exceptionally large canines, a repulsive, virile air, and big, sensual lips. This tallied closely with Lombroso’s description of the accomplished or potential poisoner. Contractor Greene tended to employ reliable patients in the kitchen to save himself the wages of an additional Chinaman. Dr Carr had made a further notation restricting the new inmate from this duty.
He had also written that the woman appeared to have menstruated recently. Dr Carr had seen this immediately, had, in fact, been looking for it and said so forthrightly in his notes. This, more than any other factor in her appearance and demeanor, had made him tell Sheriff Jeb Chambers that the Chinaman who had been found with the woman could well be an innocent victim in the case, however much the layman might be tempted to draw the other obvious conclusion. If called into court, he would be forced to say so. He could cite authorities on this subject. Delasiauve, among others, had been quick to call attention to the abnormal mental condition into which many women are thrown at each menstrual period. Their desires are exaggerated or perverted; they may even be impelled to criminal acts. In his own practice, Carr noted parenthetically, he had once treated a young lady who, while menstruating, suffered from the delusion that a large Negro man was entering the house through the window and pointing a pistol at her. He had read of more extreme cases, such as Marce’s account of a patient who furiously attacked with a knife anyone who offered her the most trifling opposition during her menstrual period. He knew that the menstrual cycle, which represented the disappointment of the maternal instinct, could occasion a gross perversion in which the natural feminine desire to procreate became instead a desire to kill. There were already legal precedents for what he was saying; he had told Jeb so. Last night’s entry ended with a list of them. Dr Carr had gotten as far as the Lydia Palmer case, which had yet to go to trial.
B.J. handed the notebook back. ‘What’s diastema?’ he asked.
‘Excessive spacing between the teeth,’ Dr Carr told him. ‘There is so much room beside her upper canines that the lower ones occlude when the mouth is closed.’
‘Oh,’ said B.J., returning to the fireplace. He knelt on the hearth and turned back the edge of the rag rug so that it would stay clean while he swept up the ash from yesterday. ‘It’s too cold in here for you to work,’ he said solicitously. ‘Maybe if it were warmer the frogs would think it was mating season. Let me get things going.’ He arranged the logs, hoping they were dry enough. He tore strips from an old newspaper and stuffed them into crevices so that the logs would light. ‘There’s an article here about Belle Starr,’ he said. Much of the article was now on his hands. There were actual, decipherable letters across his palms. Raven-ha, they read. He stared at them for a moment before wiping them off on his thighs. Indian talk, he supposed. Lake Raven-ha. On the shores of Raven-ha. ‘Now she’s flayed a man with her quirt just for being saucy. She’s married another damn Indian half her age. And it set me thinking, you know, how masculine a lot of these women who like to ride so much are. Do you think it’s possible they’re just wishing they had what men have? I mean, is it too farfetched to think the horse could be a sort of substitute for ... a male member? ‘ B.J.’s voice fogged slightly on the last words. He coughed, looking over at the desk where Dr Carr had stopped writing and was regarding him, his fingers slipping absently up and down his pen, which now rested its nib on the paper in his notebook.
‘A horse is a lot bigger than a penis,’ Dr Carr said. His voice was gentle. ‘Think about it, B.J. You know this.’ He put the pen down and withdrew his watch from his breast pocket. ‘Come here, B.J.,’ he said. ‘Look at this. Perceptional distortion is
He had also written that the woman appeared to have menstruated recently. Dr Carr had seen this immediately, had, in fact, been looking for it and said so forthrightly in his notes. This, more than any other factor in her appearance and demeanor, had made him tell Sheriff Jeb Chambers that the Chinaman who had been found with the woman could well be an innocent victim in the case, however much the layman might be tempted to draw the other obvious conclusion. If called into court, he would be forced to say so. He could cite authorities on this subject. Delasiauve, among others, had been quick to call attention to the abnormal mental condition into which many women are thrown at each menstrual period. Their desires are exaggerated or perverted; they may even be impelled to criminal acts. In his own practice, Carr noted parenthetically, he had once treated a young lady who, while menstruating, suffered from the delusion that a large Negro man was entering the house through the window and pointing a pistol at her. He had read of more extreme cases, such as Marce’s account of a patient who furiously attacked with a knife anyone who offered her the most trifling opposition during her menstrual period. He knew that the menstrual cycle, which represented the disappointment of the maternal instinct, could occasion a gross perversion in which the natural feminine desire to procreate became instead a desire to kill. There were already legal precedents for what he was saying; he had told Jeb so. Last night’s entry ended with a list of them. Dr Carr had gotten as far as the Lydia Palmer case, which had yet to go to trial.
B.J. handed the notebook back. ‘What’s diastema?’ he asked.
‘Excessive spacing between the teeth,’ Dr Carr told him. ‘There is so much room beside her upper canines that the lower ones occlude when the mouth is closed.’
‘Oh,’ said B.J., returning to the fireplace. He knelt on the hearth and turned back the edge of the rag rug so that it would stay clean while he swept up the ash from yesterday. ‘It’s too cold in here for you to work,’ he said solicitously. ‘Maybe if it were warmer the frogs would think it was mating season. Let me get things going.’ He arranged the logs, hoping they were dry enough. He tore strips from an old newspaper and stuffed them into crevices so that the logs would light. ‘There’s an article here about Belle Starr,’ he said. Much of the article was now on his hands. There were actual, decipherable letters across his palms. Raven-ha, they read. He stared at them for a moment before wiping them off on his thighs. Indian talk, he supposed. Lake Raven-ha. On the shores of Raven-ha. ‘Now she’s flayed a man with her quirt just for being saucy. She’s married another damn Indian half her age. And it set me thinking, you know, how masculine a lot of these women who like to ride so much are. Do you think it’s possible they’re just wishing they had what men have? I mean, is it too farfetched to think the horse could be a sort of substitute for ... a male member? ‘ B.J.’s voice fogged slightly on the last words. He coughed, looking over at the desk where Dr Carr had stopped writing and was regarding him, his fingers slipping absently up and down his pen, which now rested its nib on the paper in his notebook.
‘A horse is a lot bigger than a penis,’ Dr Carr said. His voice was gentle. ‘Think about it, B.J. You know this.’ He put the pen down and withdrew his watch from his breast pocket. ‘Come here, B.J.,’ he said. ‘Look at this. Perceptional distortion is
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