own food. Moments later, they reached a tall, forbidding wall that severed the island. Then came a second wall, with watchtowers and armed guards. The rest of the land was dominated by a dark, monstrous structure. At its center was a domed, five-story octagonal rotunda that seemed more a place for torture than for the treatment of the mad.
The ferry stopped. “Here,” Hawking announced.
Carver tried not to show how hard his heart had dropped.
As they walked, his mentor pointed at the choppy waters beyondthe island’s northern tip. “Hell Gate. Hundreds of ships sank there until the army used 300,000 pounds of explosives to blast the rocks. It sent a geyser of water 250 feet in the air. They felt the rumble as far off as Princeton, New Jersey.”
Numbed by the realization he’d be living in an asylum, Carver nodded politely.
Hawking stopped and put both hands on his cane.
“What is it, sir?” Carver asked.
“Do you expect me to believe that a boy like you, raised in this city, wouldn’t know about the largest man-made explosion in history?”
Carver was confused. “I… never said I didn’t know.”
“No, but you nodded as if you didn’t. If I’d said Broadway was given its name because it was a very wide, or should I say
broad,
avenue, would you nod then, too?”
“Yes, sir? I mean… no, sir?”
Hawking studied him dispassionately. “In the future you will tell me exactly what you do know and ask about what you don’t. I can’t waste time giving you what you’ve got, and I don’t want to skip anything you’re missing.”
He laid his bad hand on Carver’s shoulder. It weighed heavily, like a dead thing. Too frightened to stare at it, Carver tried to focus on his mentor’s somber face.
“If we’re to accomplish anything, I need your mind; I need it open and I need it honest. Lie through your teeth to whoever else you like, but not one false word, not one false nod or wink, to me. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Hawking narrowed his eyes. “What
year
was that blast I just told you about?”
“1885,” Carver answered. After a brief pause, he added, “October 10.”
The hint of a smile came to Hawking’s face. He tipped his head toward the ominous building. “What do you know about that place?”
Carver shrugged. “It’s Blackwell Asylum.” He searched his mind for more, but the clawed hand on his shoulder made him nervous. “A woman once pretended to be crazy so she could get in there to write a story about how bad the patients had it.”
“Nellie Bly,” Hawking said. “
Ten Days in a Madhouse.
Read it?”
“No, Delia… a friend, told me about it once.”
Removing his hand, Hawking led Carver toward the twin stones staircases in front of the central tower. “They also call it the Octagon. It’s New York’s first publicly funded mental hospital. Two wings were completed, both overcrowded within months. To save money, the guards are all inmates from the prison, so for a good part of the day, the patients are abandoned to the tender mercies of thieves and murderers. Bly’s little book put everyone on their best behavior for a while, but things haven’t changed all that much.”
Hawking waited for Carver to open the door. When he did, he saw a spectacular curved staircase rising from a glass-brick floor to the height of the tower, a circle of columns lining each floor.
Above the closed front desk hung the motto “While I live, I hope.” An unshaven guard lay on the floor near two inner doors, snoring. “Think you’re an orphan? Here are the real ones.”
Hawking pushed open the doors to a long, dingy hall. Shadowy figures were visible along its length. Some sat sadly on narrow benches. Others moved about as if underwater. One manwalked straight into a wall headfirst, staggered back and then did the same thing again over and over. Each time he hit, Carver heard a faint, hollow thud, like a ball being bounced on the sidewalk outside Ellis Orphanage.
Thud, thud,
The ferry stopped. “Here,” Hawking announced.
Carver tried not to show how hard his heart had dropped.
As they walked, his mentor pointed at the choppy waters beyondthe island’s northern tip. “Hell Gate. Hundreds of ships sank there until the army used 300,000 pounds of explosives to blast the rocks. It sent a geyser of water 250 feet in the air. They felt the rumble as far off as Princeton, New Jersey.”
Numbed by the realization he’d be living in an asylum, Carver nodded politely.
Hawking stopped and put both hands on his cane.
“What is it, sir?” Carver asked.
“Do you expect me to believe that a boy like you, raised in this city, wouldn’t know about the largest man-made explosion in history?”
Carver was confused. “I… never said I didn’t know.”
“No, but you nodded as if you didn’t. If I’d said Broadway was given its name because it was a very wide, or should I say
broad,
avenue, would you nod then, too?”
“Yes, sir? I mean… no, sir?”
Hawking studied him dispassionately. “In the future you will tell me exactly what you do know and ask about what you don’t. I can’t waste time giving you what you’ve got, and I don’t want to skip anything you’re missing.”
He laid his bad hand on Carver’s shoulder. It weighed heavily, like a dead thing. Too frightened to stare at it, Carver tried to focus on his mentor’s somber face.
“If we’re to accomplish anything, I need your mind; I need it open and I need it honest. Lie through your teeth to whoever else you like, but not one false word, not one false nod or wink, to me. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Hawking narrowed his eyes. “What
year
was that blast I just told you about?”
“1885,” Carver answered. After a brief pause, he added, “October 10.”
The hint of a smile came to Hawking’s face. He tipped his head toward the ominous building. “What do you know about that place?”
Carver shrugged. “It’s Blackwell Asylum.” He searched his mind for more, but the clawed hand on his shoulder made him nervous. “A woman once pretended to be crazy so she could get in there to write a story about how bad the patients had it.”
“Nellie Bly,” Hawking said. “
Ten Days in a Madhouse.
Read it?”
“No, Delia… a friend, told me about it once.”
Removing his hand, Hawking led Carver toward the twin stones staircases in front of the central tower. “They also call it the Octagon. It’s New York’s first publicly funded mental hospital. Two wings were completed, both overcrowded within months. To save money, the guards are all inmates from the prison, so for a good part of the day, the patients are abandoned to the tender mercies of thieves and murderers. Bly’s little book put everyone on their best behavior for a while, but things haven’t changed all that much.”
Hawking waited for Carver to open the door. When he did, he saw a spectacular curved staircase rising from a glass-brick floor to the height of the tower, a circle of columns lining each floor.
Above the closed front desk hung the motto “While I live, I hope.” An unshaven guard lay on the floor near two inner doors, snoring. “Think you’re an orphan? Here are the real ones.”
Hawking pushed open the doors to a long, dingy hall. Shadowy figures were visible along its length. Some sat sadly on narrow benches. Others moved about as if underwater. One manwalked straight into a wall headfirst, staggered back and then did the same thing again over and over. Each time he hit, Carver heard a faint, hollow thud, like a ball being bounced on the sidewalk outside Ellis Orphanage.
Thud, thud,
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