his instructions, I clasp my hands together. I fear that if I do not, the excitement will overcome me.
“Take one of the aprons there from the hook. Youshall retrieve what I ask of you.”
I nod and tie the apron tightly. My fingers are shaking, and I try to calm myself like I do during my morning meditations, by taking several deep breaths. This is my opportunity to show him I’m capable and proficient. Father opens the book I’ve placed on the table, and turns to a page near the back.
“I have need of the thin metal rod with the hook at the end of it,” he says, nodding toward the tray of surgical implements. “Then we will begin.”
I hand it to him, and he touches the heart gently with the rod.
But nothing happens.
He straightens and tries again. The result is the same. Touching the rod to the heart for a third time, he presses it deeply into the flesh. There is still no change. “I have the proper amounts of zinc and copper,” he mutters. “The connection is strong.”
He tinkers with the wire on the end of the rod. “The wire has been coated with salt water.…” He leans in to touch the page in front of him. “Yes,” he says. “It’s all right
here
. I don’t understand what can be wrong.”
I dare to voice my question. “What was supposed to have happened, Father?”
“Animal electricity.” He toys with the wire again.“Were this experiment a success, the spark would, in theory, make the heart beat again.”
“Like the study of galvanism!” I say excitedly.
He turns to face me. “You’ve heard of it?”
“It was all the rage when Mother and I lived in England. I was too young, of course, to attend any of the showings, but I remember hearing about it. Luigi Galvani’s nephew, Giovanni Aldini, would put on shows across Europe in which he would produce animal stimulation. When I grew older, I read about it.”
“I believe his success to be doubtful. If his claims were real, then this should have worked. I followed his directions quite explicitly.” Father prods the heart again as he speaks. “It’s not just the heart,” he mutters. “
That’s
the problem. I know this. The brain is needed as well.”
“What do you mean, the brain is needed?”
He suddenly looks up excitedly and throws the rod he’s holding onto the table. “Go to that crate over there.” He points at the shelf behind me. “And bring it here.”
I hesitate momentarily. What will I see inside it?
“By all means, whenever you are ready,” he says in exasperation.
Hurrying to the shelf, I do what he says. But Icannot stop my sharp exhale when I look into the crate. A horse’s head stares up at me. It’s brown eyes wide and unblinking.
“Come, come now,” he says. “You say you helped your mother in the village. Although this is an animal, there will not be much of a difference.”
Human heads are not stored in crates with their eyes open and staring wide
. But I know I cannot say what I’m thinking, so I carry the crate over to the table and set it down before him.
He lifts the head out of the crate and puts it directly onto the table. Even with all my doubts over whether or not my interest in medicine is abnormal, I cannot quell my curiosity.
“Bring me the cutting blade,” Father says.
I find the one he wants and he places the blade at the back of the animal’s head. Then he begins the arduous task of removing the skin and hair. When he hits bone, the noise it makes as he saws back and forth sets my teeth on edge. But I clasp my hands tightly together again, behind my back, and force myself to keep watching. If I turn away now, Father will no doubt see it as a sign of weakness. A sign that women cannot handle the study of medicine.
Once he’s opened the horse’s skull, he makes a few more cuts and then lifts the brain out. “Another tray is needed.”
I search on the shelf behind me, but I cannot find one.
“To your left,” he directs. “Just there.”
Seizing an empty tray, I
“Take one of the aprons there from the hook. Youshall retrieve what I ask of you.”
I nod and tie the apron tightly. My fingers are shaking, and I try to calm myself like I do during my morning meditations, by taking several deep breaths. This is my opportunity to show him I’m capable and proficient. Father opens the book I’ve placed on the table, and turns to a page near the back.
“I have need of the thin metal rod with the hook at the end of it,” he says, nodding toward the tray of surgical implements. “Then we will begin.”
I hand it to him, and he touches the heart gently with the rod.
But nothing happens.
He straightens and tries again. The result is the same. Touching the rod to the heart for a third time, he presses it deeply into the flesh. There is still no change. “I have the proper amounts of zinc and copper,” he mutters. “The connection is strong.”
He tinkers with the wire on the end of the rod. “The wire has been coated with salt water.…” He leans in to touch the page in front of him. “Yes,” he says. “It’s all right
here
. I don’t understand what can be wrong.”
I dare to voice my question. “What was supposed to have happened, Father?”
“Animal electricity.” He toys with the wire again.“Were this experiment a success, the spark would, in theory, make the heart beat again.”
“Like the study of galvanism!” I say excitedly.
He turns to face me. “You’ve heard of it?”
“It was all the rage when Mother and I lived in England. I was too young, of course, to attend any of the showings, but I remember hearing about it. Luigi Galvani’s nephew, Giovanni Aldini, would put on shows across Europe in which he would produce animal stimulation. When I grew older, I read about it.”
“I believe his success to be doubtful. If his claims were real, then this should have worked. I followed his directions quite explicitly.” Father prods the heart again as he speaks. “It’s not just the heart,” he mutters. “
That’s
the problem. I know this. The brain is needed as well.”
“What do you mean, the brain is needed?”
He suddenly looks up excitedly and throws the rod he’s holding onto the table. “Go to that crate over there.” He points at the shelf behind me. “And bring it here.”
I hesitate momentarily. What will I see inside it?
“By all means, whenever you are ready,” he says in exasperation.
Hurrying to the shelf, I do what he says. But Icannot stop my sharp exhale when I look into the crate. A horse’s head stares up at me. It’s brown eyes wide and unblinking.
“Come, come now,” he says. “You say you helped your mother in the village. Although this is an animal, there will not be much of a difference.”
Human heads are not stored in crates with their eyes open and staring wide
. But I know I cannot say what I’m thinking, so I carry the crate over to the table and set it down before him.
He lifts the head out of the crate and puts it directly onto the table. Even with all my doubts over whether or not my interest in medicine is abnormal, I cannot quell my curiosity.
“Bring me the cutting blade,” Father says.
I find the one he wants and he places the blade at the back of the animal’s head. Then he begins the arduous task of removing the skin and hair. When he hits bone, the noise it makes as he saws back and forth sets my teeth on edge. But I clasp my hands tightly together again, behind my back, and force myself to keep watching. If I turn away now, Father will no doubt see it as a sign of weakness. A sign that women cannot handle the study of medicine.
Once he’s opened the horse’s skull, he makes a few more cuts and then lifts the brain out. “Another tray is needed.”
I search on the shelf behind me, but I cannot find one.
“To your left,” he directs. “Just there.”
Seizing an empty tray, I
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