It happened a day, in a country far away from our high culture and ethics that a gentleman about fifty, depressed and battered, was taken to a hospital.
Not in a normal hospital, but in a futuristic Nursing Centre. That immaculate site was the most modern and avant-garde World Health outpost, able to cure any kind of illness. The man appeared immediately very serious and had to be visited otherwise could die, then jeopardize and invalidate the prestige of that miraculous Centre. Came the cardiologist, visited him and found nothing of ill. Was at stake though, the good name of the institution, therefore, in order to don't take personal responsibility in the event of death of the patient, summoned some illustrious colleagues, of international renown, to discuss the case. The man wanted to say something, but for how much effort did, it seemed that his faint voice could not be heard at all. Came the Orthopedist, that instantly made him a series of plates. Not finding anything though, it felt almost be himself the victim of a trap, a plot that undermined his career. So he decided to declare the prognosis was reserved and summoned his other illustrious colleagues, taking time in a heated confrontation. The poor man was getting worse at sight of eye, was increasingly frail and pale. Came to visit many other doctors of all specialties, from the Oncologist until a Psychiatrist, but everyone had to call of the conferences on the case to protect the honoured blazon or maybe the own throne. Were spent the other days and man was increasingly weak and defenceless. The health excellence Centre, rather than see own tarnished glory, called secretly every kind of resource, even those most alternative and denigrate. Here it is then, arrived at his sickbed the magicians, astrologers, comedians, technicians (about what, no one ever knew), politicians, trade unionists and priests, but all to no avail. He was brought even a pony, to try the pet-therapy, and finally a prostitute; Miss though, was there by mistake, because She said she had only wrong room. She was looking for an highest rank doctor office and after those words all persons entered into a civil lawsuit. Maybe the truth offends.
The man eventually died, so in silence and unheeded as He always lived.
The infallible Institute ended to public reports with every honour, for having done everything, possible and impossible to save it. All networks glorified the Head physician with tears loan by soap-opera, touched as per show schedule, under the sign of pharmaceutical brand advertising. To that man, though, whose nobody remembered the name, were devoted a State funerals, mourning and minutes of silence before the Champions league matches. The next day, of course, all was forgotten as you do with things old and uncomfortable, where the people offer the same respect like the pigeons to the statues of the fallen.
It was a pity that in the admirable Health Institute, nobody, but nobody, thought for a moment about that man, that clinical case, the irresolvable enigma, was also a human being. Indeed, a small, simple human being and as such would have had to eat. That hapless man, had died of starvation, because He simply wasn't been regarded and treated as a man.
The most terrible and painful thing, in this case, has been it was opened even a dossier of inquiry by the judiciary. Requested and granted by sound of beated, stones against the storefronts and paper bombs by unimpeachable human rights activists, from what politic side, it wasn't even them remembered. The same people, now sleep soundly, embracing their sweaty judgment, about that man, that they will never know even the name: "Dead, victim of a paradox."
Camòrs
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