The Binding Chair by Kathryn Harrison

Author:Kathryn Harrison
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307799821
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-06-14T21:00:00+00:00

DR. BOYLAN’S OFFICES were filled with the most modern American equipment. He pointed out the cast-metal chair with a reclining back that he could raise and lower by means of an ivory-handled crank, its red plush neck support, the red-and-turquoise pillow that padded the footrest. Eleanor looked at the silk fringes on the pillow. She ignored all the rest: the Whitcomb fountain spittoon that dispensed drinking water through the beak of a tiny brass swan perched over the basin, the foot-treadle drill, the complex arrangement of mirrors that reflected lamplight into the mouth of anyone lying in the chair. None of these impressed her. Eleanor looked at the fringes and told herself that nothing very terrible could happen to a person whose feet were resting on a red-and-turquoise silk cushion.

“Your lisp,” Dr. Boylan said, “is caused by your front teeth. To cure it, we extract them. We teach you to speak without front teeth.” He pressed his hands together, as if about to lead the women in prayer. “Then, when your new speech has been established—it ought not to take more than two months—we replace them with these.” He opened a cabinet filled with little drawers, one of which held, on a blue velvet pad, two shining white porcelain teeth with gold posts.

Dr. Boylan pulled the drawer all the way out and offered it to Eleanor as if it were a gift. The teeth looked like jewels, like studs or cufflinks or earrings. When Eleanor hesitated to take the drawer, the dentist selected one of the false teeth and placed it in her palm.

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. Ith beautiful.

“Yes,” he agreed. From another, larger, drawer, contents jumbled, no velvet pad, he produced a handful of quite different teeth. “These are the natural ones I’ve replaced. Not so beautiful.”

“No,” she said, her voice a little faint. She and her aunt nodded silently over his album of testimonial letters from satisfied clients, many accompanied by smiling tintypes.

Eleanor looked up. “How much will it hurt?” she asked.

“Oh, my dear.” Dr. Boylan’s voice was unctuous, a melting pat of butter. “Not at all.” He showed the women his ether inhaler, a glass globe with wadded cotton inside, a mouthpiece designed to hold the lips in a cold kiss. “We have both ether and a newer anesthesia, nitrous oxide. My colleague, Dr. Thomas Evans of Philadelphia—you’ve heard of him?”

Eleanor shook her head.

“No?” he said. “I am surprised. He’s Napoleon’s dentist. Charles, I mean. Charles Napoleon. Not the one who was exiled. Dr. Evans has emigrated to Paris and treats most of the royal families on the continent. It was he who pioneered the use of nitrous oxide, which has all the advantages of ether, but not so many of the disadvantages. No nausea. No headaches.”

Dr. Boylan showed Eleanor a small pedal compressor attached to a rubber hose and mask. With his foot he pumped the pedal, put the mask over his nose and inhaled. When he spoke, his voice came out high, not so much like a woman’s as like that of a music-hall actor impersonating a woman.

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