The assistant, having received a cue, placed an ordinary bicycle clamp into the doctor's outstretched hand.
Frankenstein then attached the clamp to the patient's head, just behind his ears. Mr. Hilltop relaxed noticeably.
"You will note the position of the clamp-just at the swelling of the posterior nerve root," the doctor said to the students. He raised an arm and pushed back the sleeve so that he could see his watch. "Now, five or six seconds, to allow the pressure to take effect. . ."
Falkstein discovered that, like the students, he had moved forward to the edge of his seat.
"Ready, I believe," Dr. Frankenstein said. Again, he jabbed bis knee in the direction of the patient's groin. "You mother-grabbing bastard!" he shouted viciously. This time, however, he did not hold back. The knee sank deep into the old man's crotch.
Mr. Hilltop did not move a muscle. His eyes, however, revealed his agony. They crossed for a second, then seemed to sink deep into his head in exquisite pain.
The doctor, though, was concerned only with muscles. "Because of the clamp," he told the students, pleased with the result of the experiment, "all communication is shut off. In spite of our mechanical magnificence, if there is not this continuous stream of motor impulses, we will collapse like a bunch of broccoli." Delicately, he removed the clamp from the patient's head.
Mr. Hilltop collapsed like a bunch of broccoli.
From the balcony came a burst of appreciative applause.
As the assistant lifted the inert Mr. Hilltop from the floor and rolled him back onto the table, Dr. Frankenstein spoke to him in a whisper that could be heard overhead. "Give the old boy an extra dollar," he said.
The patient, richer as a consequence of Dr. Frankenstein's compassion, was then wheeled away.
"In conclusion," the doctor told the students, "it should be noted that anything more than a common injury to the nerve roots is always serious. Because once a nerve fiber is severed, there is no way, in Heaven or on earth, to regenerate life back into it." He looked at his watch again. "Are there any last questions before we leave?"
The student who had risen before got up again. "Dr. Fronkon-steen?"
"Yes?"
"Isn't it true that Darwin preserved a piece of vermicelli in a glass case until, by some extraordinary means, it actually began to move with voluntary motion?"
"A piece of what?"
"Vermicelli."
"Are you speaking of the worm or the spaghetti?"
"Why ... the worm, sir."
"Ah!" the doctor said admonishingly. "In science you must always be precise. Precision can spell the difference between life and death." Once more, he whispered loudly to his assistant, who had returned. "I don't want that fellow in class next semester," he said. "He has a big mouth."
The assistant nodded, making a mental note.
"Yes," the doctor said, facing the balcony again, "it seems to me that I did read something about that Darwin incident when I was a student. But you have to remember that a worm-with very few exceptions-is not a human being."
The students applauded.
"But, sir," the young man persisted, "wasn't that the whole basis of your grandfather's work? The reanima-tion of dead tissue?"
"My grandfather was a sick man."
"But as a Franken-That is, as a Fron-kon-steen-aren't you the least bit curious? Doesn't bringing back to life what was once dead hold any intrigue for you?"
"You are talking about the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind," Dr. Frankenstein said. "Dead is dead."
"Look at what's been done with hearts and kidneys, though."
"Hearts and kidneys are Tinker Toys!" the doctor shouted. "I'm talking about the central nervous system!"
"But, sir-"
"I am a scientist, not a philosopher!" Dr. Frankenstein told him. He snatched up a scalpel from an instrument tray. "You have more chance of reanimating this scalpel," he said, waving the instrument angrily, "than you have of mending a broken nervous system!"
"Your grandfather's work, though, sir-"
"My grandfather's work was doo-doo! I'm not interested in death. There is only one thing that concerns me, and that is the preservation of life!" Emphasizing the final word, he jabbed downward with the scalpel.
The applause was loud and long. Falkstein noticed, however, that Dr. Frankenstein did not appear to be enjoying the ovation. The color had drained from his face and he seemed to be leaning all of his weight on one leg, as if the other leg had become injured.
"Dismissed," the doctor said weakly when the clapping began to peter out.
The students rose and began filing out. Falkstein lingered for a moment, his attention still on Dr. Frankenstein. He heard the doctor whisper to his assistant again.
"Bring me some surgical gauze, a little tape, and some mercurochrome," the doctor said, clearly in pain.
"Sir?"
"I stabbed myself in the leg," Dr. Frankenstein told him.
"Yes, sir, I saw. But, mercurochrome? Don't you want iodine, sir?"
The doctor winced. "Burns," he said.
"Yes, sir," the assistant responded, nodding and departing.
Falkstein, his curiosity satisfied, left the balcony with the students. When he reached the main floor, he stopped at the information desk again and got directions to the arena. Arriving there a few moments later, he found the doctor seated on a stool, with his trousers down, applying a bandage to his wounded thigh.
"Dr. Frankenstein . . ." he said.
"Fron-kon-steen!"
Falkstein introduced himself. "I have traveled five thousand miles to bring you the will of your greatgrandfather, Beaufort von Frankenstein," he then told him.
The doctor stared at him blankly.
Falkstein opened the metal box and got out the parchment.
"What's that?" Dr. Frankenstein asked.
"The will, sir. I am here to read it to you."
"I'm a busy man," the doctor said crankily.
"I have my duty, sir."
Dr. Frankenstein shrugged.
Falkstein commenced reading. As he droned on, Dr. Frankenstein went to a locker and began changing into street clothes. By the time the law clerk had finished the reading of the will, the doctor was ready to leave the hospital.
"Interesting," Dr. Frankenstein said, "but what's it worth in dollars and cents?"
"I would say, sir, in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand dollars . . . and, oh, fifteen or twenty cents, give or take."
Dr. Frankenstein whistled. "But I can't just drop everything and take off," he said, heading for the door. 'I have obligations."
Falkstein trailed after him. "You have obligations to the family, too, sir."
Leaving the arena, they walked along the hospital corridor toward the exit.
"Family?" the doctor said. "For heaven's sake, man, I'm being married in two weeks. What does the family expect of me?" He shook his head. "I can't leave. No, I won't do it."
They left the hospital and walked in the direction of the parking lot. Ahead, a street musician, a shriveled little old man in a Tyrolean hat, was playing a violin. The tune was soft and lilting, a lullaby. "Duty and family-" Falkstein began. "Hang duty and hang the family," the doctor said. "I said I won't do it, and that's that."
"But you can be back in a week's time, Doctor. Ten days at the most."
"Leave me alone, can't you? It's ludicrous. It's not easy to just pick up-"
Dr. Frankenstein had interrupted himself, his attention drawn to the street musician. He halted, listening to the melody. Falkstein saw the glint of madness in his eyes become a fiery glow.
"Curious tune," the doctor said. He touched his fingertips to his temples, as if he had become aware of some mysterious stirring in the far reaches of his mind. "Haunting, isn't it?"
Falkstein nodded, watching Dr. Frankenstein closely. A change appeared to be coming over him, a mesmerization seemed to be taking place.
"Of course, I don't want the family to think of me a
s a spoilsport," the doctor said dimly.
"Does that mean-"
"Excuse me," Dr. Frankenstein said, breaking in. He walked toward the violinist.
Falkstein followed, fascinated.
"That tune you're playing-what is it?" Dr. Frankenstein asked the wrinkled little old man when he reached him.
The musician played on. "Zis is an old Transylvania lullaby," he told the doctor.
"It has something. So quaint... so ..." He reached out. "May I see your violin?"
The music stopped. "It's an honor for me, sir," the little old man replied, handing the doctor the instrument. "You play the violin?"
"Oh, just a little. Nice," he said. "It has a nice balance to it."
"Ja, ja."
Dr. Frankenstein raised a leg, and without even a flicker of emotion on his countenance, broke the violin over his knee.
The little old man stared at him, shocked.
The doctor handed him the instrument, which was now in two pieces. "Thank you very much," he said politely. Then he walked on.
Leaving the musician in a state of shock, Falkstein hustled after the doctor.
"Well, if you're sure I could settle the estate and accomplish everything in a week . . ." Dr. Frankenstein was saying.
"Why did you do that?" Falkstein asked him, baffled
"Do? Do what?"
"You broke that old man's violin!"
"I did not."
"You smashed it over your knee!"
"I did no such thing," Dr. Frankenstein said. "Why would I?" He looked at Falkstein warily. "Are you insane?"
Falkstein smiled happily. "My mistake," he said. He realized now that what he had only suspected before was undeniably true. The doctor was a bona fide Frankenstein.
"All right, I suppose I do owe the family something, a gesture at least," the doctor said. "You'll have everything ready for me when I arrive, will you?"
"Oh, yes sir. I'll take care of everything. You don't know how happy this makes me."
"One week at the most," the doctor insisted.
"One week. I'll see to it, Herr Doktor."
They had reached the entrance to the parking lot. "See you in Transylvania, then," Dr. Frankenstein said, striding on.
Falkstein turned back. He saw that the old musician was still standing, staring befuddled at his broken instrument. Walking back, Falkstein got two bills from his wallet. When he reached the old man, he dropped the money into his violin case, which was open on the sidewalk.
The musician was grateful. To show his gratitude, he began playing the lovely old Transylvanian lullaby once more. It came out quite differently now, however, possibly due to the fact that he was using only the top half of the violin to play on.
Standing on the platform where he would catch the train to New York, Dr. Frederick Frankenstein scanned the faces in the crowd, looking for his fiancee, Elizabeth, who had promised that she would be at the station to see him off. But she was nowhere in sight. Waiting, he checked his wallet to make sure he still had his airplane tickets to Transylvania. Then, as he was putting the wallet away, he saw Elizabeth come charging out of the crowd toward him, arms outstretched. A moment later, they were in each other's arms, and Dr. Frankenstein could feel Elizabeth's full breasts pressing against his chest. The embrace lasted only a second, though.
"You're squeezing," Elizabeth said, pulling free.
"I'm going to miss you so," he told her. "I'll be counting every hour that I'm away." He leaned forward to kiss her.
"Not on the lips, darling," she said, backing away.
"What?"
"I'm going to that silly party at Nana and Nicky's later," Elizabeth explained. "I don't want to smear my lipstick. You understand, dear."
"Of course." He stepped back and looked her up and down, proudly. He was a lucky man. The figure, so tiny where it should be tiny, and so full where it should be full. The hair, so perfectly coiffured. The clothes, so chic. And those bazooms, so-
"Boarrrrrd!" a conductor called. "All aboard!"
"Oh, dear!" Elizabeth said, distressed. "You've got to
go."
Dr. Frankenstein nodded. "I guess this is it."
"Freddy! Oh, darling! How can I say in a few minutes what it's taken me a lifetime to understand?"
"Try," he pleaded.
"All right." Her lovely face lit up. "You've got it, Mister!" she sang out.
"Darling!"
"I'm yours," she told him passionately. "All of me. What else can I say?"
"Oh, my sweet love," the doctor said, reaching for her.
"The hair!" Elizabeth shrieked, jumping back. "The hair-it's just been set."
"Oh, sorry."
"I hope you like old-fashioned weddings," she said.
"I prefer old-fashioned wedding nights."
"Freddy, you're incorrigible!"
"Does that mean you love me?"
"You bet your boots it does."
On the verge of losing control completely, he grasped her by the waist and pulled her close.
"Taffeta, darling," she said.
"Taffeta, sweetheart," he responded, assuming that he had just learned the latest "in" word of endearment.
"I mean my dress," she told him, disengaging herself. "It's taffeta ... it wrinkles so easily . . ."
"Sorry again."
"Boarrrrrrd!" the conductor called out.
"Oh, dear, you'd better go-before I make a fool of myself," Elizabeth said.
"Would you? Right here? Right here on the platform?"
"I'm talking about my mascara. It's 'no-run,' but I don't trust it at all."
He reached out again.
"No, darling. I'm all made up for the party."
Desperate, Dr. Frankenstein extended an elbow. "Touch me!" he begged.
Out came Elizabeth's elbow. And then, in a moment of less-than-supreme ecstacy, the two elbows kissed.
"Boarrrrd! Last call!" came the conductor's cry.
"Good-bye, darling!"
"Good-bye, Freddy, my sweet!"
The doctor stepped aboard the train. He paused for a last look back at his love. At that moment, the engine disgorged an enormous cloud of white steam. Elizabeth was enveloped by the vapor, lost from sight. Moving on, the doctor hoped that the steam hadn't ruined her hairdo. Even more, though, he prayed that the hot vapor would not have a reducing effect, as in a steam cabinet. He didn't want anything to happen to those bazooms.
Inside the car, Dr. Frankenstein chose a window seat. He looked for Elizabeth. But there was only the enormous cloud of steam, moving briskly along the platform toward the exit. A moment later, he was joined in the seat by by a little old lady.
She got right to the point. "What do you do?" she asked him.
"I'm a doctor."
She glowed. "I have this twinge right here-" she began, raising an arm and indicating her armpit.
Dr. Frankenstein turned his face to the window and kept it there during the entire trip.
The flight from New York to Transylvania was not much different from the train trip from Baltimore to New York. A few minutes after he had settled in a seat on the plane, a little old lady sat down beside him.
"You look like a doctor," she said.
He was prepared this time. Or so he thought. "No, I'm a famous novelist," he told her.
She opened her handbag. "I've got this short story I've been working on-"
The doctor turned his face to the window and kept it there during the entire trip.
Once the plane landed in Transylvania, there was another train trip to be taken, to the village where Frankenstein castle was located. He stood up all the way, avoiding the possibility of having a little old lady sit down beside him. He was tired of looking out windows.
The journey lasted for a little over an hour. It seemed much longer, however, it was so unpleasant. The train was rickety and wobbly. Bats kept diving out of the dark corners of the car and flapping up and down the aisle. A couple in a nearby seat were necking, caus
ing the doctor to long for Elizabeth-until he saw that the female member of the couple had deep teeth marks on her neck. Consequently, when the train at last reached its destination, Dr. Frankenstein fled from the car, partly in relief, partly in horror.
The discomfort, though, was not yet over. As the train pulled out, the doctor discovered that he was the only one on the platform. He looked about, perplexed. Had the train dropped him off at the wrong place? Had he been deposited in some Transylvanian ghost town? A moment later, however, he heard whistling. Then a boy, packing a shoeshine kit on his back, appeared, approaching the doctor from the far end of the platform.
"Pardon me, boy," Dr. Frankenstein said, "is this the Transylvania station?"
"Ja, ja," the lad replied. "Track twenty-nine. Can I give you a shine?"
"Thank you, no."
The boy strolled on.
The doctor looked around again. It was getting dark. And he could sense that a storm was brewing. He had notified Herr Falkstein of the time of his arrival; why hadn't someone been sent to the station to meet him? By God, if he got caught in a storm, heads would roll. When he got to the castle, he would fire the whole incompetent bunch. They would think twice before they ever left him standing at the station again.
Thunder rumbled. The sky had become an inky black and the clouds were churning ominously. There was a sudden crack of lightning. In the flash, Dr. Frankenstein saw a face. It was no more than a foot away. Startled, he drew back. But the face followed, stopping only inches from the doctor's own face. The eyes in the face twinkled mischievously-or perhaps evilly.
"Frankenstein?"
"Fron-kon-steen," the doctor informed the man.
"You're putting me on."
"No, that's the way it's pronounced. Fron-kon-steen."
"And do you also say Fro-derick?" the man asked.
"Of course not. It's Fred-erick Fronkonsteen."
"Why isn't it Fro-derick Fronkonsteen?"
"Because it's not. It's Fred-erick Fron-kon-steen."
"I see." The face seemed to accept the fact.
Squinting into the darkness, the doctor managed to see the rest of the man. He was draped completely in a black, hooded cape. He looked like he was standing in the center of a tent, peeking out the top. There was also one other factor that would tend to make him stand out in a crowd. He was a hunchback.
Young Frankenstein Page 2
