The Anatomy Lesson by Philip Roth

Author:Philip Roth [Roth, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-01-30T08:00:00+00:00

In the days that followed, our family home on the Weddesteeg was full of people coming and going, faces drawn with worry. From my room in the house, I could hear Gerrit’s soft moans through the starless nights, his turning in his bed. The hand had become infected and the pain burned up through his wrist. He begged the doctors to amputate it all to alleviate the terrible burning.

I offered to be the one to change the dressing on his hand. My mother saw that I needed something to do, to help, and she allowed me that task. I would unwrap his bandage slowly, doing my best to prevent it from sticking at any single point. But I was never entirely successful at this. I would accidentally tug too hard or pull too fast and he would cry out in pain.

Afterward, I tried to sit with my brother as much as he could bear my company. I told him, “You’re going to be okay. The pain will pass soon.” I didn’t know if this was true. Looking at the hand, I didn’t really believe it was true either.

Sleeping in the house and hearing his moans gave me nightmares. Once everyone else had retired, I crept out to the barn. But though I was out of the house, I had to face in my solitude my own torturous purgatory.

The fate of Gerrit’s hand, you see, seemed intimately linked with my own fate. Gerrit, the eldest, had been trained to run the mill, which had been passed down through three generations of Van Rijns.

Cornelis was also capable of miller’s work, but my brothers Willem and Adriaen had already pursued other trades. I had only just begun my apprenticeship with Jacob van Swanenburgh. I would be wanted back in only a few days to continue helping him with a large Italian-style painting of the punishments of hell.

If Gerrit couldn’t run the mill, and Cornelis or Willem had to take over, I might be asked to suspend my apprenticeship. I thought my mother might ask me to come home for her comfort, for I was her youngest, and if she wanted that, I would of course oblige. That, too, would make my continued cultivation as a painter under Van Swanenburgh impossible.

Every night, my brother let me change his dressing. I was not a great nurse to him, but at least it was something I could do. You will think me very tender and caring when I tell you this. But I was only partially concerned about Gerrit’s hand. Man is driven by his own interests, as you know, and those are often centered on one’s self. The thoughts of my own future would not leave my mind. Throughout the days of Gerrit’s recovery from the amputation of his fingers, I was hardly able to sleep at all, even in the barn. If it had been out of concern for my brother perhaps it would’ve been excusable, but it was for my own sake. Because

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