Free Little Nothing by Marisa Silver

himlong to realize that the doctor had not much more in the way of medical education. Although there were fat and important-looking texts in the office, they were mostly used to block the cold wind that snaked under the window sash during winter or to crush mice. The storeroom where Danilo spread his blanket each evening was a nightmare bower whose shelves were lined with medical curiosities the doctor had collected over the years from traveling vendors who traded in the macabre. One jar was filled with a baby’s foot that had a single toe as long as the sole of the foot itself. In another dangled the translucent hair of an African albino. Suspended in a viscous liquid was, according to Smetanka, a still-beating heart. Although Danilo was reasonably certain a heart could not function outside a body, there were times, late at night, lying awake on his blanket in the airless cubicle, when he could swear that he heard the measured thump of that organ. He would weep, thinking of his brother whose death left him feeling as if he were trapped in a dream of being lost.
    Over the next two years, Danilo worked ceaselessly without even a Sunday off to rest. One of his tasks was to formulate the concoctions Smetanka prescribed for his patients’ ailments. The doctor would write out specific instructions, and though barely literate, Danilo would follow them as well as he could, using a mortar and pestle to grind various leaves and grasses and twigs along with certain stones the doctor claimed were laced with beneficial minerals. There were relatively few ingredients in Smetanka’s home apothecary, and what made each cure specific seemed to be a matter only of proportion and nomenclature. In this way, Danilo produced Essential Carminative for Disordersin the Stomach and Bowels, Famous Patent Ointment for Itch, Much Esteemed Drops for Venereal Complaints, and Sovereign Restorative Infusion for Barrenness. The remedy Smetanka recommended most often was his celebrated Purging Elixir, although one day, Danilo, moved by curiosity, tasted a few of the other treatments and found that nearly all of them produced that explosive outcome.
    He felt sorry and vaguely guilty as he watched grateful patients hand over their money for the doctor’s bogus cures and he was surprised when these same patients returned to the office a week or two weeks later, carrying presents of fresh baked bread or recently slaughtered ducks, tearfully grateful that their health had been restored. There were, of course, patients, like Danilo’s brother, who died despite the doctor’s efforts. But somehow Smetanka escaped blame, for the deeply religious people who lived in the town and the surrounding villages knew God’s will when they saw it.
    Although he was deeply embarrassed to do it, Danilo told Pavla the events surrounding her terrible ordeal while under the doctor’s care: As soon as she and her parents left the office after their first visit, Smetanka ordered Danilo to turn away the rest of the day’s patients. A miller arrived with his apprentice who was bleeding profusely from the hand, and Danilo had to instruct them to visit the village seamstress, who might just as easily sew on the salvaged thumb as attach a sleeve to a shirt. A woman with a jaw swollen to the size of an orange and as hot as fire to the touch walked away holding her throbbing head in her hands as if she would just as soon take it off and leave it by theside of the road. Danilo chased after her and handed her a vial of Smetanka’s Miracle Salve for Toothache even though he knew it was useless and that he would catch hell once the doctor realized he’d given away medicine for free. Finally, at midday, just as Danilo was sitting down to eat his half meal of bread and watery ale, the door of the office opened and Smetanka emerged. His face was flushed and sweaty, and his eyes darted wildly back and forth. In his hand he held a rough sketch that, after