Aarushi Shetty was born and brought up in India and now resides in the United Kingdkom. She is a graduate with a Master of Arts in Professional Creative Writing. Her poems have been displayed as part of an Exhibition held by Positive Images Festival in Coventry. Another one has been a part of an exhibition to spread awareness about domestic abuse , which is due to be auctioned for charity. She is published in Popshot magazine and will also appear in the print edition of CovWords Magazine 2020-21, Coventry University’s creative magazine.
Alfred Burton jolts and sits upright at eight in the morning. His back is itching as the wet fabric of his pyjama shirt clings to it. He wipes his damp forehead and shivers. He can still feel the cold blade of an axe on his leg from his unpleasant dream. Opal, his cat, climbs onto the bed. Her pale eyes draw him in, her pupils dilate as she purrs sitting next to him.
He can hear a constant reverberation of airships as if a leviathan is flying across the sky. Although Alfred lives further from the city, a much quieter part of London, the clanging metals, hustling of steam engines and cars as well as the airships resonate in the manor. He closes his eyes for a moment thinking about his schedule for the day then looks at a letter on his desk, next to the bed.
To Mister Alfred Burton, Your request for a permanent, aluminium augmented leg has been approved. Doctor Stephen Byron can confirm an appointment with yourself for 14 April 1873. Please be at The Royal Society of Bio-Mechanical Augmentation by noon. Sincerely, Doctor Stephen Byron (M.D.)
The embers in the fireplace, opposite his bed have a low flame. A meek boy, about nine or ten years old, enters the room and pokes the wood with a poker. He stares at the bookshelf next to the fireplace and runs his fingers on the spines of some books.
“Good morning,” says Alfred.
The boy jumps, the poker slipping from his hand crashes on the wooden floor as he turns around. Opal opens her eyes wide and stares at the boy, she stops purring, her tail swishes as she is annoyed by the disruption in the room.
“I didn’t mean to touch anything, Sir,” says the boy.
“How are you this morning, Peter?”
“Very well, Sir.”
“Good. We have an appointment with Doctor Stephen Byron today.”
“Oh yes, I remember. Your breakfast will be served in an hour.”
Alfred nods then says, “You will have to pass me my leg.”
Peter walks towards the object made from iron which is leaning by the right side of the bed. He sees a steel rod between the circular rim which he must fix under Alfred’s knee. The intricate clockwork arranged on the shin of the prosthetic leg looks like it is made of bronze. Two elastic strings made from leather have thick steel pins attached to them, which protrude from the rim. Peter folds them into a coil. The foot is made of a black leather shoe, which looks freshly polished. The smooth iron feels cold in his hands as he faces the shin away from himself to avoid any damage to the clockwork. The artificial leg feels heavy in his arms, so he takes slow, careful steps back to his guardian. Placing it in front of him, Peter waits. Alfred moves to the edge of the bed to wear the fake limb. Opal jumps and stands next to the mechanical body part, watching it with suspicion. She likes the smell of the leather boots and tries to bite it but Peter shoos her away. He picks the leg up and brings it closer to the knee. First, he inserts the iron rod into a cavity under the knee, then he inserts the pins into the mass beneath the kneecap. He adjusts the elastic strings to the correct position for the leg to move with ease. The steel rod and strings are covered with a leather belt that he ties around them.
“Turn the key to the clockwork three times,” says Alfred and Peter follows. “Thank you,” he says and the pins from the synthetic augmentation move inside his skin, as he stands up. It aligns with the nerve-endings in his knee. Now he is whole again. Alfred walks towards his bookshelf and says, “So, which one would you like to read?”
“That one.” Peter holds the hardbound of Cityscapes close to his chest and smiles then says, “Thank you.”
Alfred beams at him with pride. Peter has come a long way since he adopted him from an orphanage five years ago. He taught him reading and writing, playing chess and painting. The boy became his ward.
The boy nods whilst leaving the room, leafing through the pages of the book. He smiles at Alfred’s generosity. The days in the orphanage were bad but he remembers very little from then. As a boy he was made to clean machines in a textile factory whilst they were still running. It’s truly a miracle that the boy survived the machines without losing a single finger. He doesn’t remember much of those days. He does remember being hungry for long hours and fatigued by the time he went to bed. He stopped to stare at the door to his bedroom for a couple of moments. “Did I even have a bed in the orphanage?” he whispers to himself struggling to remember, then shrugs his shoulders and enters the room. He started looking at the pictures of the new structures being built in London whilst sitting on the single bed in his room.
An hour later Alfred receives a letter from his parents, which he reads whilst having breakfast. He has few memories of his father who travelled for the better part of his life. They were embarrassed of him because of his infection by polio. When he was admitted to The Royal Society of Bio-Mechanical Augmentation, his parents fled from England and settled in India to avoid any association with him. His defective limb was replaced with a mechanical one. As he reads the letter, he ignores all the words of endearment and well-wishes from them. He opens a second envelope which has a cheque for his living expenses, he smiles.
At about ten in the morning, a Valet is brushing Alfred’s coat as he sees himself in a mirror. His handlebar moustache is groomed well, his hair is brushed. The artificial leg is left naked to avoid any damage to the clockwork from the fabric, the trouser reaches his knee instead. The Valet places a silk top-hat on his head, hands him a wooden cane with a copper handle and he is ready for the appointment with the doctor.
“Peter!” Alfred makes his way towards the main entrance to the manor. Peter runs towards him holding a cap in his hand. He is wearing stout trousers with a shirt which has a stiff rounded collar accompanied by a tie. Over the shirt he is wearing a vest and a jacket. Alfred smiles when he sees that his old clothes are a perfect fit for the boy. He watches Peter’s legs as they move in a synchronised fashion, they look strong. He then looks at his synthetic one as he thinks to himself, would he ever be that strong? Peter stops in front of him and smiles.
“Did you scrub yourself well?” Alfred lifts the boy’s face and examines.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Show me your nails.” They are trimmed and neat. He then examines his shoes which are clean and polished. “You did not comb your hair.” Peter runs his fingers between his hair to set them then puts on his cap.
A chauffeur is waiting in a steam car by the entrance of the manor. A Footman opens the door for the car and Alfred lets Peter get in first. They ride into the city listening to the hissing of the steam and the rhythmic chugging of the locomotive. They meander between mills and factories, then enter the carriageway. They see airships floating in the sky which have a sepia hue caused by the smog covered sun.
Alfred stares at his mechanical leg which evokes images of the surgery. He can feel the cool frame of the operating table brushing against his arm. A clouded voice belonging to the doctor echoes in his ears, “Ready?”
He can feel a stiff yet smooth surgical clamp which the surgeon attaches below his kneecap. He gulps down some wine from a glass that the doctor offers him. He can see an assistant in front of him, sharpening a scalpel from which sparks fly in random directions, the screeching from the metal is deafening. The assistant then picks up a saw for filing and he can hear a scraping sound. The doctor gives him a small nod and offers another glass of wine. The smooth blade of the knife reflects the light in the surgery room when it is ready. It will be quick. His mouth is stuffed with rolled cloth and his teeth grind the fabric, when he is ready for the blade to slice him. He can feel the roughness of the rope on his right leg that fastens it to the table, another rope is tied to his left thigh. The doctor picks up the scalpel and takes a firm grip on Alfred’s thigh, then in one swift movement he makes an incision. Alfred grunts trying to supress the agony. It feels like a swarm stinging him. His arms spasm and his eyes become teary. The assistant holds him down, locking his hands on the table. The doctor quickly places a rag doused in chloroform on his face. He breathes in the chemical and his muscles relax, his eyelids feel heavy, then the assistant takes it away from his mouth. The doctor uses a towel to clean the tissues and the assistant holds the piece of cloth in place, then the surgeon picks up a hacksaw. Alfred has a faint sense as he feels the crooked blade of the saw cutting through his bones, turning them into powder. The pressure he feels on his hip due to the movement of the saw is too intense and he loses his consciousness.
After the surgery, various narcotic drugs and alcohol became his source of pain relief and relaxation. He recalls pickled legs, arms, jaws, ears and other organs in the Society. His leg is a prized possession of theirs now. Afterall, he is the first man cured of polio. His smaller, left leg with a twisted foot floats in a glass jar placed in the Centre for Medical Science, where young apprentices watch it in awe. Alfred was invited to the inauguration of the Centre to give a speech. He remembers being intoxicated when he delivered the speech.
A honking sound from the car brings him back to the present. They are slowing down as they enter the busy streets of London filled with coaches, pedestrians and cars. Alfred takes a bottle of opiate and takes a sip from it.
“We will get down here,” says Alfred.
“The Royal Society is a bit further, Mister Burton,” says the Chauffeur, confused.
“I know. Go and park there. I will call for you when I’m finished.”
The market is buzzing with housewives and maids buying fresh fruits and vegetables, hawkers enticing their next customer and children playing eye-spy. The smell of butchered meat and an aroma of fresh bread surrounds the marketplace. Alfred holds Peter by his hand and walks towards the shops. They spot a busy coffeehouse where Peter stops to glance inside then points at a sweet-shop next to it. Upon entering the shop Alfred says, “What would you like to have?”
“Can I have those, please?” Peter beams at the lemon and lime flavoured sweet as the shopkeeper hands him two sachets.
“You can have them after our appointment with Doctor Byron.” Alfred takes the bag away from Peter and puts them into his coat-pocket. They leave the shop and start making their way towards the Society.
At the corner of Fleet Street, they notice a man lying on the steps of a shop. His arm is twisted under him, his mouth ajar as he snores. There is a small glass bottle next to him. Peter points at it and Alfred takes him further away from the drunkard.
“Should we help him?” Peter asks looking back at the man.
“Right now, our appointment is more important. Stop staring at him and look ahead otherwise you might stumble.”
They continue walking down the street and see a boy, around twelve or thirteen years old, who is sitting on the footpath, cutting keys. His right arm has a metal frame like that of a coffee press, but his prosthetic looks incomplete. He is using his left hand and legs for the job. Further down, there are some children huddled together by a shoemaking shop, a boy with a peg-leg, a little girl with no wrist and others either with metal frames for hands or empty sockets. They see a clergyman holding a list in his hand counting them. Shadows cast by the tall buildings make the path look glum. Next to the group there is a tall man with a greasy beard. He is removing a steel cheek from a young girl’s face sitting in front of him. She is whimpering yet sitting still as the man neatly removes a screw from the steel plate. They stop to watch this.
Peter holds Alfred’s arm looking at the scenario and says, “What happened to them?”
“Don’t you like their mechanical parts? They look just like mine, don’t they?”
Peter looks at the rusted socket of a girl standing among the huddled children then at Alfred’s polished prosthetic.
“This is our future, Peter.” Alfred starts walking, Peter is next to him who is pondering his future. He imagines a world full of people with less flesh and more metal, then shudders. He thinks to himself, whether anyone would remember the soft skin or the natural mass of the human body. If what Alfred says is true, he would not want to live in such a world, where metals and wood are a part of his body. He understands that Alfred needed to alter his faulty part, maybe the children had some flaw too, but they look unhappy, unlike his guardian. He is sure that a benevolent man such as Alfred would have helped them, if he knew of a way. Peter feels grateful and blessed to be living with such a kind man, so he holds his hand and strides with pride.
Alfred takes a sip from a hip flask which he returns into the pocket of his coat, then wipes his damp forehead. The children remind him of the experiments taking place in the Royal Society. They are less than a mile away from their destination. He has seen it happen, little children with perfectly normal bodies being brought in. Their parents are being paid for delivering the child. Sometimes a clergyman would bring a group of children from an orphanage. He has seen them being fed and raised. He has seen them go into an operating theatre one day and return with a prosthetic instead. Many of them never returned. Their screams and cries haunt him till date. He remembers children playing in the garden surrounding the main building, how active and happy they would be. Seeing them abandoned by the Society is shocking. He wipes his forehead again and reasons with himself, the technology needs to advance, and these brave souls are a part of this revolution.
“Look!” Peter walks briskly towards a grand building in front of them. They have reached the end of the street, where they can see The Royal Society of Bio-Mechanical Augmentation. It is a gothic construction standing in the middle of a large park. The scent of freshly trimmed grass and roses lingers in the air as they stride. They see butterflies and bees whizzing around them. As they get closer to the entrance of the main building, there is gravel upon which they walk.
They enter through large wooden doors into an open-plan reception which is made of marble. There is a young man who is filing some papers behind the counter. The only sound that they can hear is the ragged breathing of Alfred who is tired from the long walk and their boots tapping on the marble floor.
“Hello, I am Alfred Burton accompanied by Peter Chambers. We are here for an appointment with Doctor Stephen Byron,” he says to the man behind the counter. He passes him the letter confirming his appointment.
“Follow me,” says the young man who escorts them towards a wall made of bronze where they get into an elevator and go to the twelfth floor. They enter a narrow corridor which has dim lights and no windows to make their way towards Doctor Byron’s office. They can hear screams, cries and groaning sounds echoing from different rooms as they pass them. There are frequent sounds of blades being sharpened. Peter thinks that there is some construction work happening. Alfred knows that someone is getting amputated. A young girl with half an open wrist walks past them with an assistant. She is sobbing as she holds onto a cloth which is dripping crimson blood onto the floor. It leaves a trail behind them. They enter a small passage where pickled body parts are kept in a jar on shelves. Peter gags looking at them.
“This way, please,” says the young man when they reach room number 1206. He knocks at the door and let’s Alfred and Peter into the room.
“Mister Burton,” says Doctor Byron as he stands up behind his desk and nods.
Alfred nods in response and gestures Peter to follow him, they take a seat. Doctor Byron stares at the boy then looks at Alfred. “Peter Chambers?” Doctor Byron stretches his hand and offers a handshake. Peter nods and shakes his hand. “Pleased to see you, now, would you please be so kind as to remove your shoes and step on this scale for me?” The doctor makes some notes and says, “Thank you.” He then looks at Alfred and says, “In the letter I received there is a request for a permanent Aluminium limb, which is for you?”
“It is.”
“I had sent a second letter two days ago explaining the situation, did you receive it in time?”
“Yes, I did.”
“So are you providing –”
“– Yes.” Alfred looks at Peter who is observing the room then smiles.
“The fees for the operation must be paid in advance, you do that at the reception. I will bring the Agreement.”
“Okay.”
The Doctor rummages in a drawer and brings a black folder. He passes it to Alfred who skims the page and signs the document.
“Shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” says Alfred.
Doctor Byron holds Peter’s arm and leads him into an operating theatre. Peter looks at Alfred in confusion as the doors close behind him. Alfred takes a swig from the hip flask, then another. He wipes his damp forehead, this time with shaky hands and lets out a whimper.
The Royal Society of Bio-Mechanical Augmentation (RSBMA) Agreement for Testing and Experimentation Mister Alfred Burton, guardian of Peter Chambers, permits The Royal Society of Bio-Mechanical Augmentation to perform an experiment with aluminium prosthetic on Peter Chambers. Peter Chambers will have his left leg amputated which will be replaced with raw aluminium for testing. This will be replaced in ten days with the refined version of the alloy. It will be a permanent fixture. Mister Alfred Burton understands that the RSBMA is unaware of any side-effects or dangers the metal could cause to Peter Chambers. Mister Alfred Burton understands that the RSBMA does not take responsibility should the operation result to be fatal. Signature:
Alfred Burton 14/04/1873 Stephen Byron Monday
The room that Peter is brought into has a single metallic bed placed in the middle, a toilet in the corner with a sink next to it. There is a small pantry on the other side of the room.
“Listen to me Peter,” said Doctor Byron, “you will be staying with us for some months.”
“But why?” The question slips through his lips involuntarily, even though there’s a nagging feeling in him telling him exactly why.
“You will be transformed. I can picture it already, the first man with a permanent fixture for a leg. You are creating history!” Doctor Byron stepped away from him, “Mister Burton had to make a huge sacrifice for this to happen.”
Peter’s hands clutch the end of the bed. He gripps them tightly. He thinks about the boys and girls he saw on his way. Alfred’s words echo in his mind “This is our future.”
It couldn’t be. Alfred Burton is a generous man. He is his guardian, his saviour and his friend. Alfred gave him a better life. “But why?” he whispers to himself.
“Don’t worry we will do our best to make it as painless as possible. You will be back with Mister Burton in no time,” Doctor Byron holds a cotton shirt and a pair of full length trousers. “Now you will wear these at all times. My assistant will stay in this room with you and is here to help you. If you’d excuse me, Mister Burton is waiting for me.” He leaves the room closing the door behind him with a “click.”
Peter looks around the room with white washed walls and no windows. “I need to speak to my guardian,” he says to the assistant who is standing by the door.
“I’m sorry but I can’t let you out of this room without the doctor’s permission. The door is locked from the outside,” he says.
“But I don’t need a permanent fixture. My legs are completely fine!”
“Your guardian made the choice. I am merely following the instructions given to me. It would be best if you changed into those.”
Peter clenches his hands into fists. He struggles with himself, fighting the tears and the lump in his throat. He wouldn’t cry.
Seven weeks later, on 19 May 1873, Alfred receives a letter from Doctor Byron which he reads in his bedroom. Opal is sitting on his lap as he reads:
To Mister Alfred Burton, After testing the permanent prosthetic on Peter Chambers, we have created an improved version of the same. The permanent aluminium leg is ready for you. The operation will take place on 9 June 1873 at noon in The Royal Society of Bio-Mechanical Augmentation. Please be present on the day at eight in the morning. Sincerely, Doctor Stephen Byron (M.D.)
Alfred picks up a lemon and lime sweet then puts it into his mouth and it melts away.
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