to see you. Desperate.’
She’d seen a few medical men as a child. They’d studied her teeth, peered down her throat and down her ears, made her lie down and close her eyes and sing a little song to try and make her forget where they were poking their fingers. But that had been a long time ago. ‘I suppose I’ll have to see him,’ she said, dully resigned, ‘him or someone else. I know. They’ll say I’m a fake otherwise, won’t they?’
‘You must realise, Julia,’ he said. ‘Oh, it’s a bore, I know, but the medical establishment will inevitably take an interest.’
‘I know.’
‘Anyway, I’ve spoken to this Dr Mott. He’s the best. Very top of the tree. Extremely hard to get to see him normally but he’s made a space for us. Tomorrow, three sharp.’
She must have looked worried because he patted her on the shoulder encouragingly. ‘Sooner the better!’ he said briskly. ‘Get it over with.’
When she returned to the pink parlour, Delia was there, doing Myrtle’s hair. ‘How much is he paying Rates?’ she asked when Julia told them about the doctor.
‘I’ve told her,’ said Myrtle, ‘time and again. You get something out of it for yourself. You ask how much he’s getting for it. You want your cut.’
‘He’s not getting anything,’ said Julia.
‘Ha!’ Delia gave a little shriek. ‘He says!’
Myrtle just snorted.
They drove from the Bowery to Madison Avenue, where Dr Mott lived and had his practice. Through the veil, through the coach window, she watched the great show of the streets. New York made New Orleans seem quaint. It was like an ant’s nest nudged by a foot, the clanging of the omnibuses endless and deafening, the noise of children, beggars, hawkers. This was really The World, whatever that was. Slap centre of the Big Adventure. By night, coming and going between the theatre and the rooming house, the city had seemed smaller, enclosed by darkness. Daytime revealed its colours, sombre for the most part, slashed with brightness here and there. The further they travelled, the grander it got. Great buildings rose up like mammoths
‘Shall we walk a little coming back?’ she suggested.
Rates raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Julia.’
‘It was fine in New Orleans. With my veil.’
‘This is a rough city,’ Rates said. ‘Now, if my memory serves me – yes – it’s just along here . . .’
She kept her veil on till she was in the inner room, which was almost filled by the doctor’s enormous desk. Dr Mott, still holding a white towel, emerged from a side room where he’d been washing his hands. ‘Miss Pastrana,’ he said, tossing it aside onto a windowsill and coming toward her with his hand outstretched. ‘I am delighted.’ He showed no surprise, having seen her twice already on the stage.
‘How do you do,’ said Julia, taking his hand and smiling. Rates returned to the waiting room to read the newspaper he’d brought with him, and Julia took off her coat. She’d rather have seen someone older and plainer. Mott was handsome, young but already distinguished. On his desk was a framed picture of himself with his wife and little boy.
‘Come,’ he said, ushering her deferentially before him into the room next door. There was a high narrow bed, a chair, a screen, and a sideboard laid out neatly with medical implements she didn’t dare look at.
‘You’ll find a gown behind the screen,’ he said.
He was thorough. He got the nasty bits out of the way first. She closed her eyes and did what she always did, what Solana had told her to do. Said a prayer. Sang a song in her head. After that he paid particular attention to her teeth and ears, turned her eyelids inside out, lifted her tongue and looked under it, measured every part of her meticulously from her toes to the circumference of her head, inspected the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet closely, rang bells behind her head and asked if she could hear them.
‘I’m told you know your letters,’ he said.
‘I do.’
‘That’s excellent.’ His eyebrows went up. ‘Mr Rates tells me you enjoy reading novels?’
‘I do,’ she said, ‘very much so.’
‘Good, very good. Now – starting with the top line, if you please—’
She could read all but the bottom line.
‘Very good indeed,’ Dr Mott said. ‘And tell me – what do you like to read?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘whatever I can get hold of. I like The Linwoods, The Wide, Wide World. And The Curse of . . .’
The doctor smiled and scratched his whiskers. ‘Very very good indeed,’ he said, more to himself than her.
Then it was over and they were back in the carriage, and it was only when she saw the next show pamphlet that she read what Dr Mott had said about her: ‘She is a Semi-Human Indian, a perfect woman, a rational creature endowed with speech which no monster has ever possessed, yet she is Hybrid, wherein the nature of woman predominates over the brute – the Ourang Outang.’
Ourang-outang? In Mexico?
A long time ago, the big boys talking over her head as if she couldn’t understand:
‘Jonas Ochoa said she isn’t human.’
‘What does Jonas Ochoa know? Did you tell him?’
‘Of course I did. She’s Indian, I said. She’s a Digger. He says he’s never seen a Digger like that before.’
‘You tell him what Papa says. She’s just like us only with hair.’
‘Then he says that’s what I mean, the hair, he says, human beings don’t have hair. Not like that, they don’t. Monkeys do. Bears do. Wolves do, dogs do. But not human beings. Not like that.’
‘He has a point.’
Rates read aloud from a newspaper article to the man sitting across from him in the pink parlour.
‘This mysterious animal is one of the most extraordinary beings of the present day . . . — you see, he knows what he’s about, the man’s a giant in his field,’ gesturing towards a large folder that lay on the low table between them, ‘and his examination was completely thorough. I have it here, in writing—’ Rates peered down short-sightedly at the newspaper. ‘His medical opinion is that she is the result of the pairing of a human being with a simian. See! She has features in common with the orang-utan . . .’
‘Better make your mind up,’ the other man said, a big-boned, yellow-haired showman with a broken-nose. ‘You’re calling her the Bear Woman, and he’s saying she’s a monkey. She can’t be both.’
‘Let’s keep it just this side of credibility, shall we?’ said Rates with a lofty smile. ‘There are bears in those mountains but I never heard of an ape in Mexico.’
‘Of
