The Stolen Heart

On the night of All Souls, Inés broke into the hospital morgue and stole Ignacio Espada’s heart. Breaking in was the easy part. With an all-access employee ID, she could go almost anywhere, at any time. The security cameras, sparse in that oldest area of the hospital, were easy to elude.

The hard part was actually taking the thing. At first she recoiled from touching this most intimate part of him. It was wet, and obvious, and she wasn’t sure her jar of formaldehyde was big enough (it was). The holiday gift bag she was planning to carry it in, with its bright red Santas, red-nosed reindeer, and gift-laden sleighs, was uncomfortably conspicious. Which, in the end, made it perfect for the job.

She kept the jar on her bedside table and listened to Ignacio’s heart pulsating in the dark. Inés, it whispered. Inés. Inés. Intense, persistent, the way he would push into her body when they made love. Inés.

At the lab people speculated about the theft, wondering who, and how, and most tantalizing of all, why. Inés listened and nodded in the lunch room, raised her eyebrows, inquisitive or incredulous at just the right times. The scandal was barely mentioned in the local news. No advocates held press conferences; no family members got a platform for their outrage.

Sometimes Inés would follow the path of the left anterior descending artery as it branched like the veins of a leaf, or turn the jar slowly and follow the circumflex. The heart spoke to her only in darkness. She waited every night, hoping. Tell me, she prayed. Just tell me. She finally said the words herself, her tears hot against the cool pillowcase as she spoke to Ignacio’s heart. Inés was all he would say in return. Inés. Inés. Inés.

***

Isabel Cristina Legarda was born in the Philippines and spent her early childhood there before moving to the U.S. She is now a practicing physician in Boston. Her work has appeared in America, Ruminate, Smartish Pace, FOLIO, The Good Life Review, ­Qu, and others.