Miguel was astonished at the remarkable room in the doctor’s house. From the street, it looked like most of the other houses on the block, nothing out of the ordinary to hint at what was inside. But a room in the basement was surprisingly like the hospital room where he had gotten his stitches. There were two operating tables side by side, all kinds of mysterious electronic equipment and surgical tools on carts, bright overhead lights and steel cylinders like the ones used to fill balloons at traveling carnivals.
One of the tables contained the motionless professor, strapped down with a mask over his nose and mouth. Most of the professor’s head had been shaved clean, making him look even frailer. The mask was connected by a long tube to one of the electronic machines, which in turn was connected to a tall cylinder. The professor’s chest rose and fell with each click and hiss of the machine.
Miguel noticed the same arrangement was waiting for him next to the empty operating table; he wondered why the doctor wanted to fill them up like balloons.
He stood next to the professor, hands folded in prayer like he had seen his mother do years ago over his dying grandfather. He didn’t remember all the words to the prayer but repeated over and over the words he did know:
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen.”
The door to the room swung open and the doctor quietly walked in.
Miguel turned around. “Is he going to be all right?” he asked earnestly, hands still folded.
Dorning was quiet a moment, but there was more than a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as if he were suppressing a grin. “No, I’m afraid not, Miguel. He’s dying, and there’s nothing we can do about it but make him comfortable. It won’t be long now until he’s gone.”
Miguel dropped his arms to his side, wondering if prayer ever really saved anyone.
Dorning bent down in front of Miguel.
“It’s almost time, Miguel. Time to receive the gift I promised you.”
“You mean to be as smart as the professor?”
Now Dorning did grin. “Yes. Precisely.” He stood up, pulled a small green gown out of a drawer underneath the empty operating table and handed it to Miguel. “Here. Go in the next room and put this on. Come back when you’re ready. But hurry; the professor’s condition could deteriorate at any moment.”
Miguel went into the room and closed the door. As he hastily changed into the robe, he suddenly realized he wasn’t alone.
The monkey stood transfixed, staring at him with both tiny hands grasping the bars of the cage.
Finished, Miguel tied the robe tight, self-conscious now.
He cautiously approached the cage. “Hello,” he said to the silent animal.
The monkey seemed to nod once in response, which made the wires trailing from its swathed head swayed gently back and forth.
Miguel stared wordlessly into the monkey’s deep, liquid-brown eyes for a few seconds, then blinked several times and backed away. He paused briefly at the door to look back at it in wonder one more time before he left the room.
Dorning motioned to him impatiently and patted the vacant operating table. “Come now. Hop up here and lie down. It’s nearly time to begin.”
Miguel obeyed. He turned his head and looked over at the professor a few feet away. “Is he . . . dead?”
Dorning turned the knob on a steel cylinder next to Miguel. “Hmm? No, not yet. But we have to be well prepared before that event. We have to be absolutely, one hundred percent prepared.”
He went to put a clear mask attached to the cylinder by a long plastic tube over Miguel’s mouth and nose; the boy held up a hand to stop him.
“Wait. Are you sure this won’t hurt? You said it wouldn’t, remember?”
Dorning laughed. “No, it’s not going to hurt. The procedure will be absolutely painless like I promised. Just a bandage, remember? And you should be happy to hear it’s finally time for those pesky stitches to go as well.” He lightly tapped the bandage just above the boy’s forehead.
Miguel lowered his hand to allow Dorning to put the mask on.
The doctor stuck half a dozen plastic discs trailing electric wires on Miguel’s chest and temples, then plugged the wires into a machine nearby.
Dorning turned a knob on the mask. “Now, breathe deeply. Deep breaths. Soon you’ll begin your new life.”
Miguel inhaled, felt as if he was getting lighter, almost as if he could float up and away; he was just like a carnival balloon after all. He turned for one last look at the professor.
I won’t let you down, Professor, he thought. I won’t.
And then sleep took hold.
****
Dorning saw Miguel was under and all the readings were normal. He put on a surgical cap and face mask and stared at the professor.
“Talk to you later, Professor,” he said. Then he had a startling realization and looked up at the clock on the wall. “My God, in just a few more hours it’s your birthday, isn’t it? Well, here’s a nice little birthday gift for you, Percival. You’re about to be reborn.”
He looked at one of the monitors; the professor’s heart rate was becoming more erratic.
He deftly shaved off all of Miguel’s hair just as he had done earlier with the professor. Then he scrubbed his hands before slipping on a pair of surgical gloves to sterilize both their scalps with an antimicrobial scrub.
“Almost,” Dorning said. “At last, we’re almost there.” He watched and waited, pacing in front of the professor’s table, poised to take action.
An alarm sounded on the professor’s monitor; Dorning nearly shouted in glee.
“To begin!” he said.
****
The two operations were finally over; they had gone exactly as planned.
Dorning fell heavily into a chair in the quiet lab on the other side of the basement, a cup of cold, bitter coffee in front of him. It was now five a.m., and his eyes were starting to play tricks on him. He kept thinking he saw ghostly apparitions of his former test animals in the empty cages that lined the far wall. They seemed to flit back and forth as if oddly agitated. At his elbow, Percival the monkey was asleep in his cage, and in the other room the boy was still under the anesthetic. Marlowe’s body was dressed and ready for the final ride to the clinic, where he would arrive having “just died” as everyone expected at any time. He had copies of all the signed papers to prove the professor had indeed donated his body to science, and more specifically to him; that, he knew, would deflect any questions about the professor’s missing brain tissue should anyone at the morgue discover his stealthy operation. But since he had taken great pains to restore the professor’s appearance after the operation—complete with secured toupee—not only was he unlikely to be questioned, there was no reason not to have a glorious wake attended by hundreds of scientists and admirers from around the world, all eager to outdo each other with eulogies of high praise.
He chuckled to himself, then quickly swallowed the gritty dregs at the bottom of the paper cup.
“My, my. When they finally learn the truth, won’t they be surprised?”