once. So then, after some time, my daughter would get up, put on a dress, go out, and come back ten hours later and silently place forty bits on the table. Not a word with it, not even a glance; she would just lay down on the bed, face to the wall; only her little shoulders kept trembling."

Dr. Tubercuhoofis fell silent, as though his voice had failed him. Then suddenly he poured himself a quick glass, drank it, and sighed.

"Since then, Airglow," he went on, "owing to misfortune, my wife became deadly sick. We couldn't pay for anything. She would scream at me every night, pull on my mane, curse me while I used up all of our money. She died then. The children could not stay with me any longer; they were moved to some charity organization run by a philanthropist. I believe his name was Flash Stream. First I thought, 'Now what?' This was me in the depths of poverty, no, of destitution. About eight months went by; I was improving, little by little, yet I could not fully sort myself out. It was during one walk by this philanthropist's institution that I caught the sight of my children, through a window. Imagine my surprise, my utter and unexpected surprise! Here they were, after eight months. And they looked... happy. In the care of caring ponies. I didn't say anything, no, I didn't dare. I was sentimental then, with a sentimental heart. It all flashed before me: despite all the financial hardships, despite all the nagging I endured, and, especially this, despite all the drinks I consumed at the expense of everything else, it was my negligence to my family that truly shook me down. I stayed there outside, watching through the window, unable to move, with such... shadows over me.

"Well, to cut a long story short, I dedicated my life, with every fibre of my being, to the pursuit of something worthwhile. I moved to Canterlot and studied medicine. And for the past twenty years I have been a certified doctor, lending my aid in whatever way I could manage. Never, ever again shall I let children suffer, as my own did. No, Airglow, never again. It's downright sinful."

"We couldn't find the cards, it turns out," said Bronze from the side, all of a sudden. "Pah! What kind of library doesn't sell cards. Can you tell me that, Airglow?"

Airglow looked at him with a stunned expression, having no idea where to divert her attention.

"Come now, doctor," said Bronze, prodding Dr. Tubercuhoofis to follow him to the main table. "You're a fine fellow, but now Maxim is telling his stories and we have to listen to him. It's his birthday, after all. You needn't bother, Airglow."

"Remember," said Dr. Tubercuhoofis to Airglow on his way, "that sometimes your only option is to let go. If you love somepony, truly love them, there will come a time where you not only can but must let go. This was a good talk."

Airglow slowly sat down by the counter at the kitchen, resting one cheek on her hoof, with a vague and cloudy look in her eyes. All this time Pyre was waiting for her and constantly glancing at her and the good doctor, while they stood aside talking. He became feverishly animated as the others approached the table, with Maxim orating. He was restless and agitated; sweat broke out on his forehead. His eyes, along with a sort of continual restlessness, also showed a certain impatience; his gaze moved aimlessly from object to object, from pony to pony. He wasn't paying to any conversation around him.

Airglow walked up to him a few minutes later, asking how he was doing.

"You know, I'm very glad it's somepony's birthday tonight," said Pyre.

"Why's that?" asked Airglow.

"You'll see. Sit down quickly. I'll wait for that Maxim to finish speaking. I reckon it won't take much longer..." And from his saddlebag he pulled out a couple of papers, with streams of roughly written text on them. "Forget the sunrise. Hem, hem! I want to end this sooner rather than later."