Episode 97: Wuthering Heights…? [1]
Emily Brontë.
Wuthering Heights.
There was a common prejudice people had when it came to classics: that they must be good simply because they had stood the test of time, and that someone like me, a guy who just sold medicine, had no right to judge. But let’s be honest. Didn’t they just seem boring? For a long time, my only exposure to classic literature was reading it begrudgingly while studying for the college entrance exam.
The books that shattered that prejudice for me were The Moon and Sixpence and…
Funny enough, I later found out that Somerset Maugham, the author of The Moon and Sixpence, had praised Wuthering Heights, which had not initially been well received, as an immortal masterpiece. That reevaluation gave me pause.
But now was definitely not the time to think about literary criticism.
Emily Brontë… didn’t she die young?
Maybe thirty? She probably did not even make it that far. Considering the era, it was not surprising, but… part of me wondered whether rabies had something to do with it.
“Emily Brontë… Is that your name?”
“Yes.”
Trying to calm my scrambled thoughts, I asked the girl again. Now that I looked closely, her eyes really did shine with intelligence. Yes, I could believe someone like this might have written something like Wuthering Heights.
“My little sister… Is there something wrong with her name?”
I was wearing a doctor’s gown, but I was Asian and had not done anything particularly doctor-like yet. I had only asked questions. The older girl beside her stepped forward, eyes sharp. She looked intelligent too, as expected.
Charlotte Brontë…
Her sister’s work was Jane Eyre. That one I actually enjoyed. It was well written. No wonder it remained a classic and was adapted into movies. Genius sisters, both of them. I never knew one of them had been bitten by a dog as a child.
Well, how would I?
Even though I was relatively well read for a medical student, literature was not my major. And during my internship and residency years, I lived like a slave, reading only medical papers and textbooks. So calling me ignorant felt a bit unfair.
“No, it’s a good name. You’ll become someone great.”
“How can a woman become great?”
Oh boy. This was why I left this era. It was a time when only sweet, obedient women were considered worthy protagonists. Seeing the author of a work I genuinely liked standing right in front of me gave me such a strange feeling. Maybe that was why, even though it probably was not appropriate, I could not help but smile.
“Why are you so certain? Of course she can. But first… we need to take care of this.”
“I brought a frying pan. Please burn it with this.”
“No, absolutely not.”
A hot iron was awful enough, but a frying pan? That was just barbaric. If I had not seen it firsthand, I might have turned a blind eye because that was just how things were back then. But I had seen it. And this was Emily Brontë, for heaven’s sake. One of the most iconic writers of nineteenth-century England. And she died at thirty. Wuthering Heights was her only work.
I’ll make sure you live longer. Write at least one more novel.
Then we would have a one-plus-one deal on immortal classics. Kya… future readers were going to love this. I hoped they would have more to read.
“What’s wrong with you!”
“You don’t even look older than me.”
So much for my noble intentions. Reality hit cold and fast.
“Why are you suddenly acting like this? Yesterday, you were playing with a dog. What is this yellow circle on your robe…?”
Now even the doctor who had been treating Emily joined in, criticizing me. From their perspective, I probably looked like a teenager. Given that I was Asian, I might have seemed even younger. Charlotte did not know better, but the doctor? He should have held back.
“What are you talking about? This is Dr. Pyeong, my brother. He developed anesthesia and painkillers. We even just created antibiotics.”
“That…”
“Why are your eyes shifting like that? Don’t tell me you were about to say ‘monkey.’”
“Oh, no! No!”
Why? Because Liston was standing right there. If you planned to insult me in front of him, you would need an army with rifles. And even then, good luck. This man once amputated the police chief’s mother’s leg.
“Listen. This man is brilliant. And he happens to know a lot about dog bite treatment.”
“And who is your teacher? Who vouches for this man?”
Apparently, Charlotte was not convinced either. She turned wide-eyed toward Liston. Honey, no. That man talked like a doctor, but he was actually a brawler in a lab coat.
“Hahaha!”
I was half afraid Liston might take offense and punch someone, but he only laughed. It was the kind of laugh a rich man gave after being slapped for the first time in his life.
“I’m Dr. Liston. You’ve heard of me, right?”
“Ah… Dr. Liston! Of course I know!”
“And this is Dr. Pyeong. Like I said, he is the one who developed anesthesia, painkillers, antibiotics—”
Okay, “developed” might have been stretching it a bit. It was more like early-stage improvisation. But still, it was not a lie. I smiled and squared my shoulders.
“Aha… Hmm. Okay then…”
I doubted that alone convinced her, but Charlotte Brontë started nodding. That was a relief. Treatment could not proceed without trust, especially in this era, where everything looked questionable.
“I promise you, no matter where you go in London, you won’t receive better treatment than this.”
Sure, the treatment in question involved a dried rabid dog’s brain and medulla oblongata… It sounded absurd, but it was still miles ahead of searing flesh with hot metal. Whatever else it was, this method came from Louis Pasteur, the man who rewrote medical history. That was enough for me to believe in it.
“Hmm… What do you think?”
Charlotte hesitated, her eyes flicking to her sister. Emily looked at me, then at the frying pan, then at the red-hot iron the doctor was holding… and took my hand.
“I’ll receive treatment from this doctor.”
That was it. Just as expected from the author of Wuthering Heights. A wise choice.
I smiled.
“Good decision. Let’s take a look at the wound.”
“Yes.”
“This might sting a bit, okay?”
“I can bear it.”
She smiled too, but when I looked at the wound, it was not good. I even wondered whether rabies was the least of our concerns.
Is it even worth trying to save the dog?
In an age when most people did not even brush their own teeth, would a rabid street dog somehow maintain dental hygiene? I looked over at the dog, still drooling and eyeing things to bite. The moment Liston picked up a knife, it whimpered. This was the same dog from yesterday, wasn’t it?
“Joseph, bring me some water. Boil it.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not telling you to pour boiling water on the wound. Just boil it first. Heat kills the bad stuff.”
“Ah, right.”
It was time to examine the wound. Fortunately, it was not raining, so the medicine drying on the roof would be fine for now. We could not kill this dog just yet either. But we could not ignore the bite wound. We had to act.
“It’s going to sting a bit.”
Joseph, now a seasoned assistant, quickly boiled water. It cooled in no time, helped by London’s weather.
“Ugh.”
I poured some cooled water over the wound and looked at it more closely. And I realized something. You were supposed to actually look at the wound before doing anything. Wasn’t that obvious? Treating someone blindly, without assessing the damage, was madness.
“You’re doing great. Now let’s see… Hmm.”
After washing away the blood and grime from the dog’s teeth, I could finally get a proper look. The swelling was not too bad. It hurt, of course. My fingers were rubbing around inside the wound even with gloves on, but Emily endured it well. She was definitely made of something different, even at this age.
It’s risky to stitch this carelessly.
My instincts screamed at me to suture it, especially when I saw the torn muscle. I had the skills, even with these crude tools. And the wound had not been completely crushed. It was just a bite. So technically, suturing was possible.
But… if anaerobic bacteria grow in there, she’s done for.
This kind of wound was called a dirty wound. A dog bite like this? There was no way it was clean. That was why it had to be handled differently from a stab wound or a cut. Rushing to sew it up could lead to something worse.
No… I can’t do that.
And I would not be able to live with the guilt if something went wrong. So I carefully decided: I would suture only the deeper muscle layer and leave the outer wound open.
“Are you really leaving it like that?”
As expected, the other doctors looked skeptical. Their philosophy was simple: if it was cut, stitch it. If it was damaged, fix it. That was how they worked. Liston was already a master at this, so there was no room for debate.
“Yes.”
Still, just because something could be closed did not mean it should be.
“Why?”
I could not dodge the question, not with Liston standing there. I had to justify it.
“There’s an old saying in Joseon…”
I did not mention Joseon out of sentimentality. It just slipped out from habit. Whenever I had to explain something complicated, it came automatically. Like a reflex.
Translator’s Notes
Wuthering Heights — The only novel written by Emily Brontë, first published in 1847. It later became one of the best-known works of English literature.
The Moon and Sixpence — A novel by W. Somerset Maugham, loosely inspired by the life of painter Paul Gauguin.
Jane Eyre — A novel by Charlotte Brontë, first published in 1847 and considered a major English classic.
Rabies — A viral disease usually transmitted through the saliva or bite of an infected animal. Once symptoms appear, it is almost always fatal without modern preventive treatment.
Medulla oblongata — The lower part of the brainstem involved in vital functions such as breathing and heart rate.
Anaerobic bacteria — Bacteria that grow in low-oxygen environments. Deep, closed, contaminated wounds can allow them to multiply dangerously.
Dirty wound — A contaminated wound, especially one exposed to bacteria from saliva, soil, feces, or foreign material.
Suture — To stitch tissue closed during wound repair.