by Jon Scieszka
Mr. Chimp picks up a gorilla and an alien. He presses their voice buttons and makes them talk to each other.
“Oook oook.”
“Take me to your leader.”
T. Edison examines the doll’s insides with his magnifying glass. “Inventions are good. We register everything we make. But the real game is in selling products! Making money!”
Mr. Chimp smashes the alien and gorilla together, knocking off both their heads. And enjoying it.
T. Edison walks over to the circle of windows that makes up the huge glass-topped tower of T. Edison Laboratories. He looks out over the panorama of eastside Midville far below.
“Look at all those little human minds down there, just waiting to be told what to do, what to think, what to buy!”
Edison looks through a pair of polished brass-and-aluminum 20 mm × 120 mm Japanese World War II battleship binoculars. The powerful lenses, working like a super-version of an eye, magnify scenes from miles around.
“There’s Police Sergeant Susan, saving a kitten. Postman Charlie, delivering a package. Fireman Chad, fixing his fire-hose. And Police Chief and Head Coach Jacobs right there in Midville Menlo Park, raking the mound for tomorrow’s Mud Hens Team tryouts.
“What a bunch of saps! They will be the perfect victims—I mean, customers—when we rebuild my T. Edison SuperBrain . . . and make them do whatever I want.”
Mr. Chimp pulls a leg off a mechanical frog.
“Now let’s get to work. Because you know what I always say.”
Mr. Chimp signs:
“Don’t be a wise guy,” says Edison, tossing the headless doll body on the toy pile. “Like that other Edison, I always say, ‘Invention is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.’”
“Yes, really! And that’s why people call me the Wizard of Midville.”
Mr. Chimp tries everything he can to say the words “They do?” But his chimpanzee voice box is just not built for speech.
The best he can do is a short “Hrrrrrrr?”
IS THAT TRUE ABOUT EINSTEIN’S BRAIN?” ASKS FRANK.
“Absolutely,” replies Grampa Al from under his Fix It! shop truck.
“How come you never told me?”
“You never asked.”
Grampa Al rolls his mechanic’s creeper under the front of the truck and holds out an open palm like a brain surgeon. “Flex-head . . . uh . . . doohickey.”
“Flex-head ratchet?” asks Frank.
“Oh . . . yeah. That’s what I meant. Good golly, this turbocharger is going to boost this engine faster than a sneeze through a screen door.”
“How will it do that?” asks Watson, sitting on the shop floor to get a closer look at both the tools and turbocharger.
“It’s a turbine that pushes more air into the engine’s combustion chamber . . . that burns more fuel . . . that makes more power.”
Frank wheels his chair over to Grampa Al’s toolbox. He picks out the adjustable ratchet, wheels back, and slaps the tool in Grampa Al’s hand.
“Wait, wait—back to Einstein’s brain. How could that ever get lost? He was one of the most genius and famous scientists ever.”
“Wellll . . .” Grampa Al tightens a bolt. “That’s an interesting question. Historians are pretty sure Einstein didn’t want anybody messing around with his brain, making a big deal of it.”
Grampa Al tightens one more bolt with a quick bunch of ratcheting clicks, then rolls out from under his truck. He pops up the hood, leans in, and opens his palm again. “Flat-head . . . you know . . . whatchamacallit . . .”
“Screwdriver?” says Frank.
“Yeah. Sheesh. Forgetting the name of everything these days.”
Frank hands over the big flat-head screwdriver. Grampa Al tightens the last hose clamp, rechecks his connections, and refills the truck engine with oil.
“But the guy at the hospital who conducted the autopsy, dissecting the body to study disease—uhhh . . . the pathologist, that’s what you call him—who was on duty the day Einstein died, took the brain without asking anybody.”
“But you can’t do that, can you?” says Watson.
“Thomas Harvey did,” says Grampa Al. He empties the last oil can and tightens the oil cap. “A couple days later, he got permission from Einstein’s son, Hans. And the deal was that any study of the brain would be done strictly for science. Not for making money or making Einstein more famous.”
“That sounds reasonable,” says Frank. “And it would be a good way to see what made Einstein so smart, right? Seeing if there were parts of his brain that were different?”
Grampa Al wipes his hands on a blue shop rag. He goes over to his computer and scrolls through some files. “You would think so. But this was back in 1955. The technology for anatomy study wasn’t very advanced. Harvey hoped maybe the brain could be preserved until better technology was invented. So he took a bunch of pictures. And he measured and preserved the brain the best he could. Hmmm. Oh, here it is.”
Grampa Al clicks on a file, and a picture flashes up on the Fix It! garage wall.
“There it is—Einstein’s brain.”
“No way,” says Frank. “So what did scientists find out when they studied it?”
“Well, here’s where the story goes strange,” says Grampa Al. “Harvey didn’t get anyone to study the brain. He lost his job at Princeton Hospital. And he took the brain with him. He cut it up into a couple hundred pieces and put them all in preservative in two Mason jars.”
“Yuck!” says Watson. “You mean those glass jars my grandma uses for tomatoes?”
“Exactly,” says Grampa Al. “And then, over the next twenty years or so, everybody forgot about Einstein’s brain. It was in the seventies that I ran into this fella Tom in Wichita, Kansas. And after talking to him for a bit, getting to know him, I come to find out he is Thomas Harvey. And he has Einstein’s brain, still in those two Mason jars, in his basement, in a wooden box.”
“What?!” says Frank.
Grampa Al fires up the truck engine, checks for leaks, then slams the hood. “Yep.”
“What were you doing in Wichita, Kansas?”
Grampa Al squints one eye. “Long story. Remind me to tell you sometime. I gotta run and pick up some more . . . ummm . . . thingamabobs . . .”
“But whatever happened to Einstein’s brain? Has anybody studied it? Do we know what made him a genius?”
Grampa Al leans out the truck window. “I connected Harvey with some magazine people. They did a story. Couple of other folks have taken a look at the pieces. But nobody can say for sure.”
Watson and Frank stare at the old black-and-white shot on the wall.
“The brain is the most amazing organ,” says Grampa Al. “It’s the driver of the whole machine that is the human body. It controls everything.”
Grampa Al puts the truck in gear, yells, “Turbocharge!” and peels out with a squeal of hot rubber and a cloud of white smoke.
Frank stares at the picture of Einstein’s brain. He thinks out loud. “The driver of the whole machine. Controlling everything. Turbocharge.”
Frank scratches his head, messing up his hair like he always does when he is thinking.
“Watson, this gives me an idea.”
YES,” SAYS FRANK, LOOKING OVER THE EXPLOSION OF PICTURES, diagrams, notes, and drawings on the Wall of Science. He studies the mess of medical models and broken toys.
“Skeletal system. Muscular system. Circulatory system. Digestive system. Respiratory system. Nervous system. Ben Franklin. Albert Einstein’s brain. Turbocharger . . .”
Millions of nerve cells flash and connect in Frank Einstein’s brain.
A pattern of connections—an idea—forms.
“OK, team. Let’s go. Watson, collect all the remotes. Break them down.”
Watson grabs a handful of controllers and starts opening them with his screwdriver. “Will do!”
“Klank, get everything with any kind of electronic brain.”
> Klank scoops up the one-legged T. Rex and an old toaster. “Oooooh-kay!”
“Klink, we need info on all the five senses. How they are built. How they work. Can you do that?”
“Done.”
“What do you mean, ‘done’?”
“As in the usual definition of the word done,” beeps Klink. “Finished. Completed. Ready for examination.”
“Wow,” says Frank. “You are fast.”
“I am Klink. Which sense do you want first?”
Frank scratches his head again. “Sight.”
12.1 SIGHT
Sight is the perception of light and color and size and shape.
A transparent LENS in the eye directs light onto the RETINA.
The retina is made of cells that detect:
• light
• color
The RETINA CELLS send electrical signals through the OPTIC NERVE to the BRAIN.
The signals from both eyes are combined to create a complete image by the BRAIN.
It is impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.
Male humans are more likely to be color blind (seeing green and red as gray) than female humans.
“Yes!” Frank nods. “This is great stuff.”
“What?” beeps Klink. “This is how the sense of sight works. It is not ‘stuff.’”
“You know what I mean.”
“Hmmm. No, I do not.”
Frank draws a line on his invention blueprint. “OK. Never mind.”
“Hmmm. How do I ‘never mind’?”
“Next sense!”
12.2 HEARING
Hearing is the perception of sound vibrations.
The OUTER EAR directs sound vibrations to the EARDRUM.
The eardrum sends the vibrations through the tiny bones of the MIDDLE EAR.
The middle-ear bones transmit the vibrations to the INNER EAR, to nerve fibers in the HAIR CELLS there that send impulses through the AUDITORY NERVE to the BRAIN.
The stapes is the smallest bone in the human body.
Ears are self-cleaning. Little hairs called cilia push out earwax and dirt.
“Exactly,” says Frank Einstein, sketching another section of his invention blueprint. “Next sense!”
Klink hums.
12.3 TOUCH
NERVE CELLS in the skin (and tongue and throat) detect:
• movement
• pressure
• heat
• cold
• pain
Nerve cells send signals through the nervous system to the BRAIN.
The skin is the human body’s largest organ.
The color of skin depends on the amount of a pigment called melanin produced by the body. Large amounts of melanin make skin dark. Small amounts of melanin make skin light.
The thickest skin on humans is on the bottom of our feet and the palms of our hands.
Hairy parts of the body are more sensitive because the hairs in the skin magnify feeling.
Some parts of the body, like our fingertips, have a greater concentration of nerve cells than other parts of the body.
Humans lose around fifty million skin cells per day. So most of the dust in your house is dead skin cells.
Frank squints at his sketch and scratches his head. “Fifty million skin cells?”
“Every day,” buzzes Klink. “Humans. So untidy.”
Frank taps his pencil, lost in thought.
“OK, next!”
12.4 TASTE
Taste is the ability to detect sweet, salty, sour, bitter, or umami (savory) flavors.
The human tongue has an average of ten thousand TASTE BUDS.
Each taste bud is made of roughly one hundred TASTE RECEPTOR CELLS.
The taste receptor cells send signals through the nervous system to the BRAIN.
The tongue also has receptor cells that detect heat, cold, and texture.
Taste receptor cells die and are replaced every few days.
Female humans have more taste buds than male humans.
Watson holds up his salted cherry-lemon candy ball and a taste map of the human tongue.
“I knew that tongue taste map in our science book was wrong!” says Watson. “I can prove it with this simple experiment. I taste my da Vinci candy with the tip of my tongue . . . and I can taste the salt flavor!”
“The tongue taste map is not correct,” adds Klink. “Receptors for all tastes are found throughout the tongue.”
Watson looks at the map. “But I do still need to add bitter and umami to the da Vinci.”
“That might be too much,” says Frank.
Watson taste-tests his invention. “Mmmm, da Vinci. It’s da-licious.”
“That is seriously too much. Next sense, Klink!”
12.5 SMELL
Smell is the sense of detecting odor through the nose.
Tiny SCENT MOLECULES (from flowers, popcorn, dog poop, everything) float through the air and enter the nose.
The scent molecules trigger RECEPTOR CELLS located high inside the nose.
The receptor cells send signals to the OLFACTORY BULB.
The olfactory bulb passes the signals to both the primitive, unconscious part of the BRAIN and the conscious, thinking part of the BRAIN.
When humans sleep, their sense of smell shuts down.
Female humans have more receptors and a better sense of smell than male humans.
Emotions and memories can be triggered by smell.
Frank jumps up and paces around the workbench. He rubs his head with both hands, messing up his hair completely wild and crazy. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Klink reviews his smell explanation. “What are emotions and memories?”
Frank stops pacing. “Huh?”
“Emotions and memories,” repeats Klink. “That can be triggered by smell. What are they?”
“Emotions are . . . feelings. Like being happy, or sad, or mad.”
“Right,” says Klink. “And what is happy, or sad, or mad?”
Frank explains, “Happy is . . . well . . . feeling good about something.”
“Hmmm,” hums Klink. “You are not explaining feelings. You are just repeating the same words.”
“It’s very complicated,” says Frank. “Ask Grampa Al.”
“OK,” beeps Klink. “I will. And one more question.”
Frank adds another bit to his invention blueprint. “Yes?”
“Why are female humans different from male humans?”
Frank thinks about that for a long moment.
“You should definitely ask Grampa Al about that.”
12.6
“Here you go!” says Watson.
He plows through the backyard door, pulling a wagon piled with TV, DVD, and garage-door remotes. Xbox, PlayStation, and model-toy controllers. Steering wheels, gaming pads, flight sticks, and switch panels.
Watson dumps the wagonload in a pile on the floor. “And I’ve got them all open.”
“Perfect,” says Frank Einstein.
“So now what?”
12.7
Klank staggers through the junkyard door carrying a small mountain of electronics.
He bounces his way off walls and shelves over to the workbench and drops an avalanche of toys, toasters, computers, watches, clocks, radios, clock radios, e-readers, stereo parts, model trains, model planes, model cars, model boats, cameras, waffle makers, humidifiers, scales, talking dolls, telephones, blenders, heating pads, juicers, sewing machines, drum machines, PlayStations, electric shavers, electric chess sets, electric toothbrushes, hair dryers, range finders, bug zappers, calculators, scanners, DVD players, microwaves, walkie-talkies, and one crawling baby doll.
“Wow,” says Frank.
Klink digs himself out from under all the junk Klank has dumped. “What were you thinking?!”
“Thinking?” asks Klank. “I am doing, not thinking.”
“So what is the invention? Cyber-ware implants? System boosters?” Watson asks.
Frank Einstei
n looks over the pile of electronics and remotes and human-body notes. He thinks. He nods. He smiles. “Close, Watson. Very close.”
Frank Einstein spreads out his invention blueprint and starts to explain his idea . . .
HERE IT IS. MY. BIG. INVENTION!” SAYS T. EDISON. HE POSES proudly in the middle of T. Edison Laboratories Test Room No. 7.
Mr. Chimp looks up from his chess game. Mr. Chimp shakes his head.
Edison doesn’t notice. He tightens the strap of the big invention balanced on his head.
“I call it—the T. Edison Brain Swirler.”
Mr. Chimp stares. The only thing he can think of is what the Swirler reminds him of—a big toilet.
Igor, the laboratory cat, is not impressed, either. He licks one paw and stretches.
Edison sets up a row of rewired toy ponies, puppies, and hamsters on the test-room lab table.
“It works like a super–remote control and sends signals directly from the brain.”
Mr. Chimp takes a black knight with his white bishop. There is so much he would like to say. But all he can do is sign:
“What?! You don’t know what you’re talking about. Watch this.”
Edison twists on the main power switch (that looks an awful lot like a toilet flush handle).
Edison squints one eye and concentrates on his brain waves.
The plastic pony nods.
Edison turns his brain waves on the puppy.
The puppy barks!
Edison aims the Brain Swirler at the hamster.
It hops!
Edison switches off the Brain Swirler. “Ha! See? I told you!”
Mr. Chimp is not really impressed by a giant remote control for stupid toys that makes you look like you are wearing a toilet on your head.
