Anatomy 101
Circular Quay was crowded and muggy. Trains rattled over the grey overhead carriageway, emitting loud scrapes of metal upon metal. By the ferry terminal, the saw man made his long, toothy saw seem to ‘sing’ for delighted children while Japanese tourists hustled by and the ferries themselves wailed their comings and goings. And as always, a haze of background noise hummed across the Harbour from the bridge. Over the din of a Sydney afternoon, Philly Hardrow’s mobile phone rang. She fished it out of her handbag and clasped the tiny device close to her ear. “Hello!” she shouted. The voice at the other end was weak and wavering. “Philly, it’s your mother.”
“Hello? What? Mum? I can’t hear you – I’m in the middle of town and it’s bloody crowded.” Philly felt quite comfortable saying ‘bloody’ to Andie Hardrow, although just a few weeks ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of swearing in her mother’s presence. Those few weeks had taken Philly Hardrow, school graduate, from the leafy riverside suburb of Nedlands in Western Australia, to the strange climes of New South Wales, to undertake the greatest challenge of her life: Medicine at the University of Sydney.
Moving to a new city had been tough – it was the first time Philly had ever lived away from the parental home – but it had been her dream from infancy (before: it had been her father’s dream) to one day attend Sydney Uni and emerge highly decorated, a Doctor of Medicine. As her Dad had done. Doctor Edwin Hardrow was Philly’s idol, her inspiration, the dominating force in every single aspect of her transition from infant to adult.
Everything in her life had been planned and paid for in advance by her father, from pre-school tennis lessons to philosophy tutors on weekends, and the old man himself had been there every step of the way. Publicly lavishing attention, praise and encouragement on his daughter, Doctor Hardrow also found time to run an immensely successful private practice, serve as a Justice of the Peace, sit on the local Council, and play a tremendous game of golf. His was a very busy and esteemed life, and it was only natural that Philly should want to follow in his broad footsteps.
“Mum, I can hardly hear your voice. I’ll call you back when I get home, OK?” she said, and hit the hang up button. Philly hated the bloody mobile phone but her mother had insisted she take one to Sydney: she was starting to find out why, her mother called incessantly. But there was something about the softness in her mother’s voice. A train trip and a bus ride later, as she walked down the Campbell Parade hill and into Sandridge Street, Philly didn’t even notice the big blue crescent of Bondi Beach arcing away on her left; she was trying to identify the emotion in her mother’s tone. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn it was...fear.
She mounted the narrow concrete stairs to her tiny flat and unlocked the door. As she entered the apartment, the telephone on the hallstand rang. She picked up the receiver and said, “Mum? Is that you? What’s wrong??”
“It’s your father dear,” came her mother’s broken, shattered voice. “He’s...he’s...he died Philly! He died!”
Philly’s mouth hung open. She hit a wall of objections and denials that almost flattened her right where she stood. Then a barrage of questions assailed her from every side – how? where? when? why? how? why? For a moment, it was as though Philly was being physically buffeted by these tormenting, answerless questions; she stood silently swaying from side to side, simply holding the telephone. On the other end of the line, thousands of kilometres away, Andie Hardrow was falling apart, bawling uncontrollably. The thought flashed through Philly’s mind that telephones can be such cruel, impersonal instruments – they allow us to share words, but not feelings, touches, reactions.
Her heart breaking, and her voice nearing breaking point as well, Philly held the phone close and whispered,
“Oh Mum, I’d give anything if I could just hug you right now. Just hold on and I’ll be on the next flight home.”
“No.” The crying abruptly stopped and there was, from somewhere, resolve in Andie Hardrow’s voice. “That’s not what your father would have wanted. He would have insisted that you stay in Sydney and go to university. It’s all he ever wanted in his whole life.”
“But Mum,” sobbed Philly, “I just want to be with you. Oh, Daddy!!” Tears flooded down her face like a river and her voice broke like a thin reed, and Philly Hardrow cried for her father. After a few minutes she was able to compose herself enough to whimper, “But the real classes don’t start for another ten days. I can miss Orientation Week.”
“No.” Her mother’s determination in carrying out Doctor Hardrow’s wishes was legendary among the Hardrows’ friends and associates, and Andie Hardrow well knew what her late husband and master would have demanded in this matter.
“It would break your father’s heart if you were to miss a minute of that course. And you couldn’t go against his wishes now. Not now that...” Andie Hardrow burst into tears again, and Philly joined her. Together, the two women cried for their husband and father; wept and remembered.
The next week was hell for Philly. It was Orientation Week at Uni, the time for learning about the campus and the course, but for Philly, everything she saw – every building, every statue, it seemed like every stone, was already in her memory, even though she’d never been there before. Her father had put all those memories there in countless reminisces about his uni days – the places, the people and the glory. And as she walked around the campus, recognising this lecture hall, or that sculpture, she wept and wept again.
But she never gave in. Edwin Hardrow had bred and hammered into his daughter an iron will and a spirit of grit and perseverance. Thanks to the actions of her father, Philly Hardrow had the strength and determination to live through almost any physical or mental ordeal.
+++++
The day of Edwin Hardrow’s funeral – Friday – came, and in the evening Philly phoned her mother. No answer. She called her Aunt Edith. Yes, said her aunt, her mother was there, but she was currently under sedation. The funeral had been an awful, an horrific experience, and the poor woman was almost out of her mind, so they’d had a doctor come along and help her to sleep. Philly well understood, and hung up, feeling very alone in the world.
In fact, the funeral had been an unmitigated disaster. The ceremony had been completed and they were leaving the chapel with the urn of ashes, when a representative of the funeral company had approached Mrs Hardrow. With a great show of humility and regret, and more than a hint towards generous restitution and compensation, the undertaker mentioned that, due to an absolutely calamitous error on the part of an ex-employee, the deceased whom she had just witnessed being cremated was, in fact, not her husband. Further embarrassment showed on his pale face as the undertaker then candidly disclosed that the good Doctor’s remains were, as yet, unfound. Andie Hardrow had simply dissolved into hysterics, and was thus sedated.
The following day, a different representative of the company called on Mrs Hardrow. He admitted that the whole thing was truly dreadful, absolutely unheard of, and declared that, as far as the company was concerned, their first priority was to help Mrs Hardrow through the grief period, and put her life ‘back on track’.
“Now, Mrs Hardrow, this is a unique situation,” he began solicitously. “The fact is, that in real spiritual terms, you have already farewelled your husband. You believed that it was your loved one in the casket, and the ritual therefore held meaning for you, despite the fact that it was not, in reality, Doctor Hardrow inside. Therefore, you must ask yourself – could you go through your husband’s funeral a second time?”
Andie Hardrow agreed that to go through the entire process again would be far too traumatic, but she was fairly persistent on the matter of her husband’s remains, and their actual location at this time. Alas, confessed the undertaker, that was an Unanswerable Question.
“You see, Mrs Hardrow, somehow your husband’s remains were swapped with those of a person who had donated their body to science. And in the interests of avoiding any unpleasant reunions with living relatives in the health care or research fields, such donors are shipped elsewhere in the country, their name tags removed and their whereabouts undisclosed. I’m sure you understand that if we could, we would locate your husband’s remains but, under the circumstances we will not proceed to attempt such a thing unless you absolutely insist. And should you insist upon that, I’m afraid it would be difficult for the company to offer you immediate compensation, as I am empowered to do.”
Andie Hardrow believed that she had honoured her husband’s memory sufficiently. And besides, even though Doctor Hardrow had provided very well for her and Philly’s future, the six figure sum written on the cheque held by the funeral man would pay for an extended period of grieving. She accepted, and at the same time decided not to tell Philly – after all, what good could the knowledge possibly do for the girl? The funeral man produced a printed deed (ready made for just such a unique situation), and Andie Hardrow signed the paper and pocketed the check, and Doctor Hardrow’s remains remained something of a mystery.
+++++
Forty-eight hours later, Philly Hardrow stood nervously in line, waiting for a white lab jacket. It was her first real day of Medicine, and the new class was being thrown in at the deep end: Anatomy 101.
It happens that, on being exposed to a cadaver for the first time, many would-be doctors faint, vomit or simply run from the room. But nobody had ever seen a reaction to equal that of Philly Hardrow. When the supervising professor threw back the sheet, there on the slab lay the naked corpse of Doctor Edwin Hardrow; marbled and mottled blue, but unmistakable.
Staring boggle eyed at the nude form of her father, Philly was struck by a series of disjointed images that quickly became scenes played out in her mind. From far back in her memory came a feeling of terror on waking to hear the approach of anonymous footsteps, and the body blow of realisation that it was her father. Then came hours, eons of agony as he stole her childhood, thrust her into a world of pain and fear. Again and again he’d defiled her, hurt her, threatened her, while at the other end of the house her mother cowered, silent, maintaining the pretence of ignorance that she kept up to safeguard her own sanity at the expense of her daughter’s innocence.
At first, it was only physical pain that her father brought upon Philly – pain that could be borne, and that tempered her like steel. But later, the physical pain diminished, and was replaced by the far more despicable pain – the distress of guilt and shame at the notion that she could grow to enjoy such a horrifying, degrading and destructive act. The agony of seeing her father as both god and the devil tormented Philly. That she could worship both annihilated her.
These thoughts, left untouched like glowing embers of horror for so long, ignited in Philly Hardrow an urgent desire for restitution. She seized a bone saw and leapt at the body, hacking and screaming until the startled professor and a group of her fellow students restrained her.
“Hello? What? Mum? I can’t hear you – I’m in the middle of town and it’s bloody crowded.” Philly felt quite comfortable saying ‘bloody’ to Andie Hardrow, although just a few weeks ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of swearing in her mother’s presence. Those few weeks had taken Philly Hardrow, school graduate, from the leafy riverside suburb of Nedlands in Western Australia, to the strange climes of New South Wales, to undertake the greatest challenge of her life: Medicine at the University of Sydney.
Moving to a new city had been tough – it was the first time Philly had ever lived away from the parental home – but it had been her dream from infancy (before: it had been her father’s dream) to one day attend Sydney Uni and emerge highly decorated, a Doctor of Medicine. As her Dad had done. Doctor Edwin Hardrow was Philly’s idol, her inspiration, the dominating force in every single aspect of her transition from infant to adult.
Everything in her life had been planned and paid for in advance by her father, from pre-school tennis lessons to philosophy tutors on weekends, and the old man himself had been there every step of the way. Publicly lavishing attention, praise and encouragement on his daughter, Doctor Hardrow also found time to run an immensely successful private practice, serve as a Justice of the Peace, sit on the local Council, and play a tremendous game of golf. His was a very busy and esteemed life, and it was only natural that Philly should want to follow in his broad footsteps.
“Mum, I can hardly hear your voice. I’ll call you back when I get home, OK?” she said, and hit the hang up button. Philly hated the bloody mobile phone but her mother had insisted she take one to Sydney: she was starting to find out why, her mother called incessantly. But there was something about the softness in her mother’s voice. A train trip and a bus ride later, as she walked down the Campbell Parade hill and into Sandridge Street, Philly didn’t even notice the big blue crescent of Bondi Beach arcing away on her left; she was trying to identify the emotion in her mother’s tone. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn it was...fear.
She mounted the narrow concrete stairs to her tiny flat and unlocked the door. As she entered the apartment, the telephone on the hallstand rang. She picked up the receiver and said, “Mum? Is that you? What’s wrong??”
“It’s your father dear,” came her mother’s broken, shattered voice. “He’s...he’s...he died Philly! He died!”
Philly’s mouth hung open. She hit a wall of objections and denials that almost flattened her right where she stood. Then a barrage of questions assailed her from every side – how? where? when? why? how? why? For a moment, it was as though Philly was being physically buffeted by these tormenting, answerless questions; she stood silently swaying from side to side, simply holding the telephone. On the other end of the line, thousands of kilometres away, Andie Hardrow was falling apart, bawling uncontrollably. The thought flashed through Philly’s mind that telephones can be such cruel, impersonal instruments – they allow us to share words, but not feelings, touches, reactions.
Her heart breaking, and her voice nearing breaking point as well, Philly held the phone close and whispered,
“Oh Mum, I’d give anything if I could just hug you right now. Just hold on and I’ll be on the next flight home.”
“No.” The crying abruptly stopped and there was, from somewhere, resolve in Andie Hardrow’s voice. “That’s not what your father would have wanted. He would have insisted that you stay in Sydney and go to university. It’s all he ever wanted in his whole life.”
“But Mum,” sobbed Philly, “I just want to be with you. Oh, Daddy!!” Tears flooded down her face like a river and her voice broke like a thin reed, and Philly Hardrow cried for her father. After a few minutes she was able to compose herself enough to whimper, “But the real classes don’t start for another ten days. I can miss Orientation Week.”
“No.” Her mother’s determination in carrying out Doctor Hardrow’s wishes was legendary among the Hardrows’ friends and associates, and Andie Hardrow well knew what her late husband and master would have demanded in this matter.
“It would break your father’s heart if you were to miss a minute of that course. And you couldn’t go against his wishes now. Not now that...” Andie Hardrow burst into tears again, and Philly joined her. Together, the two women cried for their husband and father; wept and remembered.
The next week was hell for Philly. It was Orientation Week at Uni, the time for learning about the campus and the course, but for Philly, everything she saw – every building, every statue, it seemed like every stone, was already in her memory, even though she’d never been there before. Her father had put all those memories there in countless reminisces about his uni days – the places, the people and the glory. And as she walked around the campus, recognising this lecture hall, or that sculpture, she wept and wept again.
But she never gave in. Edwin Hardrow had bred and hammered into his daughter an iron will and a spirit of grit and perseverance. Thanks to the actions of her father, Philly Hardrow had the strength and determination to live through almost any physical or mental ordeal.
+++++
The day of Edwin Hardrow’s funeral – Friday – came, and in the evening Philly phoned her mother. No answer. She called her Aunt Edith. Yes, said her aunt, her mother was there, but she was currently under sedation. The funeral had been an awful, an horrific experience, and the poor woman was almost out of her mind, so they’d had a doctor come along and help her to sleep. Philly well understood, and hung up, feeling very alone in the world.
In fact, the funeral had been an unmitigated disaster. The ceremony had been completed and they were leaving the chapel with the urn of ashes, when a representative of the funeral company had approached Mrs Hardrow. With a great show of humility and regret, and more than a hint towards generous restitution and compensation, the undertaker mentioned that, due to an absolutely calamitous error on the part of an ex-employee, the deceased whom she had just witnessed being cremated was, in fact, not her husband. Further embarrassment showed on his pale face as the undertaker then candidly disclosed that the good Doctor’s remains were, as yet, unfound. Andie Hardrow had simply dissolved into hysterics, and was thus sedated.
The following day, a different representative of the company called on Mrs Hardrow. He admitted that the whole thing was truly dreadful, absolutely unheard of, and declared that, as far as the company was concerned, their first priority was to help Mrs Hardrow through the grief period, and put her life ‘back on track’.
“Now, Mrs Hardrow, this is a unique situation,” he began solicitously. “The fact is, that in real spiritual terms, you have already farewelled your husband. You believed that it was your loved one in the casket, and the ritual therefore held meaning for you, despite the fact that it was not, in reality, Doctor Hardrow inside. Therefore, you must ask yourself – could you go through your husband’s funeral a second time?”
Andie Hardrow agreed that to go through the entire process again would be far too traumatic, but she was fairly persistent on the matter of her husband’s remains, and their actual location at this time. Alas, confessed the undertaker, that was an Unanswerable Question.
“You see, Mrs Hardrow, somehow your husband’s remains were swapped with those of a person who had donated their body to science. And in the interests of avoiding any unpleasant reunions with living relatives in the health care or research fields, such donors are shipped elsewhere in the country, their name tags removed and their whereabouts undisclosed. I’m sure you understand that if we could, we would locate your husband’s remains but, under the circumstances we will not proceed to attempt such a thing unless you absolutely insist. And should you insist upon that, I’m afraid it would be difficult for the company to offer you immediate compensation, as I am empowered to do.”
Andie Hardrow believed that she had honoured her husband’s memory sufficiently. And besides, even though Doctor Hardrow had provided very well for her and Philly’s future, the six figure sum written on the cheque held by the funeral man would pay for an extended period of grieving. She accepted, and at the same time decided not to tell Philly – after all, what good could the knowledge possibly do for the girl? The funeral man produced a printed deed (ready made for just such a unique situation), and Andie Hardrow signed the paper and pocketed the check, and Doctor Hardrow’s remains remained something of a mystery.
+++++
Forty-eight hours later, Philly Hardrow stood nervously in line, waiting for a white lab jacket. It was her first real day of Medicine, and the new class was being thrown in at the deep end: Anatomy 101.
It happens that, on being exposed to a cadaver for the first time, many would-be doctors faint, vomit or simply run from the room. But nobody had ever seen a reaction to equal that of Philly Hardrow. When the supervising professor threw back the sheet, there on the slab lay the naked corpse of Doctor Edwin Hardrow; marbled and mottled blue, but unmistakable.
Staring boggle eyed at the nude form of her father, Philly was struck by a series of disjointed images that quickly became scenes played out in her mind. From far back in her memory came a feeling of terror on waking to hear the approach of anonymous footsteps, and the body blow of realisation that it was her father. Then came hours, eons of agony as he stole her childhood, thrust her into a world of pain and fear. Again and again he’d defiled her, hurt her, threatened her, while at the other end of the house her mother cowered, silent, maintaining the pretence of ignorance that she kept up to safeguard her own sanity at the expense of her daughter’s innocence.
At first, it was only physical pain that her father brought upon Philly – pain that could be borne, and that tempered her like steel. But later, the physical pain diminished, and was replaced by the far more despicable pain – the distress of guilt and shame at the notion that she could grow to enjoy such a horrifying, degrading and destructive act. The agony of seeing her father as both god and the devil tormented Philly. That she could worship both annihilated her.
These thoughts, left untouched like glowing embers of horror for so long, ignited in Philly Hardrow an urgent desire for restitution. She seized a bone saw and leapt at the body, hacking and screaming until the startled professor and a group of her fellow students restrained her.