ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

 
THESE NERVES
(England, 2002)
by Eula Biss

The poster for the anatomy exhibit was everywhere, on all the bus stops and phone booths. A man with meaty muscles stood holding out his skin in one hand. It hung from his fingers like dirty laundry. His upturned face was placid and empty, as if this was all he had left to give.

I explored my own medieval tunnels. The walls were twenty feet thick and they did not feel secure. Since she was 31, G.L. has reported being unable to feel below the level of her nose. I had the "siege experience." I saw spots and thought I would faint or vomit. I thought, more than once, "Nothing happens here except for carpet."

Not only is this patient lacking skin sensation, she lacks information about movement. When she closes her eyes, she has no idea where she is in space. She moves but doesn't know she is moving. When she wakes up at night, she doesn't know if she has blankets on her. I was not hungry, I only wanted to go home. We went to the museum instead. There was a film in which a woman gave her breath to a man who was lying in a bathtub full of water. "Mouth to Mouth." He wore a full suit. There was wax and hair and butter and rotting cloth. I was angry with B for saying, "I just don't get it." I was thinking, over and over, "It's simple. It's just visceral."

"These nerves, the researchers concluded, 'are an important component in the construction of the sense of self.'" I wanted to be touched. I was angry with myself for suddenly hating minimalist art. For feeling it stark and impersonal. I was angry with myself for not feeling grateful to be here. "That said, there were still aspects of pleasure and emotion that could be transmitted through the thick fibers in the palm."

Anger and want. Relief and love only when B cried. Even then, he said coldly, "Go get ready for bed." I followed instructions meekly. I walked from one gallery to the next. I got on and off the tube. I got in and out of cabs. I looked right, looked left. I felt fear. A piano hanging from the ceiling fell open -- the lid flipped down, the keys sprayed out. I stared numbly into space. I wanted to look out the window. I wanted to walk across the Millennium Bridge, which no longer wobbles.

Healthy volunteers in the experiment were divided about whether a caress on the palm was pleasurable.