Authors: Myla Goldberg
Wickett's Remedy (43 page)
“External examination reveals the body to be tinged a shade of heliotrope consistent with cyanosis. There are several raised purple blisters ranging in diameter from one-sixteenth to one-eighth of an inch about the chest and neck.”
As Gold spoke, the interns took notes while Peterson stood ready, the instruments waiting beside him. Lydia began to wish she had not come.
“We will now proceed to the opening of the trunk,” Gold pronounced with a confusing mixture of solemnity and detachment, making it difficult to determine whether he viewed the corpse before him as a former colleague, or a specimen, or something impossibly in between. Dr. Peterson reached for a large scalpel with a flat, wide blade and—before Lydia fully realized what was happening—sliced into Percy’s chest. The sight launched a gut-level alarm through her body, but she did not want to be seen turning away. Instead she stared just below the level of the slab, though that did not erase what she had already seen. Peterson had cut a deep, Y-shaped incision into Percy Cole. He had incised the left shoulder to the breastbone and then repeated the procedure on Percy’s right side with only slightly more effort than was required to slice through a roast pig. The tail of the Y was longer than the one Percy had traced for her, a cut that ran down past the navel, dividing Percy’s torso into three unequal portions.
The room took on the faint butchery smell she associated with the meat market on Dorchester, a smell previously linked to Sunday dinner. She kept her gaze averted. She had not noticed before that Percy wore a ring, but there it was—a silver band encircling his
dangling pinky finger. Then came a liquid plash as a thin stream of pinkish water drained from a hole in the slab to a bucket below. She heard the clink of metal; Peterson had obtained a new instrument from the tray. Next came a crunch, similar to that of a tree bough breaking but moister and duller. Then it came again. Another clink of metal, then a pause, and then the scalpel hit the floor with a purely musical sound, like a triangle being struck from an orchestra’s back row. Several people gasped. Somewhere to her left, a low voice beside her murmured, “My God.”
“With the removal of the sternum,” came Dr. Gold’s voice, now slow and strained, as if hands gripped his windpipe, “we can observe the lungs, which are extraordinarily swollen and discolored.” The silence of the room had electrified. “In thirty years in this profession I have never seen anything like this.” She stared at her feet; she would die staring at her feet if that was what it took to avoid seeing what had made Dr. Gold sound like a frightened old man.
“Percy never had a chance,” someone near her groaned. “The poor fellow drowned inside his own skin.” Her throat constricted and the air around her felt warm.
Another instrument was removed from the tray. The air smelled more strongly of meat now and she thought of the dinner she had just eaten. Sour saliva filled her mouth. She forced the sour taste back down. Her feet had become fixed to the floor.
“The left lung is uncharacteristically heavy,” Dr. Gold murmured. She watched Gold’s legs move as if underwater from the slab to a nearby counter. In the silence of the room it was possible to hear him placing
something on the metal tray of a scale. Then, speaking almost to himself, Gold said, “That can’t be.” His voice wavered. “Seven hundred grams. It’s all fluid.” There was another pause before Gold’s voice returned, as small as a child’s. “This must be some new kind of infection—”
Something solid hit the floor with a heavy thunk. Though she knew the body on the slab had not moved, in her mind’s eye Percy was now standing, his chest dangling open, a dark space where his left lung had been.
“Get some ammonia from the cabinet,” a voice commanded.
“He’s coming to,” said another.
“You all right, Cecil?” asked a third.
As she turned her head toward the voices she caught a glimpse of Percy’s dangling hand. In place of fingers she now saw five test tubes filled with red fluid, one of which was encircled by a silver ring.
Joe?
Who is it?
I waited in my room but you didn’t come.
It’s useless.
You did everything you could. I know it, the men know it, and Percy knew it.
You didn’t see him. You didn’t see his lungs.
I’m so sorry, Joe.
I was going to give him so much.
It’s a loss.
It’s a goddamn travesty. To think what he could have become.
We’re doing important work, Joe.
No one thought I would find enough volunteers, but I did. And I was honest with them. They knew what they were getting into.
We all knew the risks.
And at Harvard—the kids were falling over each other to work with me. Dr. Joseph Gold, defeater of yellow fever and typhus. Dr. Joseph Gold, who can’t transmit flu to a single goddamn Navy deserter but kills off his best assistant surgeon.
Shh. Let’s go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.
Don’t touch me.
It’s all right, Joe. I know you’re upset.
You don’t get it, do you? Every study I do, I can find someone like you. But not someone like Percy.
Joe—
Get out of my room.
Joe, please—
Get out of my goddamn room.
FAILS TO FIND INFLUENZA CURE
Joint Board Endorses None of the Vaccines at Present in Use
A joint board of medical scientists and statisticians appointed by the state board of health to inquire into the prophylactic and therapeutic qualities of several vaccines which have been made to fight the so-called Spanish influenza germ has submitted the following report, which does not make a definite finding as to any one vaccine, but generalizes in its conclusion:
“1—The evidence at hand affords no trustworthy basis for regarding prophylactic vaccination against influenza as of value in preventing the spread of the disease or of reducing its severity.
“2—The evidence at hand convinces the board that the vaccines we have considered have no specific value in the treatment of influenza.
“3—There is evidence that no unfavorable results have followed the use of the vaccines.”
Hello? Ladies Relief Society. I’m leaving soup and bread by your door. Are you well enough to retrieve it?
Are you a nurse?
I’m afraid not.
We’re five of us, all ill. Can’t you fetch us a nurse?
A member of the Red Cross Motor Corps will be coming when she can. In the meantime, keep your windows open and drink lots of water. Have you any—has anyone gone to their final rest?
My youngest.
Is she—still with you?
Yes. Yes she is. It’s been two days now but the undertaker hasn’t come.
If you can manage it, you ought to try to bring her to the street tomorrow morning. There will be a wagon—
Can’t you help us? If you can’t get a nurse, can you get us a proper coffin?
I’m very sorry. The Red Cross should be here any day now. There’s a good bit of bread and soup here. Are you well enough to fetch it?
My son, he can’t breathe so good.
You could take him to the hospital.
I hear they’re no good anymore. And someone’s got to stay with Mary. Please, miss. What’s your name?
My name is Miss Perkins.
Well Miss Perkins, can’t you do something?
I’m so sorry. I’ve brought you—there’s bread and soup here.
Will you pray for us?
I will. Of course I will.
Hello? Ladies Relief Society. I’m leaving soup and bread by your door. Are you well enough to retrieve it?
Come in, come in.
I’m afraid I mustn’t do that. Are there many of you ill?
Come in, come in.
I really can’t. You see, I’m not a nurse and the risk of infection—I’m bringing soup and bread to all the families on this street.
Come in, come in.
Please, if you’ll just—
It’s the bird.
What? Oh my goodness, you startled me. Does your mother know where you are? Oughtn’t you to be with her?
Ma says it’s better for me to play outside. It’s Miss Constance’s bird, ma’am.
Come in, come in.
Excuse me?
Who you’re talking to. It’s her bird. She don’t come to her door no more.
Is she very unwell?
Come in, come in.
Can I have that bread?
May 18, 1933
Dear Mr. Driscoll,
Mr. Driscoll, I tried to telephone you several times since my last letter, but then I gave up. I suppose it was silly to think that you would talk to me when you are not answering my letters. Frank got so angry about the whole thing that he wanted to go back to the soda factory himself but I convinced him that this was between you and me.
I went to a lawyer but lawyers cost money and we don’t have any. I have looked for the contract you signed with Henry, but if I ever had it I do not have it anymore. I am telling you this so that you know the only way for you to do the right thing is to decide to do it. I cannot make you. Quentin, I would not be writing you again if times were not so hard. It is not too late for you to make up for the wrong you have done, and it would be a great help to my family. I am a Christian woman. I believe in repentance and in forgiving those who seek forgiveness.
Sincerely,
Lydia
My Beautiful Darling—
I am afraid our dear boy is really angry with me this time. I suppose I ought to have warned him about what I planned to do, but I wanted it to be a surprise. You always loved surprises. I will never forget the look on your face when I brought home the boat.
It was quite daunting stepping up to that podium knowing what I planned to do. Can you imagine the weight of a duty that has been deferred for seventy-five years? The first time I tried to stand, my legs gave out! It was a struggle, but I made it to the microphone. And then, my darling, I said aloud what I only ever said that once in a whisper to you. I could tell from the first that our dear boy did not take it well, but he tried to hide his disappointment for the sake of the party. I did not stay long after that—I was so very tired—but everyone was quite kind. Soon I was in a car heading home and the gnawing, hungry feeling that had been haunting me was finally, finally gone.
I wish our dear boy would talk to me. He used to visit every Sunday and sometimes on Wednesday as well, but now he does not visit at all. I have tried to telephone but he does not answer. I even called the police. I told them I thought our dear boy had been kidnapped or maybe even murdered, but when the police came to my door they did not do anything and then that girl took away my phone. Now I have to ask every time I want to make a call and most of the time she says no. I take consolation in the sleep that has finally returned to me. The widow has left my dreams, my Darling. She has forgiven me, but still you will not come. My nights are dreamless, and when I wake I am still alone.
Will you ask our dear boy to forgive his old dad? If you ask him, I am sure he will. Once you and Ralph return we will all leave here together. Now that I am retired we can do anything, Darling, and I have all the time in the world to give to you and our son.
I am Yours Everlasting,
Your Devoted Husband