“What did he say? Is he okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Please.”
After a minute, Kane says gruffly, “He’s worried about you, he wanted my assurance you’re all right, and I assume he’s processing our demands.”
I rub my arms to ward off the image his words evoke. “Poor Daddy.”
At my words, a shuttered look enters his eyes.
I say defensively, “You’re wrong about my father.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” I insist. “He’s not this monster experimenter you seem to think he is.”
“Let’s see how well you know him, shall we,” Kane says conversationally. “You know the name of the institute your father works at?”
“Of course,” I answer warily, wondering where he’s going with this. Wherever it is, I’m not sure I want to follow.
“Humor me.”
“The Galen Research Institute.”
“You know who Galen is?” he asks in the same casual tone.
“My father referred to Galen and Hippocrates as the fathers of ancient medicine.”
“Your father is right.” Kane stretches out his legs. “Galen was one of the first experimental physiologists. He’s still revered for his anatomical discoveries. You heard of Galen’s nerve?”
I shake my head.
“It’s the laryngeal nerve. Named after him. You want to know why?”
“Not particularly,” I reply stiffly, tired of this.
He ignores my lack of interest. “Galen is famous for his public dissections of live animals. In one dissection of a pig, he took his time locating and cutting the pig’s nerves. Finally he severed the laryngeal nerve and the pig stopped squealing.”
I can’t help flinching. “My father is not Galen,” I say slowly.
“Your father has stated publicly his admiration of Galen.”
My only response is a defensive silence.
That doesn’t seem to deter Kane. “One particular area Galen concentrated on was the spinal cord and spinal nerves. Just like Daddy,” he adds softly.
I fight to keep my composure. What can I say? I can’t argue a subject I’m ignorant about. But I know my father. He’s not a man capable of cruelty. I’m certain any experiments he performs are necessary for his research. I’m also certain he uses anesthetic in surgeries and administers pain-relief medication afterward. Really, this man hasn’t done his homework.
Having made his point, Kane sets up the recorder and points to the piece of paper. “Let’s get on with it.”
It takes three tries before he’s satisfied. In the first attempt, he complains I sound too emotionless. In the second, too cheerful. He seems pleased only when I stumble over my words and there’s a slight quaver to my voice.
When we’ve finished, Kane packs away the recorder. “It gets pretty hot in here,” he says abruptly. “Would you like a fan?”
“Yes.” Grudgingly, I add, “Thank you.”
He stands and turns toward the door.
