by Jean Rabe
Oh, God, she thought, let me not die an old maid, or at least not a maiden!
Her aunt would undoubtedly have been shocked. She came from a different generation, when a young lady’s dreams of equality in matters of mind, body, and soul were just dreams. The advent of the machine age had brought forth the new notion that women were just as capable of invention and achievement as men, so holding women to be a secondary creation of God was foolish. It had opened the eyes of young ladies to exciting possibilities.
Still, Rosa was unlikely to put her hopes to the test. By all standards of public decency, or, more honestly, public fear, she should remain at home, quietly living out of sight of other people, so as not to remind them of the frailty of the human body. Rosa did not want to be decent any longer. She wanted to live. She wanted to dance with a different partner than the infernal gas-powered machine that kept her heart beating. Aunt Jean understood that part. She and Uncle Bruce, who had invented the cardiac regulator, were as devoted and loving a couple as anyone had ever known.
Here she came, her large blue eyes wide with delight. The rapid rasp of Jean Rabenski’s dark blue taffeta gown almost drowned out the waltz music played by the orchestra as she towed a tall man behind her.
“Rosa, my darling, this lovely man would like to meet you!” she said. The blonde hair piled into a pumpkin shape on her head threatened to shake loose as she nodded vigorously at her escort. Rosa smiled politely at the newcomer. He didn’t look ‘lovely.’ In fact, he was a bit plain, if Rosa could be so bold. He might have been tall, but he was somewhat stout, and though he looked not much more than Rosa’s own age, he was already losing the hair on his domelike head. “Miss Lind, may I present Mr. Greenberg? Mr. Greenberg, this is my dear niece, Rosa Lind.”
Rosa put out a gloved hand. To her surprise she felt it tremble. Mr. Greenberg wore thick pebble-lensed glasses, but when he bent down to take her fingers she saw the kindly blue eyes behind them. His grasp was warm and gentle.
“Mr. Greenberg, I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Rosa said.
“Thank you, Miss Lind,” he said, his face shining with eagerness. “When I saw you from across the room, I knew I could not wait to speak to you. Your aunt was kind enough to introduce us.” He nodded to Aunt Jean, who beamed. “I wonder, if it would not be an intrusion, if I might . . . it would mean a great deal to me . . .” He swallowed. Rosa held her breath, preparing herself to say yes, yes, yes! “. . .If you would permit me to examine the device at your side.”
Rosa’s heart, the flesh-and-blood one, sank to her dancing pumps. “Oh.”
“Not here, of course,” Mr. Greenberg continued, reading the disappointment and dismay in her face as potential embarrassment. “I am fascinated by modern machinery, and I am interested in its workings.”
“You do understand that this is not a toy,” Rosa said, unable to keep asperity out of her voice. She shot a speaking look at her aunt, who smiled blandly at her. She would have a lot to say to her later!
“Of course I do,” Mr. Greenberg said earnestly. “It would be useless to deny that I have heard, er, some talk about the purpose of the machine. I know that it is continually saving your life. Not only would I want it to continue in its purpose, but it would be my aim to better it if I could. I am a clockmaker, you see, and I believe that miniaturization is the wave of the future. If you would be so very kind to allow me to visit you at home, perhaps tomorrow, or any other day that would suit your convenience?”
On the way home in the horseless carriage, Rosa felt her rage reaching a boiling point. If it were not for the quiet hiss-thump of the regulator beside her that kept it slow and steady, her heart would have been pounding like a tom-tom. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“You are very quiet,” Aunt Jean said, steering the car with the electrostatic reins through the gaslit night toward the Rabenskis’ town house, where Rosa was living during the season.
Rosa could not contain herself any longer. “How could you subject me to such a ridiculous person?”
Aunt Jean’s face turned various colors as they passed electric advertisement signs lit by neon gas. “Well, my darling, he did ask to meet you. I had no good reason to say no. Everyone can see that you spend every single ball by yourself. Besides, if he can do anything to shrink your ‘companion’ there, I see no reason not to let him try. He is well known in his field. He trained in Switzerland, and his inventions have made him rather wealthy. Even you have heard of Tekno-Clocks.”
“I . . . have,” Rosa admitted. Another thought struck her and made her cheeks burn. “But now everyone will think me a fortune-hunter!”
“What do you care?” Aunt Jean said practically. “You have defied Death himself every day of your life. If nothing else, enjoy the novelty of having a gentleman caller.”
It was no good saying Rosa didn’t want one. The essence of normality was an elusive scent she had pursued all of her life. Her friends did their best not to treat her with pity, fearing her scorn, but she knew they felt it. She missed having private little notes dropped casually beside her on a couch or tucked into a bouquet. She longed for stolen kisses in the cinema or theater. But the heart regulator was the fiercest possible chaperone. No young man could pretend he didn’t know it was there. And, perversely, she was insulted that it was the regulator that drew Mr. Greenberg’s admiration.
Even so, the next afternoon, Rosa fussed over her garments and her toilette like any other young lady. She had just settled herself and the hissing regulator in a fetching tableau when the uniformed automaton strutted out of his sentry box in the timepiece on the mantel and announced, “Three o’clock post-meridian, madam and miss.”
“Thank you, Joyeaux,” Aunt Jean said. The mannequin bowed and retired. Almost as soon as she did, the doorbell rang. “There he is, like a clockwork himself!”
Mr. Greenberg’s appearance did not keep with the theme of his precise arrival. His coat and trousers were slightly rumpled, and the brown leather valise in his left hand was battered by time and much usage. He bowed over Aunt Jean’s hand and turned to Rosa.
“Miss Lind, how kind of you to let me come.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Greenberg,” Rosa said. In spite of herself, she did enjoy having a caller. Aunt Jean had gone to some trouble to whisper the news around the ballroom the night before. The speculative looks in Rosa’s way gave her a frisson of excitement. “Will you sit down?”
“Thank you.” The young man pulled a footstool up to Rosa’s knee and sat on it. He was so tall that his knees stuck up like a grasshopper’s. He opened the valise, and she saw neat rows of shining steel instruments, lenses, calipers and other small tools. “May I?” he asked.
No clever small talk, nor inquiries as to whether she had enjoyed the previous evening’s entertainment. Ah, well, what in this world was perfect?
“Yes, of course,” Rosa said. She watched as he put on a set of rubber-rimmed goggles with lenses several times thicker than his eyeglasses, and took out an oblong device the size of his hand. He turned a knob at the side. The device made a zooming noise and a glass-fronted gauge on the top lit up. Mr. Greenberg drew the regulator a little closer to himself and began to go over it carefully, taking readings from the gauge or peering even more closely with a large, handheld lens.
“Who made this device, Miss Lind?” Mr. Greenberg asked, his face very close to the control panel. He ran a careful forefinger over the ceramic knobs and bakelite switches, and then moved on to the hissing pistons cycling up and down in the valves that drove the dynamo.
“My uncle, Professor Rabenski,” Rosa replied, watching him with growing curiosity. “He is an electrical engineer and inventor.”
He turned, his wide eyes magnified enormously by the lenses. “Ah, yes! I have heard of Bruce Rabenski.”
“And he of you, sir,” Aunt Jean put in, with a smile. “I asked him about you last evening when we returned home.”
Mr. Greenberg looked pleased. “I would love to consu
lt him about his design.”
Aunt Jean shook her head. “I’m very sorry, but he is in Africa on a research trip. We consulted him by means of long-distance wireless. He will be back in a month. He’d be pleased to speak with you then.”
“I hope that I can conclude my analysis long before then,” he said, ruefully. “I must go to America in two weeks to defend one of my inventions before the Patent Board. Might I see a schematic of the device?”
“Of course,” Aunt Jean said. “There is one in his desk. I will fetch it.”
With the document in hand he resumed his studies. Aunt Jean rang for tea. The parlormaid who brought the tray fixed an interested eye on the gentleman caller seated so close to Miss Rosa. Impatiently, Rosa waved her out of the room. The visitor would be the subject of much talk during the servants’ tea, and no doubt with the tradesmen. Aunt Jean should have sent for one of the mechanical valets, who, as they only had rudimentary prerecorded speech, never gossiped. It was a good thing they didn’t know how little interest the man had in her or they would have pitied her.
“Fascinating,” Mr. Greenberg said, referring between the regulator and its plans. “But so inefficient.”
“I beg your pardon!” Aunt Jean boomed.
“No, please let me beg yours,” Mr. Greenberg said, taking off the goggles. He wiped them with an absent expression on his good-natured face. “I forget myself. Professor Rabenski’s invention is wonderful, but I feel that it could be a good deal more, er, compact.”
“Do you know anything about heart stimulation machines?” Aunt Jean asked, annoyed. “This is the smallest portable unit available to date! Until we made this, my niece was tethered to her room, because the machine and its power source took up half of it!”
Mr. Greenberg nodded. “But all it is meant to do is deliver a minute electrical charge, is it not? Your electric bell does the same thing, in a device a mere fraction of the size. I think I could adapt the design to work with my newest technology.” He held out the schematics to her. “I think vital economies could be made here, here, and here.”
“Could you, sir?” Rosa asked. She had a momentary vision of her freed of her tether, to run down the streets like an urchin. “I would be in your debt.”
He glanced at her, then down at the magnifying spectacles on his lap. “The debt is mine. Thank you for indulging my interest.”
“Go ahead, if you wish,” Rosa said.
Mr. Greenberg smiled. He flipped the small levers that held the faceplate on the control panel and began to examine the interior of the device with the aid of the plans. Though Rosa held her breath, he never touched anything that might cause the machine to halt or slow down. Aunt Jean, a skilled fabricator of devices from Uncle Bruce’s designs including the regulator, kept a close eye on him. Mr. Greenberg unwound cables from their clips and ran his gauge over them, hmmming to himself over the readings.
“What does that do, sir?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Perhaps her voice had been drowned out by the droning of the machine. Instead, he delved further into its workings. His touch was gentle, insistent, but firm. Rosa felt almost as if he was examining her own body. She felt her cheeks grow warm. No one of her acquaintance had ever opened the machine. It was surprisingly . . . intimate. She could almost sense the long, flexible fingertips as they ran over the surface of the vacuum-sealed tubes and boards. They tickled their way along the dials that adjusted the speed of her heart rate. Rosa heard the pounding as her own feeble heart reacted to the caress and the machine responded with increased vigor. Her skin pricked as though stimulated with electricity. She felt as though she might faint from delight.
Mr. Greenberg was unaware of the sensation he was causing but Aunt Jean was not. Her fair eyebrows lowered on her forehead for a moment, and then she relented. The gentleman was behaving exactly like Uncle Bruce might when faced with a fascinating subject in his field. No doubt she was thinking too far ahead as to how nice it would be to have a second inventor in the family. Rosa poured tea for all of them. Mr. Greenberg took his cup and set it on the small table untasted.
With the gauge in one hand, he ran a hand down the face of the miniature dynamo. The reading must have pleased him, because he broke into a wide smile of wonder. Rosa smiled back. He didn’t look up. His hand traced the negative and positive leads from opposite ends of the capacitor it fed, to the insulated connector at the base of the umbilical, and out along the thick cord to Rosa’s breast. His long fingers spread out gently upon the disk attached to her skin. They probed the small connections that led to the wires that penetrated to her heart. Rosa could feel his hand’s warmth and slight pressure through the thin bakelite, and lightning ran through her body. No man had ever touched her in that fashion in her entire life. She wished that he would continue his gentle explorations to the flesh on either side. Her body tingled, aching for more. Rosa realized how seldom someone touched her: only the chambermaid who helped her dress and an occasional hug from her aunt. She wanted a lover and husband. She turned her face up to Mr. Greenberg’s, seeing that calm curiosity and fervent interest that was focused so intently upon the regulator’s workings, and leaned toward him. Look at me, she willed him. Look at me. See me.
“A-hem!” Aunt Jean cleared her throat.
Mr. Greenberg came out of his reverie, and realized he had his hand planted on the chest of a respectable young lady. He jumped backward, his face suffused with scarlet.
“I am so sorry, Miss Lind. Please forgive me!”
I am sorry you stopped, Rosa thought. She swallowed her disappointment. He really didn’t see that the machine was attached to a living woman. “I understand scientists, Mr. Greenberg. No offense was taken.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Greenberg said. He paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “It is as I suspected. This machine is brilliant in concept. No other device has managed to keep a damaged heart beating—for years, I believe?” Rosa nodded. “It is a technological wonder, but it is like a very large shoe over a very tiny foot. It is so much larger than required for its purpose that it almost causes harm to what it protects. It’s old technology.”
“Sir!” Aunt Jean protested. “That device took us five years to create!”
The gentleman dipped his head abashed. “My apologies, madam. I do keep speaking out of turn. To paraphrase a friend of mine, Dr. Louis Moore, scientific applications double in power as they halve in size every year or two. If you had kept on reinventing the regulator, by now it would be the size of a mantel clock, or even smaller. As it is, this is compact for its day and most well-made.”
“What do you propose, Mr. Greenberg?” Aunt Jean asked. She was only partly mollified at the compliment.
“What is the charge that it dispenses?”
“Ninety millivolts.”
He beamed. “Then I have the answer to the problem of size. My company, Tekno-Clocks, has a new pocket watch that has an alternating circuit to allow it to light up, for telling time in the dark. The lamp is driven by a small dynamo that winds up by means of a coiled spring.”
“Just like any other watch,” Aunt Jean marveled.
Mr. Greenberg nodded. “Just so. It would be my privilege to attempt to duplicate this machine in miniature, using the new technology.”
“When could it be done?” Rosa asked, suddenly interested. His visit might not yet be wasted. Even if he was not interested in her, he could free her enough that perhaps another man might look her way.
He turned to her. “I have prototype machines on my workbench. I could begin tomorrow, if you would like.”
Rosa was breathless at the thought of near-freedom. “Oh, yes!”
“Please call upon us at four,” Aunt Jean said. “Will that give you enough time? Then you may stay to dinner afterwards.”
Mr. Greenberg put away his tools and rose, the now-cold tea forgotten. “That would be perfect, Mrs. Rabenski. Miss Lind, until tomorrow?” He took her hand and bowed over it. Rosa felt his long fingers close
over her small ones and smiled.
“Until then, sir,” she said.
Rosa knew from correspondence with her aunt and uncle that scientific progress took a long time, but it seemed absolutely endless when one was the subject of investigation. Mr. Greenberg knelt at her feet, a dozen small gadgets each with a clock face and twin bolts sticking out of the top ticking and humming on the floor where he had discarded them. He had come to the Rabenskis’ town house daily for a week. He said little to her during his visits, but applied himself diligently to his investigations. Rosa was beginning to wish she could leave the regulator and her heart there in the sitting room and go read a book instead. She was never so aware of the oppressive noise the machine made, and how it obviated conversation. With a key he wound up a gold-cased device the size of a melon.
“The speed seems right, and it would run for eight days,” Mr. Greenberg muttered to himself, not for the first time. He listened, and then set the device down. “Too weak, and too great a variation in tempo.”
“What is it you are doing now, Mr. Greenberg?” Rosa asked.
He glanced up at her briefly, but continued to wind up another mechanism from his case, this one shaped like a huge walnut. “I am testing each of these units to see which might carry the voltage for the longest possible time in the smallest possible volume, Miss Lind. To carry out the test successfully, it will be necessary to attach one beside your regulator, and then briefly switch input from that to the unit. There is some risk involved, but I believe no pain.”
Rosa sat up bravely. “My life has little meaning as it is, Mr. Greenberg. And I am not afraid of pain.”
Mr. Greenberg appeared to be about to say something, then paused. He smiled slightly, took off his glasses and polished them on a handkerchief. “I, er, am glad to hear that. I applaud your courage, Miss Lind.” He put the glasses back on. “Let us try this unit, then.” He wound it up.
The patronizing devil! Rosa fumed to herself, but she sat still as he clipped leads running from the golden device to her regulator and to the base of the umbilical on her breast. How dare he say that as if it amused him! She was ready to throw him out of the house. Only the prospect of going about the town virtually unburdened kept her from doing it. Every one of the devices he tested was smaller than a marketing basket, some only the size of a large orange. It was all she kept her hopes on. Her friends were already asking how serious Mr. Greenberg’s suit was, since he was spending so many afternoons with her. She was humiliated to have nothing to tell them.
