The Virgin Cure (46 page)

Sold into prostitution at a young age, many girls from poor families were brokered by madams (or even their own parents) as “fresh maids.” Men paid the highest price for girls who had been “certified” as virgins.

At this same time in New York, syphilis was an overwhelming, widespread puzzle of a disease with no remedy and it was this taboo topic that my great-great-grandmother chose as the subject of her graduation thesis. In her day, there continued to be much argument over how the disease was spread and there were many unsuccessful (and often destructive) forms of treatment. An even greater tragedy than the human wreckage resulting from this disease was a deadly myth that preyed upon young girls. The myth of “the virgin cure”—the belief that a man with syphilis could “cleanse his blood” by deflowering a virgin—was without social borders and was acted out in every socioeconomic class in some form or another. In fact, the more money a man had, the easier it would have been for him to procure a young girl for this unthinkable act.

As one physician of the time stated, “I have been surprised at discovering the existence of this belief [the virgin cure] in people generally well informed as well as among the comparatively illiterate. I have tried to find evidence for the theory that it is a belief traceable to certain districts but I have discovered it among people of different places and of different occupations—so different that now I should scarcely be surprised to come across it anywhere.”

Originally I thought that the narrative voice of
The Virgin Cure
would be Sadie’s, but as I searched for the best way to write the story I wanted to tell, I discovered that it wasn’t to be found in her voice after all. I spent hours walking the streets and sidewalks that had once been travelled by my great-great-grandmother in her work as a medical student and physician in the late 1800s. As I walked, I tried to conjure up the memory of her life and the women and children she had served. On Second Avenue, I stared at the place where the New York Infirmary for Indigent Women and Children once stood. I went to Pear Tree Corner to see where Peter Stuyvesant’s great pear tree had lived for over two hundred years. I visited the Lower East Side Tenement Museum and looked into the small, dark rooms of the past. On those streets, I found my answer. I found the voice I’d been waiting for, the voice of a twelve-year-old street girl named Moth.

I am indebted to the following people for their tremendous efforts and their contributions to this book.

To my family and friends near and far—thanks for the encouragement and for listening.

To my parents, who are with me always.

To my amazing agent, Helen Heller, for sharing her wisdom and expertise (and for reminding me to follow my gut).

To Anne Collins, for her editorial prowess and elegant touch.

To Allyson Latta, for her keen eyes and for asking all the right questions.

To Kelly Hill, who continues to make my words look like magic.

To Deirdre Molina and Nicola Makoway, for their great skill in making sense of things.

To Diane Martin and Angelika Glover, for their enthusiasm and support.

To Chris O’Neill of the Ross Creek Centre for the Arts and Ken Schwartz of Two Planks and a Passion Theatre—your friendship in life and art means the world to me.

To the Zuppa Theatre Co. players and the cast and crew of Jerome—muses all!

To the 2010 Creeklings—Rebecca, Ruby, Ivy, Mariah and Ainslee, and honorary Creeklings past, Caitlin, Sarah and Aliah. You, my dear girls, will take the world by storm.

To the staff of the New-York Historical Society Museum & Library, for following through on my countless questions and queries.

To Dr. Steven G. Friedman of the New York Downtown Hospital, for opening his office and helping me find a page from my great-great-grandmother’s life.

To Milly Riley, for your willingness to share pieces of your family’s past.

And, to the three who are my everything—my sons Ian and Jonah, and my partner in life and poetry, my husband Ian.
Du meine Seele, du mein Herz
.