The Museum of Extraordinary Things

^NINE THE GIRL WHO COULD FLY

MY FATHER locked me in my room. When he discovered that the coffin had been stolen he informed me that he had never been as disappointed in his life, or as betrayed. He found me in the yard and confronted me, but I blamed the liveryman, as I was meant to do. Perhaps I wasn’t convincing, for my father seemed to know I was no longer under his command. He may have noticed my expression of longing as I watched Eddie disappear with the liveryman. He tricked me into admitting I had gone to Manhattan without his permission by saying he’d had me followed. He was a liar, but he knew how to get the truth out of people. When I stumbled over my words, stating I had indeed traveled to Manhattan because I thought I needed to return the camera the photographer had left behind, my father shouted that I was a woman of deceit. He changed in a moment, before my eyes, his face filling with rage. Was this my thanks to him, for raising and caring for me? I promised him that nothing had happened, but he shook his head. Why should he believe me now? How could he know whether or not I’d been ruined by this man in Manhattan, and if I’d given myself freely to a worthless individual?

He did not speak to me all the next day, but in the evening he told me to bathe in cold water, which I did, using the lye soap he left out for me. He put out my robe for me, which I slipped on. He waited in the corridor and had me follow him downstairs. In the parlor the cereus plant looked ghostly and green in the evening light. I’d always thought of it as a bundle of sticks, but now it seemed possessed with life, and I could have sworn it moved toward me, as if in warning. I had lived with it my whole life and had never once seen it bloom. I had thought the plant to be a burden, and yet I felt a certain connection to this wretched specimen, for I’d cared for it for so long. Perhaps plants knew gratitude, as humans did, and remembered kindness as well as cruelty.

My father led me through his library, into the museum. I thought of how I had so longed to enter it and know its secrets when I was a child. How intrigued I’d been when I’d been made to sit upon the stair where I could only peer through the dark to glimpse the many curiosities displayed inside. I had thought my father could make miracles, but I was wrong. He could only possess them.

My father gestured that I should go on without him. “We’ll see if you’re a liar or if you’re still my daughter,” he said in a cold tone.

When I went inside the exhibition hall, the Professor closed the door behind me. I heard the click of a lock. A man was waiting there. This was most unusual. I paled when I saw him. He rose from his chair to greet me.

“You needn’t worry,” he assured me. “I’m a physician.” There was an urgency in his tone that caused me to worry. “Doctors are privy to all sorts of secrets hidden from other men.”

He came forward, and there was that same urgency in his step. I hoped he didn’t take note of the scent of my fear, for they say that terror makes a person weaker, and I did not wish to be at anyone’s mercy.

“Your father has called upon me to judge your physical well-being.”

“I’m quite well,” I informed him. “I don’t need a physician.” There was the beat of my pulse at the base of my throat, the same throb of panic I’d felt when I stepped into the cage at Dreamland.

“I’m afraid that you do. Your father is worried. He reports that you’ve made the acquaintance of a man in an improper way.”

I felt burning hot, even though the room was chilly. “There was nothing improper.” I began to understand what my father had meant when he declared I was ruined. He believed I’d given myself to Eddie, and, in every sense but the physical act, I had.

“An examination is required. If you’ve been with a man, your father needs to know.” The doctor came closer. When he reached to remove my robe, I stepped back. But he took hold of my arm and told me in no uncertain terms that my father had the legal right to ascertain whether I had cast away my virginity, and it would be his pleasure to assist in examining me.

He told me he had seen me swim in the tank on nights when I had performed, and this was how he had made my father’s acquaintance. He had enjoyed himself immensely, and now he had an opportunity to see what I was made of without the tank between us. Immediately, I doubted the worth of his medical claims and wondered what sort of expert he was.

Now that my father had turned to him, the doctor hoped to do some research of his own interest, for I was such a rare specimen. He hoped to discover if I was a fish or a woman or both. His actions, he said, were purely motivated by research. In matters of my sex, would I be slippery and cold, as fish were known to be, or hot as a ruined woman? He took out a black leather notebook and a fountain pen so that he might record the details. He said he would like to examine every part of me, including my bones, for a fish’s bones are often hollow, like a bird’s, and because of this they are light in the water, as birds are weightless in air. His words were like glass, cutting through me. I had never felt more wretched.

He went on to tell me that after the examination he could eliminate my deformity if I wished him to do so. He brought forth a scalpel, which he placed on a table, alongside his journal and fountain pen. The webbing could easily be done away with, and no one would ever have to know who I’d been. To all who saw me I would be a normal person, except to those who knew me intimately, fortunate men, such as himself. I moved to hide my hands behind me, fearing he might take it upon himself to begin an operation. He was amused by my response.

“I, of course, prefer you the way you are,” the doctor said. “But if you ever wish to be normal, I’m always here for you as your surgeon.”

I leapt away, thinking I would run from the room, and in doing so knocked over the table on which he’d carefully laid out his equipment.

He grabbed me and held fast, and as I struggled he secured me by wrapping fishing wire around my wrists. He was clearly practiced in such matters, for, however much I tried, I couldn’t slip out of the knots. I cursed him, but he didn’t care. He pushed me onto the floor.

Before I knew what was happening he swiftly moved a hand between my legs. I tried my best to get away and scramble toward the door to the street. The doctor, however, held fast. When he pawed at me he was real enough, a demon perhaps, but not a dream. Perhaps that was a monster’s fate, and the fortune my father said I had brought onto myself.

The tortoise was scratching in the sand, and I felt embarrassed that this ancient creature bore witness to my degradation.

“This is what I’m here for,” the doctor murmured as he reached his fingers inside my most private area. The man whom I wanted had refused to take me when I offered myself to him. He believed I was an innocent, and now I realized that, until this very day, I had been.

I fought against my horrid inquisitor, but my actions seemed to arouse him more. The fishing wire was cutting into me and drew lines of blood at my wrists. Some pooled on the floor.

“It’s red,” the doctor said, delighted. “I thought you might have the clear blood of an icefish, or the blue blood of a horseshoe crab.”

He brought out a glass tube and swiftly dashed some of my blood into it, so that he might study it, comparing it to the blood of bluefish and sturgeon, perhaps alongside the blood of his wife so that he might see which species I most resembled. I now understood how it was possible to stop thinking of a man as a human being, enough so that you might wish to take his life. Seeing the scalpel that had fallen to the floor nearby, I grasped for it, but he kicked it from my reach.

“We kill our fish, and slit them open,” the doctor said. “You had better act like a woman if you want what’s best.”

He held me round the waist as he spoke these horrid sentiments. He acted as if he owned me, and I cried out, with shock and humiliation. The doctor held fast. He felt inside me and was pleased. “I can take you now and tell your father that I found you a ruined woman. He’d never know the difference.”

The doctor wore a fine linen jacket that he tore off and left crumpled beside us, as well as tweed pants that he began to unbutton. I could feel his sex against me, and I knew what he intended. But I did not turn into rain or dew as I had during the nighttime shows. I was not an actress on a stage, and I did not disappear, leaving my body there for him to do with whatever he wished. I reached behind me, inching my clasped hands along until I grasped the scalpel. He might think I was only a woman or a fish, but I was nothing of the kind. I was a monster’s daughter. I cut the fishing wire from my wrists, so quickly I nicked myself. I drew more blood, but I no longer cared. I pierced his forearm, admittedly with some pleasure, for the stab had immediate effects. He yowled and let go as if he had had fire in his embrace rather than flesh and blood.

“You little bitch,” the doctor said as he rose to his feet. There was blood staining his shirt from the fresh wound. “Your father will punish you for this. I’ll tell him what a demoness he has for a daughter.”

I grabbed the shovel we used to clean the tortoise’s pen. Before the doctor could walk away and find the Professor and tell him lies, I hit him squarely on the back. When he fell, he covered his face with his hands. Just as I suspected. A coward. He appeared related to the horseshoe crab as he hunched over, and between the two of us he was more likely to be the one with blue blood. I could not help but wonder if a well-placed shovel could break his spine, if it would then shatter like a black, hardened shell, bits flying everywhere. But I then imagined who he went home to—a wife, daughters, a faithful dog, a nurse who did his every bidding, a line of patients, each hoping for a cure. I did not strike again, though I kept the shovel in my hand.

I pushed the notebook and pen toward him.

“Write your review of me,” I said. “Tell my father I am not ruined.”

He did so as I stood over him. He did not dare look at me as he scrawled his testimony that I was indeed a virgin. He tore the page from his journal and left it for me.

I unlocked the door to the street that our customers came through. The doctor grabbed for his coat, but I stood upon it. I wanted the world to see the blood on him.

“Leave as you are,” I told him.

When he’d gone, I locked the door. I folded his coat, which I would later throw on the trash pile in our yard. I still felt tainted by the doctor’s intent and by his touch. I yearned for a cleansing, and so I went to my tank and climbed inside. I felt a sort of relief as soon as I was in the water, as if I was destroying everything that had been done to me. I was still bleeding around my wrists, and a thread of crimson circled in the water. So that this evening would not claim me, I imagined the Hudson River, the woods at dusk. I was the rain, pouring down onto the streets of Brooklyn, into the yards where gardens grew, onto the cobblestone alleyways behind the fish markets. For a thousand nights I would not think of what had happened, nor would I remember the physician, a fool who thought it acceptable to defile a creature he wanted only for its rare qualities, like the shark is wanted for its skin, said to be the most beautiful in all the world.

When I climbed out of the tank, I put on my robe, then went to lie upon the floor beside the tortoise’s pen. I had no idea whether or not the tortoise slept or dreamed or remembered. Sunlight streamed in beneath the closed curtains, causing patterns of dark and light on the floor. There was a rabbit, a hat, a bird in flight. I would not let this incident make me forget I knew what love was like. Outside the window, sparrows were singing in the milky light. On every branch of the pear tree in the yard there was a new leaf unfolding, a vivid green. Spring had truly arrived, a season that had always been my favorite but was so no more. Now I wanted winter, a time when snow covered everything, even though my hands would be cold in such weather, for I had decided I would never wear a pair of gloves again, not for warmth, not for protection, and never to hide who I was.