Read Online Sarah Canary by Karen Joy Fowler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Joy Fowler
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to erase his efforts, to erase him. There were times at night when B.J. tried to touch himself and could feel nothing but the blankets and the empty bed. He would reach for himself and miss, clutching air in both fists. There was no other terror like the one that came over him when he had ceased to exist. But there on the wall was something permanent. ‘B.J. was here,’ the gash said to him. November 23, 1872. B.J. dropped the water bucket and the water puddled on the kitchen floor and seeped between the floorboards and the Chinaman threw his cleaver into the wall by B.J.’s head. ‘B.J. was here.’
The new Chinaman wore the same thick braid, the same dark, baggy pants, and the same oversized boots as the old one. He stood there looking blankly down at the pulpy mass in the pot. B.J. thought he seemed very tired. He had a large lump on his forehead from which rays of black and purple and green extended. It made B.J. wonder if he could be an inmate. They had inmates from France and Scotland and Holland and Germany. But no Indians and surely no Chinese. How would you know if a Chinaman was insane? All Chinamen were insane. He watched the Chinaman give the mush a tentative stir. It took both his arms to pass the spoon through.
Ross’s knife caught the light at the edge of B.J.’s vision and he turned toward it. Suddenly it was the largest knife B.J. had ever seen. Sunlight spread on the flat blade whenever Ross’s hand was still. When it moved, the blade of the knife sliced the sunlight into small, flashing pieces.
There was a code to the flashing light. The knife wanted many things. The knife wanted the winter turnips and the last of last year’s potatoes and the side of beef hanging in the pantry. The knife wanted the Chinaman’s braid. Lay it across the table and cut it off. Three blind mice. Three blind mice. The knife sang insinuatingly. B.J. shut his eyes so as not to listen. The knife whispered directly into his ear. Say nothing about the woman in black, it told B.J. You better not. B.J. pressed his lips tightly together so that he wouldn’t. Ross went into the pantry and took his knife with him, leaving B.J. without guidance.
The Chinaman was looking at him. B.J. panicked. ‘There is a new woman in the ward today,’ he confessed all in a rush. The words flooded from him. ‘All in black. A tiny little woman. I saw her.’ He moved closer to the Chinaman, lowering his voice. ‘She was outside the ward.’
‘Is she all right?’ the Chinaman asked. He was much easier to understand than the last Chinaman. He spoke more slowly and his words were less accented.
B.J. shook his head, wondering at this naïveté. ‘She’s crazy,’ he pointed out.
‘Don’t tell anyone I asked,’ the Chinaman whispered. They heard Ross’s footsteps returning and moved apart again. B.J. thought it best not to face Ross’s knife after his betrayal. He turned and fled back into the asylum dining room for breakfast.
~ * ~
4
Dr Carr’s Theories on Animal Magnetism
Had we our senses
But perhaps ‘tis well they’re not at Home
So intimate with Madness
He’s liable with them
Emily Dickinson, 1873
In a well-run asylum, the female and male wards would each have their own dining room. Contractor Greene was in the middle of building repairs; the Steilacoom facility originally had been a fort during that part of the Territory’s history when the Indian threat was the greatest, and certain changes were required to make it function optimally as a sanctuary for the insane. He had been given a budget of three hundred dollars for the renovation and repair of existing buildings. When he submitted his bill for a little more than four thousand dollars to the Territorial legislature, they asked if daily association with lunatics had rendered the contractor stark mad. Work on the facility halted. The men and women of Steilacoom ate together in a single dining room.
The new Chinaman wore the same thick braid, the same dark, baggy pants, and the same oversized boots as the old one. He stood there looking blankly down at the pulpy mass in the pot. B.J. thought he seemed very tired. He had a large lump on his forehead from which rays of black and purple and green extended. It made B.J. wonder if he could be an inmate. They had inmates from France and Scotland and Holland and Germany. But no Indians and surely no Chinese. How would you know if a Chinaman was insane? All Chinamen were insane. He watched the Chinaman give the mush a tentative stir. It took both his arms to pass the spoon through.
Ross’s knife caught the light at the edge of B.J.’s vision and he turned toward it. Suddenly it was the largest knife B.J. had ever seen. Sunlight spread on the flat blade whenever Ross’s hand was still. When it moved, the blade of the knife sliced the sunlight into small, flashing pieces.
There was a code to the flashing light. The knife wanted many things. The knife wanted the winter turnips and the last of last year’s potatoes and the side of beef hanging in the pantry. The knife wanted the Chinaman’s braid. Lay it across the table and cut it off. Three blind mice. Three blind mice. The knife sang insinuatingly. B.J. shut his eyes so as not to listen. The knife whispered directly into his ear. Say nothing about the woman in black, it told B.J. You better not. B.J. pressed his lips tightly together so that he wouldn’t. Ross went into the pantry and took his knife with him, leaving B.J. without guidance.
The Chinaman was looking at him. B.J. panicked. ‘There is a new woman in the ward today,’ he confessed all in a rush. The words flooded from him. ‘All in black. A tiny little woman. I saw her.’ He moved closer to the Chinaman, lowering his voice. ‘She was outside the ward.’
‘Is she all right?’ the Chinaman asked. He was much easier to understand than the last Chinaman. He spoke more slowly and his words were less accented.
B.J. shook his head, wondering at this naïveté. ‘She’s crazy,’ he pointed out.
‘Don’t tell anyone I asked,’ the Chinaman whispered. They heard Ross’s footsteps returning and moved apart again. B.J. thought it best not to face Ross’s knife after his betrayal. He turned and fled back into the asylum dining room for breakfast.
~ * ~
4
Dr Carr’s Theories on Animal Magnetism
Had we our senses
But perhaps ‘tis well they’re not at Home
So intimate with Madness
He’s liable with them
Emily Dickinson, 1873
In a well-run asylum, the female and male wards would each have their own dining room. Contractor Greene was in the middle of building repairs; the Steilacoom facility originally had been a fort during that part of the Territory’s history when the Indian threat was the greatest, and certain changes were required to make it function optimally as a sanctuary for the insane. He had been given a budget of three hundred dollars for the renovation and repair of existing buildings. When he submitted his bill for a little more than four thousand dollars to the Territorial legislature, they asked if daily association with lunatics had rendered the contractor stark mad. Work on the facility halted. The men and women of Steilacoom ate together in a single dining room.
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