I Am Mycobacterium Tuberculosis and I Was With John Keats When He Died

I am Mycobacterium tuberculosis, a hardy bacillus thatthe family closed their doors to the outside world
has been on this planet so long now, that I'm actuallyand just delicately coughed over each other. Then as
older than the human species itself. I mean I couldMaria, Elizabeth and Patrick died in turn, they decided
bore you and tell you I've seen it all, about way backthey might as well keep their silence. When Anne
in history when the green lands of Africa were stillfinally died her parting sentence was meant to
joined to Antarctica and was called Gondwanaland,strengthen her one surviving sibling 'Take courage,
but I'll not! Just suffice to say that the first recordedCharlotte, take courage!'
European consumer lived in the beautiful Altstadt ofCharlotte, the most prolific writer of the family, got
Heidelberg about seven thousand years ago. Thatmarried before she died and her death certificate
was back in 5,000 BC, long before Bertie and thewas recorded as 'phthisis' the Greek word for the
Nice Treaty and his recently retrieved skeletalconsumption. In fact Hippocrates used the term, but
remains shows he was a true believer in theas he is in the doghouse for giving the Swedes a bad
consumer cause. Around the same time I was visitingname, I will not extrapolate. Then in 1882, Robert
ancient Egypt, fiddling with the dear old mummy'sKoch, a country doctor from the Rhineland, tried to
remains, twisting a spine here and there, sitting outconvince everybody that the wriggling red microbes
on the warm hotel terrace above the Nile, hangingthat he observed under his microscope were the
around waiting on the pyramid of Cheops to be built.cause of consumption and that I was readily
And as the saffron sun set over the city of Cairo foridentifiable with a crimson stain. His giggling colleagues
the thousandth time, I legged it to India andput his theories of socialist bugs to rest and one year
destroyed the intricate caste system for a fewlater, Sir Walter Scott fell for my charms. Four years
thousand years. Then came the Greeks and Romans,later, Doc Holliday went to Glenwood Springs to see
good coughers one and all, except may I say thatif the sulphur vapours would improve his cough, but
quack Hippocrates was a bit suspect, a sort ofhe was too far gone and on November 8, 1887, he
Wagnerian alter ego. I mean he actually blamed theasked for a glass of whiskey. Then he said, "This is
Scandinavians for spreading the good cough about.funny", and died. He always believed that his end
Well yes, I am well known to turn even my bestwould come from lead poisoning, at the end of a
friends alabaster white but to extrapolate that intorope, but lost his biggest bet when he died of
some sort of hereditary tendency, well it's just atuberculosis.
liberty, why St. Bernadette herself would turn in herAs the decade passed, I befriended Robert Louis
grave. And I know, because I was there as sheStevenson, but we eventually went our separate
gasped her dying words 'Open my chest and let meways near Apia, in the Solomon Isles in early
breathe!'December 1894. At least you can say I got
But seasons came and went and in 1784, I partedeverybody to go overseas on holiday no matter how
company with Samuel Johnson who was somewhatbad the felt
more profound as he coughed his last words, 'ItWell the new century came and I watched the burial
matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. Theof Cecil John Rhodes. By 1902, he had coughed his
act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short alast and his final train journey through Africa to the
time'. And then in October 1820, short of someMatopo Hills was a triumphal affair. Meanwhile, Anton
intellectual conversation, I went to Rome with JohnChekov started coughing up blood and died a few
Keats for a holiday. Despite the rumours back inyears later. As the Great War broke out, D. H.
England that he wanted to leave me at home, weLawrence escaped conscription because of his chest.
shared a house at the foot of the Spanish steps untilIn 1924, Prague born writer, Franz Kafka, lay
we parted company on February 23rd 1821 as hehaemorrhaging from his lungs in a downtown Vienna
died in the arms of his friend Joseph Severn. But athospital. He begged for the doctors to give him a
this stage, I had got a taste for the Mediterraneanlethal dose of morphine, and in true Wildean fashion
vitae in the company of artisans, so in 1838, I leftscreamed to them, 'Kill me, or else you are a
again for my winter holidays to Majorca. This time itmurderer'. In that same year, over 200, 000
was with Frederic Chopin, who was anything butAmericans died of the disease, which was more than
discrete and he went around the island coughing sothe total for heart disease and cancer combined. In
much that the locals got suspicious and followed him1930, an impoverished D.H. Lawrence coughed his last
to the old Carthusain monastery of Valdemosa. Fewin Vence, France and as the years passed, the
know, it was here that Chopin produced some of hisSecond World War was fought under a different
best nocturnes, including the poetically colourful, '24sunset.
Preludes op. 28'. But not happy with doing that, heDuring these years I found many friends in Europe
bribed his way out of the monastery and left on aand in1943 it was estimated that I had befriended
passenger ship to Spain, where he haemoptysised100.000 people in the Warsaw ghettos. A similar
upon his fellow passengers. This young Romanticistnumber were infected in Americans and by the
who had wrote Polish mazurkas about chasingChristmas of that year about half that number had
peasant girls and hunting partridges, was immediatelypaid the ultimate price. But the tide of life, brought
put ashore and had to take a pig transporternew advances and things were slowly beginning to
onwards. The gentile composer of youthful rondos,turn against me. November 1944, saw the
polonaises and concertos, the man who had heraldedintroduction of streptomycin and an eventual
the coming harmonies of Wagner, reduced to traveldecrease in the number of people that I bestowed
with pigs, just because he kept my company. Andfriendship on. In 1990, I was with my old friend
when the poor man eventually reached Paris, freshNelson Mandela as he was released from Robben
with the latest Paco Porcine, it's little wonder his finalIsland. I still have a lot of other friends around the
words were, 'The earth is suffocating, swear toworld, but I am more selective these days and tend
make them cut me open, so I won't be buried alive'.to only befriend the poor or immigrants. Presently
Anyway, I'll tell you a story about the windsweptabout eight million people cough themselves daily into
Yorkshire moors, for it was there lived the Bronteanother sunset, of which about three million will not
sisters. And as the winds blew and the gales howled,see the coming fall.