The American South in the 1910s, a spiked bed of racial segregation, negro descendants of slaves are second class citizens to the white population. Their crime - the wrong skin at birth. Albeit one mixed community shook its fist at the ideal of racial superiority on the surface, served by a negro doctor seeking to turn back the scourge of disease.

Prepared to take a tablet as they lay on a bed. 'Aspirin doc?' there's a nod in reply behind the white cloth face mask. Down the throat with a glass of water. Acetylsalicylic acid, the other name most people never heard, is one treatment for the wild fire called Spanish Flu. The illness stoked fear even abroad.

Once ensuring it'd been ingested properly, marked it down in the note book. On to the next patient. Operated from a temporary ward converted from an indoor volleyball court. A lone healer for dozens of patients, beds lined up across from each other. Arriving at the patient, doctor Cordil performed an examination and administered epinephrine.

Epinephrine acts quickly to improve breathing. If works as planned pneumonia will stem.

Stepping outside to cloudy daylight sky, the negro doctor removes the mask. Everyone in his profession wants a break to gather themselves once in a while.

The benign a potentially dangerous affair in the racially charged south. A night Cordil is discussing ways to uplift the poor, black neighbourhood. One part of a racially segregated town. He won't lie and say an anger doesn't rest within because of the treatment of fellow blacks. He wishes for racial blindness. Feelings compel he come here when time allows.

He and some locals are gathered inside a wooden shack of a home. One of them when he tells them find a face mask, replies ain't got the money. Cordil bade him step outside but compassionately gives them money to buy a set.

A welling in his heart compelled to give part of his salary each month to deprived blacks in town – under advice part of a fund pooled together by blacks to uplift themselves (purchase of reading books and construction material), tonight's topic. An act some people of lighter complexion murmured against him for. The blacks there live illiterate and poor; beneficiaries of his twice a week adult literacy lessons.

County rep Mr. Montfray, Cordil would pass the plans too hoping his influence, political and white would accelerate their plans.

The Washamine conversation transpires in the doctor's private medical office, not connected to the volleyball court, when this very white male visitor drops by. Contrary to much of the south, whites generally are cordial to him, including important man Montfray. The sole doctor, he's proven his worth, he has no qualms either treating whites. It's clear he focal to stemming the tide.
Cordil wagered the treatment isn't entirely right. He and the medical community at large misidentified the pathogen. Perhaps to see and that way escaped detection. In any event he is compelled practising the current treatment. His words mere hunch this point.

His companion listens ardently, technical things, one being science, captured his interest. And in town conveniently a man who fed that – Cordil.

Quietly it spoken by him president Woodrow kept the lid on things using a sedition law. Mess up support for the war if word got out.

The most effective efforts responds Washamine, simultaneously close schools, churches, and theaters, and public gatherings banned – president Woodrow forbid public awareness, leaving his citizens unprepared.

'Stuffed with a lot of medical knowledge for a librarian holding a degree.' He tells him, 'And a dollop of common sense.' An impressed gleam in his eyes.

Later a patient made him tremble a bit inside just by looking. Lilith described a breast lump. The very white Lilith. Naturally diagnosis had physical examination as prerequisite. The visitor assures it's all well and good, medical duty in mind, consents to examining her breast lump. He bade her pick a mask off his table.

Resuming other duties, the doctor returns to the makeshift ward, where a recent patient awaits and ascertains if symptoms are consistent with Spanish Flu and checks up on the pneumonia patient.

BAM, BAM! Its his door at night. Cordil responds by coming outside the house. A dangerous act. Greeting are local male toughs, led by a Galbraith, speaking in a Southern drawl. The matter concerns his "staring at one of their white women." Guess no one read how God dealt with biblical Aaron and his sister, Numbers 12:1.

Cordil says there's nothing to talk about because that's what happened – nothing. The men are not so easily swayed. Hippocratic Oath is invoked not as defence, rather presenting his ideal. He explains it's the vow medical practitioners take.

Galbraith seems confused. Didn't he and Lilith do something? The doctor says confidentiality means what transpired between both, remains between both. Words in his sentence seem to impress and confuse these lesser educated men.

Tension such that violence could descend any time. A black man and a white lady could do anything other than copulate in a private setting the square to the circle of racist perception.

Time bigwig Montfray arrived; the standoff had not abated. He demands to know what happened before he'd say word reached him somebody bothered the doctor.

The black doctor is from out of town, Galbraith cites. So, happens totally outside the subject.

Meanwhile Cordil thought to himself were Washamine to hear he'd urge run. In turn his answer Hippocratic Oath and loyalty to the black neighbourhood restrains any thoughts to flee – abandon whites and blacks?

Hearing from the white throng, an octave above skeptical. Montfray has to plead to Cordil lay out what happened, his oath wall made unwilling initially. A harmless examination for a breast lump. Lilith walked into his office. Any hand he laid on her was of a professional nature only.

Montfray says first thing in the morning he'll check with the good lady. Sounded reasonable. Sounded reasonable to the men disturbing the doctor's sleep too. Among their ranks is the thinking he too valuable to outright murder. Galbraith sensing the men's wavering, musters all the will he can scrounge and says he'll get roughed up. Montfray objects – weakly.

Morning a scene of police on and neighbours eying from near the property. Got out of hand. Hanging by a rope from a tree branch beside the house. Lynching known as these parts.

Washamine beheld the body mournfully, felt inside part of his own soul ripped out.