Biography: Dr. Cornelius Razuvaev Markarov aka “Dr. Martin”
Young Life and Family
My father was greatly indebted to Mr. Cossitt. Our family had followed him home, to the United States, after he finished his tenure as Emissary to Russia, settling in the small town of LaGrange, Tennessee. Purchasing a small storefront on Main Street, with an apartment for us to live in above, he became the second apothecary in the town. The other was of little use, from what I remember, so my father did quite well. Not to say that patronage from the Cossitt family did not hurt.
Mr. Cossitt and his many relations received a certain level of respect from everyone. In a town full of wealthy plantation aristocracy, this was a feat. We were much more modest, attempting to avoid great notice, but flourishing in our own respects. There were several well-educated tutors in the vicinity, so I had every opportunity, for my education, before me. Like my father, I saw the sciences as the most intriguing and subtle of pursuits. He had been mixing remedies and concocting cures my whole life, meeting Mr. Cossitt in the Russian Palace as a court physician. They had quickly stuck up a friendship, and when Mr. Cossitt returned home, my father sold everything we had in our Motherland, to pursue his dream in the United States, owning his own store. In Russia, he had unable to remove himself from the Royal Writ, the Czarina finding much comfort from his kindly ways, and unwilling to release him from service, while in the vicinity.
So I, a genius in chemistry and medicine, found myself in the most opportunistic place in the world, to allow my mind to grow and wander. Wander into unspeakable place; down into the depths of the ancient religions of this soil; depths none had preceded me to discover since their utter destruction and removal from cognizant life, centuries before.
When just 17, the war between the North and South began. My town was immediately emptied of young men. When word came, every wealthy, healthy lad in the region had swarmed into the town square, crowding around Young Mr. Cossitt, a nephew of our patron. He stood on a wagon bed proclaiming they would free themselves from Yankee Tyranny. Now, I had seen very little of what I would call tyranny aimed at these young men. They were the ones piling their workload onto the backs of negro slaves. I watched from our storefront window, as they clamored for succession, thinking to myself how grand it would be to march off into adventure.
My father needed me here though, and my craft would not wait. I had to keep learning of all the wondrous possibilities of science. Wishes can be granted unlooked for though. Not two months later, after a regiment had been formed of the towns able-bodied, Young Mr. Cossitt came into father’s shop, demanding he accompany them to the war, for a medic was needed. My father, being a man of purely scholarly temperament, flatly refused, but half-jokingly pointed at me and said, “But you can take that verklempt schnorrer with you!” Not knowing what my father was saying, with a confused look on his face, Mr. Cossitt turned to go, but I was already at his coat sleeve, standing at attention.
Not knowing what I’d gotten myself into, by joining up in one of the bloodiest wars of all time, I thought of heroic deeds and adventure. Eyes become opened, to reality, in war. Innocence was ripped from my tender grasp after my first battle, when the sergeant came running at me, covered in blood, with only stumps for arms. He was my first casualty, of many. They kept coming, one after another. Spattered in mud, covered in blood, they died.