Flesh Failure

by Sèphera Girón

  At last I found the theatre. There it was with a big gold sign and people milling around in front, smoking pipes and spitting, their voices loud and animated.

  I walked towards them and one of them jumped aside.

  “Are you part of the hall?” I asked the first person who didn’t turn away.

  She stared at me, looking me up and down, and shuddered.

  “Are you part of the lecture tonight?” she asked.

  “No. What’s it about?”

  “There will be a talk about how to bring human tissue back to life, reanimate the dead. A very nasty subject.”

  “One that I’m looking forward to hearing about,” a male chimed in, stepping near his lady friend as if to protect her from me.

  “How much longer before the lecture?”

  “A few hours, my dear. Don’t worry, you are very early. You should go get yourself something to eat, in fact. You are…pale.”

  The man opened his pouch and took out several coins.

  “Surely you don’t mean to give me all of that, sir,” I said.

  “Please take it. You will need more than one meal in your life. Now hurry off to eat so that you won’t miss the lecture. And buy yourself a shawl. It’s freezing out.”

  I took his advice and walked off in the direction he had pointed. I was in the right place. I felt it in my bones this was the place the cards had spoken of. I bought a shawl from a street vendor and purchased some food from another.

  I wondered if my creator was connected to anyone here tonight.

  Once the lecture had begun, I was able to feast my eyes on the man who was speaking. Was he my creator? Would he admit it?

  I seemed like forever as the words trickled out of his mouth, pontifications on the ideas of death and reanimation.

  “Death doesn’t mean that the body has to die. It has merely run out of energy. Electrical currents will bring that energy back to life.”

  He was smug. His tone, his air, the precise way he held his hands. His words echoed through the theatre and though he sounded familiar, so did the other two speakers. But something in my gut niggled about Dr. Rueben. By the time he was finished with his discourse, there was very little doubt in my mind that if he wasn’t my creator, he likely knew who was. And if he didn’t know anything about my creator, he may very well pay me as proof of the existence of “diabolical creatures created from dead corpses”.

  I followed him out of the theatre along with half a dozen other people. He tried to dodge us at first with polite shrugs of how he needed to get along with his night. But we pestered him with curiosity and it fed his ego. How could we let such a man with the key to the mysteries of life just slip through our fingers without getting a chance to sit in his shadow, to find out exactly what made his mind tick. And more importantly, just what was the secret to eternal life he alluded to?

  He stopped to look at his six admirers. His gaze stopped at me. His eye twitched a little and he bit the side of his lip. He sighed and flashed a big grin. The charmer was back.

  “Who would like to come to the pub?” he asked. “How about we finish our discussions there. You can buy me a round or more, and I’ll regale you with tales of what has happened and what hasn’t.”

  I really couldn’t believe my luck. It was nearly unfathomable that not only had I found this man but he would be sharing additional information. Maybe I would learn more about my wretched past as the ale flowed.

  As the seven of us sat around a long wooden table, mugs of grog in front of us, he began his tales of torment.

  He wove a rich tapestry of despair and dedication with his smug, slick grin. No one was ever certain what would happen next in the new sciences.

  He began with a recounting of childhood, signaling for more drink as he told his tale of how he had come to be, much of which he had already told us in the lecture. Yet still, his admirers hung on his every word.

  He had grown fond of reading, devouring as much as he could. When he had read all the children’s books cover to cover, he had started in with ideas of science and faith. His range widened until as a young man, he was deep into science. Yet he read mysteries and romances and fantastical fictions. He recounted the first time he’d stumbled upon what would become one of his favourite pieces of absurd fiction.

  “This odd little story about a man made from pieces of corpses and brought to life was written by a young lady, Miss Shelley, on a dare. It haunted me and then rumours began in the field. Even the papers were reporting about many modern secret experiments. It appears that people were beginning to try out Miss Shelley’s fictional experimentations in modified manners for themselves, much as I mentioned in the lectures.”

  “Have you done it, sir?” Claude, a man with short curly hair, asked.

  “No, not at all. I’ve known of people, but of course I could never reveal their names. It likely isn’t legal though. I don’t know for sure if it isn’t.”

  “It should be legal,” Claude said. “Bringing a loved one back to life is a gift, not a crime.”

  “But there’s no way to conduct the experiment that is successful.” He looked at me for a moment. He cleared his throat and drank most of the ale from his mug. “It’s all still theoretical and no use getting worked up over.”

  “I feel as though you have no concept of what you’re doing. You’re deciding if another human lives or dies,” Clara said.

  “Is it human though? Is it truly human?” argued Pierre.

  “So if you bring your sewn-up corpse to life through electricity and it walks and talks… Isn’t it human?”

  “Well, it’s comprised of human parts. So perhaps it would have a human soul. If it had the capacity to think and feel and love.”

  “I hope that the new superman doesn’t feel the pain of being alive, all sewn together.”

  As the admirers chattered amongst themselves, Dr. Rueben was staring at me again. I stared back, aware that he must be able to see the scars no matter how well I was healing with the fresh blood. He took another gulp of his beer and spoke.

  “Do you think the monster would feel the pain of creating?”

  He looked directly at me.

  I shrugged.

  “What do I know of anything?” I said. “I’m scarred for reasons that have nothing to do with being a reanimated corpse, thank you very much.”

  “Are you sure?” Pierre said, ale slurring his words. “You do look like something Miss Shelley could have written about.”

  “Why I thank you for your kind words, sir,” I said sarcastically and wrapped my shawl around me. “The hour is late and I have a long journey. Good night.”

  “But wait…” Dr. Rueben called after me. I didn’t answer him as I pushed my way through the tavern and back out into the street. It was true the hour was very late and I had a long walk back to Whitechapel.

  The next day, I stood in the Merrick doorway, watching the hospital for Dr. Rueben to enter or leave. The doctor had introduced himself as working there in his lecture so he had to come and go at some point. Surely, I would see him. A movement. A flicker. I saw others come and go all day long, bracing against the wind and the snow that circled down. Doctors, nurses, patients. I heard the wails of the damned rising up out of the stony hallways, above the restless din of Whitechapel. My ears were now attuned to the cries of the anguished, of the defeated. My gut throbbed and I spotted him in the distance. As he drew near, he noticed me in the doorway and his face changed. He approached me.

  “You,” he said.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “What do you want from me?” he asked, his smarmy voice shaken by a quiver.

  “I wanted to know… Do you want someone to help you?”

  “You mean you?”

  “I mean, I can be an example of what you speak about.”

  “Of a wretched abomination
brought to life.”

  “Or perhaps a crowning glory of body parts and brain reanimated into a living breathing thinking creature.”

  I sighed.

  “I find, quite frankly, that I’m more intelligent than those with whom I’ve been living. I desire to better my circumstances.”

  He looked at me warily.

  “I’m famished. Let’s go eat and discuss this.”

  We went to a tavern where he ordered two mugs of grog and plates of food.

  “So you mean to tell me that you want to join with me as a freak?”

  “An example. I’m not a freak. I was discarded by my creator. You can help me find him,” I said as I tore at a piece of meat from the plate with my teeth and fingers.

  “I have no desire to help you find your creator, it could be bad for both of us. But an exhibit…hmmm.”

  We both ate and thought. Finally, I spoke.

  “The Elephant Man is in that hospital. What’s he like?”

  “He’s a wretched beast. Breathing is laborious. He keeps in good spirits. Childlike. Innocent. An innocence that I don’t see in you.”

  “He was born. I was made. What do I have to be innocent about? I don’t even know who I am.”

  “And that should bring innocence.”

  “It brings anger and contempt. For you know who you are. Others know who they are.”

  “And you, why does it matter? I myself was raised in an orphanage and spent too long in a workhouse until I realized that I had the mind to get an education. My work at the hospital pleases me but my lectures please me more. I’ve always wanted to go on a world tour. Maybe with you by my side, it could be possible.”

  I was turning over the idea of him raised in an orphanage. It didn’t really connect with the story told at the lecture hall. I wondered where the truth lay.

  “And then you’ll help me find him.”

  “Believe me, someone will find him once your name is everywhere.”

  We ate and he stared at me.

  “I want to study you.”

  “You mean, you want me to go to the hospital to experiment on me. No,” I said as I drank my mead.

  “We can clean you up, and I can make proper notes.”

  “Perhaps if the lectures go well.”

  We ate some more in silence, each deep in our thoughts. My trust in him was nil but my options weren’t plentiful to immediately improve my lifestyle and find my creator. As I gazed at him, I wondered again if it were he who had created me. Although he sounded familiar, his voice wasn’t the constant one that I had heard when I was under the sheet in my memories.

  “Is there another lecture soon?” I asked. “Not with you but perhaps someone else?”

  “There are lectures all the time. You wish to see another?”

  “I want to see them all. Science intrigues me.”

  “Very well. It can be your entertainment while I book our tour.”

  When our meal was done, he leaned back in his chair and looked at me.

  “You will be staying with me, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need to retrieve anything from your lodgings?”

  I pondered the idea for a few moments. “No. There’s nothing I want or need. I trust you will provide me proper-fitting garments befitting the companion of a professor.”

  “Yes, you are correct. I’m not a wealthy man by any means but I can have a few frocks made so that you can feel, pretty. You can even pick out hats with netting to cover your face. Would you like that?”

  I nodded, feeling almost shy.

  “I would.”

  “At your height, it will take the tailor some time to fashion you some outfits. Perhaps we should go to your lodging to retrieve a few pieces to tide you over.”

  I nodded.

  “I have some dresses that aren’t too hideous. My work as a fortune-teller allowed me to dress better than the ladies of the night.”

  We left the tavern and made our way back to my room. He stood in the streets, watching the hustle and bustle of people and horses. I found two dresses that would be suitable, and my rather new petticoat. I also decided to put a few items into a small carrying case I had bought from an old gypsy woman one night on the street. He looked back at me, his nose wrinkling at the odour of my domain.

  “Take as much as you desire. I’ll hail a taxi when you’re ready.”

  I laughed. “Do you really think a taxi will come along this way and stop?”

  “Silly, girl. The taxis all know me. I may not be wealthy but I like to travel by taxi when I have occasion. And this is one.”

  At last, I had my belongings together and true enough, he hailed a cab.

  His lodgings were a few blocks away, an entire floor in a boarding house. He showed me around, leading me from the front room where we entered, through to a connecting study, a bedroom and then a study. There was another smaller sitting room and then a kitchen. It was an oddly set-up place but it was like a palace to me.

  “You have a lot of books,” I remarked as I gazed upon room after room filled from floor to ceiling with books. He also had many strange artifacts. The walls were decorated with tribal masks and maps. In his study, there were many drawings of the human body. The brain, various organs, the skeletal system. It was all intriguing and I eagerly anticipated absorbing it all.

  After he had shown me around, he stood and looked at me.

  “So now, what to do with you. The sitting room by the kitchen might be the best place for you. We can get you a bed eventually but for now, we’ll have to put you on the couch.”

  I nodded. “I hope I’m not too big for it.”

  We returned to the sitting room and I lay on the chaise lounge. It was slightly too small but it would do.

  “This will work,” I said as I reclined on it. “I’m rather tired now that I’m lying down.”

  “Why don’t you rest and I’ll prepare water for a bath.”

  “A bath? I’ve not enjoyed a bath.”

  “You will like it but it will take time to heat the water. You rest and I’ll get everything prepared.”

  As I lay on the couch, he returned to the room a few times to spray it with a lovely rose water fragrance to dissipate my stench, to bring me a basin and water, towels and other little comforts.

  He set blankets across the room from me. “You can use them when you’re cleaned.”

  “Mmm.” I moaned sleepily. I didn’t care. I felt like I was home for the very first time.

  The next day, he tried to entice me to the hospital with him. He had a few hours before he had to work with the interns and wanted to look at me.

  “Will I get to see Joseph Merrick?” I asked as I sipped my tea. The day was bright and I had noticed that he had one electric socket. It may be necessary but so far, it seemed as though the jolt from the tavern continued to sustain me. Perhaps my body parts were all finally working together.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Quite frankly, if you don’t today, you very likely will eventually if you accompany me on a regular basis. I will be taking you to the research lab where top-secret patients reside. These are the ones who suffer from the rarest of abnormalities or insanities. We study them to see how they became the way they are and if any of the new treatments are beneficial.”

  “Do you have others like me in there?” I asked him.

  “What do you mean, like you?”

  “I mean, experiments. Half-done, thrown away such as myself?”

  He laughed.

  “You my dear, are unique.”

  I picked up my toast and bit into it.

  “Yes, unique.”

  He had an assortment of robes and veils in one of his wardrobes.

  “Sometimes I enjoy dressing in a theatrical flair to deliver my lectures,
” he said as he sorted through his menagerie. At last, he pulled out a black robe.

  “Try this,” he said. I clumsily draped the robe around me. It reached to my knees but it would do. He was still rummaging until he pulled out a long piece of black netting.

  “We can cut this to pin to one of your hats,” he said.

  I nodded. “I can’t sew very well but if you could do it.”

  “Bring me your hats and let’s see.”

  I produced the three hats I had chosen to bring. He looked at them thoughtfully then picked a black felt piece with many black ostrich feathers. I had always worn it with a scarf pulled up high on my face. He held up the hat.

  “I have some adhesive,” he said and he went into his study. In one of the towering bookcases there were little drawers I hadn’t noticed before. He opened and shut a few, bottles rattling and tinkling until he found what he was looking for. He returned with a small brush and a bottle of something. When he opened the bottle a strong smell filled the room and immediately I grew lightheaded.

  “A few drops should do it,” he said as he stroked the hat gently with the brush. He took the netting and pressed the edging of it to the adhesive. It stuck.

  “I should have found scissors first,” he sighed as he gently placed the hat on the table. He returned to his study. The smell of the adhesive was strong, rendering me dizzy. I sat down on my chaise lounge.

  He returned with scissors and held up the hat.

  “Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “The smell…”

  He chuckled. I knew what he was thinking. That the smell of the adhesive was worse than the smell of me.

  “It’s making my head dizzy,” I said.

  “Another reason you should come with me, the place can air out while we’re gone. And we can stop at the tailor on the way home to have you measured for some new dresses, yes?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I can.”

  The screams of the damned leached out from the lunatic wing as we crossed into the hospital. The smells of death and medicine were familiar; I knew I had been here before.

  The halls were filled with people, the hospital staff rushing around, patients moaning and wandering or just lying against a wall, waiting.