An Acquaintance with Darkness - Ann Rinaldi [54]
He extinguished the lamps. As we walked past the casks, it occurred to me that the label, PICKLES, on each one was ludicrous, in light of all this scientific equipment. I followed Robert out the door. Not for one moment did I believe there were pickles in those barrels. What, then? I did not know. But I was sure whatever was in them was for the good of mankind. Perhaps some new discovery. Who was I to question it?
***
"What are these flowers?" Myra stood on the stone path, her eyes wide. "I've never seen such flowers."
"Never mind the flowers. They're an experiment for the good of mankind," I told her. That shut her mouth for a while and added just the right touch so that when I asked her to turn her back while I got the key to the shed, she obeyed without a fuss.
"This is a hypodermic syringe," I said inside the shed. I picked it up. "It is still only used by some surgeons. Most still prefer to dust morphine into wounds or give opium pills."
She stared, openmouthed. "It's an ugly thing. Put it down."
"Perhaps you would prefer to see this. It's an ophthalmoscope."
She shivered. "What's it for?"
"To examine the inside of the eye."
"The inside?"
"Yes. It was invented way back in 1851. And few doctors yet use it."
She ran her tongue along her lips. "Thank heaven for that."
"And this is called an achromatic microscope. The headquarters of the Army Medical Department didn't have one until 1863." I had memorized my notes well, so I was able to repeat, word for word, what Robert had told me.
It was late afternoon, two days after my visit to the shed. Maude, Uncle Valentine, and Robert were all out, as I'd known they would be. Myra and I had skipped out of school to do this. Well, not exactly. We'd told Mrs. McQuade we were going on a field trip to discover nature in our surroundings.
I had decided to bluff it out with Myra. To give her the full treatment, hoping the sight of all this would terrify her.
It did. She did not know where to look first. Her eyes slid from one object to another, staring in horrified fascination and moving on. She moved gingerly around in the damp cold of the shed, bumping up against things. She moved now.
"Look out for that skeleton," I said.
She had bumped against it. The skeleton, in cooperation, rattled. Myra screamed and moved away.
I picked up the jar of solution with the human finger in it. "This was found on the floor in one of the hospitals my uncle worked in during the war."
She covered her hands with her mouth.
"You aren't taking notes, Myra. You'll have to report back to Mrs. McQuade."
"Horrid stuff. I won't write about it. What's that?"
"What?" I looked in the direction of her finger. "Oh, it's a pig's head. And, of course, that other jar holds a frog and the third a snake. On that shelf directly behind you are stones from a gallbladder. Now, see this dark stuff?" I held it up. "Iodine. Used in a field hospital in Jonesboro, Georgia, during the war. As an antiseptic. Sprayed in the air."
She nodded numbly. "Where are the bodies?"
"Nobodies, Myra."
"You've hidden them."
"There were none here when Robert first showed me around, and there are none here now. The only bodies are in the college lab. And they were bequeathed. Or they are bodies of executed criminals."
"My father says medical schools have nowhere near enough bodies. And that's why they have to steal them."
How could I scare her off if she was going to use logic? "There are no bodies here," I said again.
"How do I know you didn't get this Robert person to get the bodies out before I came?"
I sighed. "I got in here on a pretense with Robert. Do you think I'd tell him why I wanted to see the place? They trust me. And he had no time to remove anything. From the time I asked him to bring me in here to the time he opened that door, I was with him the whole evening."
She had no answer for that. She was running out of answers. But not questions. "What's in those casks?"
"They're empty now. They held pickles—don't you see the labels?"
"Pickles?"
"Yes. The solution from them is used to