A LITTLE SOMETHING AROUND THE MIDDLE
A visit to the Body Farm... And a conversation in the shower.
Notes:
I tried to find the correct pronunciation of the word Putrescine but I couldn't, so I'm assuming that it rhymes with 'scene'.
Most of the descriptions of the body farm were taken from the book "Stiff" by Mary Roach, a truly great book.
Hey, could someone please tell me the name of the episode where Greg helps catch a guy who deals in coins? It's from season three…
We left the main building and walked towards the main gate. The guard greeted Grissom by name, but he took his time to look at my ID. After that, he pushed the gate open for us and we entered the Farm itself. Grissom put down his kit and pulled some rubber gloves from a pocket.
"Here," He said, handing me a pair.
I held my notebook and my pen under my chin while I put my gloves on. Grissom put on his gloves with a snap, wiggling his fingers as if to warm them up for the upcoming work. There was a faint smile on his lips as heput on a baseball cap.
He looked happy to be there -way too happy, in my opinion.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Remember," he said, "If the smell gets to you, use a bag-"
"I heard you the first time," I muttered morosely.
He had given me a list of recommendations while we changed into coveralls, but there were only two things I needed to remember: To use a bag in case I needed to puke, and to restrain myself from touching anything. Ha, no problem there. I had come to help my boss, not to interfere with anybody's study. Touching decomposing bodies just for the fun of it didn't enter my mind.
As for the gore, the smells, and the sights... I was sure I could handle it.
We walked past the gate and down the main avenue. The smell was bad, but I think it was the knowledge of what caused it that made it more difficult to take. There were people lying there -looking like they were merely sunning themselves, but actually rotting away.
I was unexpectedly impressed by the beauty of the place. There was more vegetation than I'd expected -trees, bushes, grass- and birds, too, singing in the trees. Apparently they didn't mind the farm's crops.
"See that high wall over there?" Grissom asked, pointing to a low wall. "They keep bodies submerged in vats of different liquids in there."
"Liquids?"
"Acids, for the most part. Soups." He added with relish.
Grissom kneeled down and opened up his kit. He selected several envelopes and bottles.
While he prepared for the work ahead, I took a look around.
The bodies looked like they had suddenly dropped dead there, in no special order. That seemed wrong. For some reason, I had expected to see them in neat rows. Some of the bodies had been purposefully covered with clothes or blankets, but most of them were naked –but notreally exposed: maggots and all kinds of insects were covering their genitals and their faces, as if protecting their modesty.
I pointed this out to Grissom.
"That's because flies lay their eggs on a body's point of entrance," He explained without looking up, "Eyes, mouth, genitalia, open wounds-"
He closed his kit and rose.
"Come on," He said and motioned me to follow, "I'm studying some bodies from this section-"
We left the road and started walking on the grass. Now and then he would stop at a specific body and examine it. He was in full teacher mode now, and I wrote down every comment he made.
"When a body decomposes, it leaks-" he said at one point, "We must take samples of the soil and samples of the insects in it." He picked up a beetle and carefully put it inside a little bottle. "See that brown substance inside?" he asked, "It's liver. I want to keep this little fella alive."
Watching Grissom go from one body to the next reminded me of a doctor making his rounds at a hospital. It got to a point where I expected the dead to sit up and greet him with a shy, 'Hi, doctor Grissom. I'm not feeling too good today.'
Or maybe they would do something more menacing. It suddenly occurred to me that the body farm could be a great place for a zombie movie, and I shivered slightly.
"This place must be creepy at night." I mumbled.
"Actually, it's pretty quiet," Grissom said distractedly, "The bodies aren't buried with any jewelry, so there are no acts of vandalism. And security's tight."
"That's not what I meant," I said, "I was talking about being here at midnight.You know," I added, lowering my voice, "Alone, in the dark, on Friday the 13th … What do you think?"
He looked blankly at me, as if he didn't understand what I was talking about. I realized I'd just said something stupid.
"I take it you're not a fan of ghost stories." I said lamely.
"I love ghost stories."
"You do? Well, doesn't this look like the right place for a ghost story?"
He considered this for a moment.
"Well… Good ghost stories usually have a more subtle setting-"
I looked around.
"And this place would be too obvious-"
"Exactly." He nodded. He finished labeling his samples and put everything back inside the kit. "But you're right." He said thoughtfully, "After all, any place will do for a ghost story as long as we suspend disbelief. The best way to enjoy a ghost story –any work of fiction, in fact- is to overlook the impossible and simply ask ourselves, 'what if?'"
"Ah, like that poster in Mulder's office," I said, "The one that said, 'I want to believe'"
"Mulder, who?" he frowned.
I smiled to myself. Leave it to Grissom not to know anything about the X-Files.
I was going to give him a mini lecture on the show, but I decided not to.
"Oh, nobody," I said instead, "Just a guy I know."
I glanced sideways at him to see whether my words had elicited some curiosity or maybe even jealousy from him, but he wasn't even looking at me. He was staring intently at a sheet of paper he had been glancing at now and then.
"What's that?"
He lifted the page so I could see: It was a map of the farm.There werered and blue dots all over it, and each dot had a number.
"Red dots: female bodies," he said, "Blue: male." He looked at the map again. "Come on," he said, and we made our way to a more secluded area.
We found our next body under a bush.
"Remember the maggots that were covering the first bodies? They were too young to eat through the skin. But these are older," he said, "Look."
I followed his gaze.
"They're moving under the man's skin." I said.
"They're eating the subcutaneous fat," he explained. "Now, here," he added, motioning me towards another body. This one was covered by a quivering mass of larger maggots and assorted insects. Grissom tilted his head, "If you listen closely, you'll hear a crunching sound."
Forgetting about the smell, I stooped.
"Hey, I've heard that sound before," I said, "Once, my sisters and me poured two boxes of Rice Krispies and a gallon of milk in a huge bowl, and it sounded just like this! Pop-pop-pop-pop... The little guys are munching in there, aren't they?"
"Yeah," Grissom said tenderly, sounding just like a proud father. "They're flourishing."
I shook my head almost imperceptibly. Leave it to me to fall for a guy who went 'Aww' at the sight of maggots eating somebody's flesh.
It was then that I realized that Grissom was probably more concerned about the progress of the maggots than the bodies they were feasting upon.
"Who are these people, Grissom?" I asked, looking at the man's face for the first time. Well, not the face itself but the space that it occupied under the maggots. "I mean- don't their families care?"
"People donate their bodies to science, Greg. Some families fight for the right to bury them, but luckily for us, most families simply comply with their last wishes."
"Did these people know they would end up here?"
He paused.
"Probably not." He admitted. Then he looked thoughtfully at the body in front of us. "Or maybe they didn't care. After all…" He added, "This is what happens to each and everyone, Greg, even in a casket, six feet under."
"Yeah, but at least there's some privacy." I muttered, and he looked at me. I met his gaze, "Do you think it's wrong to care about one's remains?"
"Well…" he looked down at the body again, "Personally, I think this is just an empty vessel. Whoever he was, it isn't in there anymore."
"Sara says it's what we do while we're alive that matters."
"She's right." He nodded, "But the dead can make a difference, Greg. Here, they teach us," he said, "It's our duty to listen and to learn from them."
So, he did care about the bodies themselves. That was good to know.
Grissom picked up his kit.
"We're finished." He announced. "Let's go."
Aw, I thought ruefully. Now that I had started to enjoy myself.
Yep; I was tired and I had the impression that the smell that hung in the air had materialized as an oily substance coating my hair, my skin, and even the back of my throat... But I'd had a great time.
No matter how much I cringed about being alone with Grissom, the truth was that I always ended up having fun and learning something new. For instance, just as we were reaching the gate, he said-
"Did you know that during the Renaissance, when an anatomy teacher was about to die, he would choose his best student and ask him to prepare his skull for an exhibit?"
"The teacher's skull-"
"Yeah." He nodded, "In Padua, you can still see their skulls in exhibition." He smiled faintly. "Modern-day anatomy professors still donate their remains for science," He added, taking a last look at the Farm, "Some of them end up here-"
"Do CSI personnel donate their remains, too?" I asked.
He smiled widely now.
"No." He said, "CSI's rarely do."
We took a shower afterwards.
It was the first time we shared space. At the lab we have four individual shower stalls at our disposal, but things were simpler at the Farm. There were five shower heads available, but no curtains. Shit, it was just like being at a high school gym.
Ah, high school! The site of so many nightmarish situations-
I remembered those times while I stood under the hot water. I was such a skinny, puny guy back then-
But hey, this wasn't high school, was it? It suddenly dawned on me that Iwasn't a puny, skinny guy anymore, and that I could make a good impression -in case Grissom wanted to take a peek.
I glanced over my shoulder. Grissom was facing the opposite wall and he seemed as intent on washing as I was, but I kept glancing back, hoping to catch him looking at me... But he never did.
Maybe he wasn'tinterested in me after all?
'Fine', I thought spitefully. If he didn't want to see, well that was his choice. I had an excellent view of his backside despite the steam wafting around us, and I wasn't going to waste the chance to peek at it.
I turned and ogled. For a short while, my only thoughts were:
'Shoulders and arms: Good. He's been working out!'
'Back: Nice,'
'Butt: Very nice,''Legs: Not bad but-'
"Do you sing in the shower, Greg?"
I froze.
He didn't turn as he spoke, but suddenly I had the feeling that he knew I'd been peeping.
I looked away, feeling guilty
"Do you?" he insisted.
"What, me?" I asked, "No." I said quickly and more than a little defensively.
"I don't believe that." He said gently.
I cleared my throat.
"Well," I mumbled, "Yeah." I admitted, "I do, sometimes."
"Go ahead, then."
"Wha-?" I hesitated, "You serious?"
"Yeah." He said.
"Well, hum. I'm out of tune, most of the time-" I said apologetically.
"Do you do things only when you think they're going to be perfect, Greg?" he asked, and to my surprise, he turned sideways –just enough to let me take a peek at the front
I tried not to look, but couldn't help it-
'Chest: Nice'
'Waist: cuddly''Package: Very nice.'
Oh, yeah…I thought, There's nothing flabby on him-
"Life isn't perfect, Greg." he said and I reluctantly looked up. We stared at each other for a brief moment.
"I'm not perfect." He said softly.
Then he turned off the shower, took a towel, and left.
I looked after him, wondering what he meant by that. Damn. Grissom had been doing this lately: He would say something that could mean one thing or other, and then he simply changed the subject or left.
TBC
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