Dara

There was a long pause. 'For good, you understand, Dara. I've got to go. They are all depending on me to look after them. I've got to go back.'

He looked so upset and worried I wanted to reach out and put my arms around him and comfort him, but I couldn't move. I couldn't grasp the meaning of the words. They were all jumbled up and swimming around in my mind.

When I got the words sorted out and I understood that this was to be our last night together and after that I wouldn't ever see him again, the blood drained from my head until I nearly fainted. His heartbeat was pounding in my ear as he held me close. It was the sound of his heart that brought home to me how Elmer was suffering too. Up till that moment I had only been thinking of myself and the futility of trying to live without him.

Looking up into his face, I smiled. 'Why waste precious hours weeping before we part forever,' I asked brightly. 'We still have some time left for us to be happy together-and to love.'

I busied my mind organizing a meal and asked Elmer to get some wine, saying, 'Let's not think about it. And tomorrow, just go-just go quietly, and please, Elmer darling, please don't say goodbye. Just go quickly.'

After we'd had supper we talked and talked. Mainly about the past; about Vladimir in Russia, about Elmer's fight with the 'Bruiser' and all sorts of things we had experienced together. And all the time we were talking I knew there was a question I wanted to ask him. It bothered me, but I couldn't think what it was. And then it came to me quite suddenly and I interrupted him in midsentence. 'Elmer,' I asked, 'what is the milk sickness? I have never heard of it.'

Elmer looked at me somewhat surprised and smiled. 'No, I don't suppose you have. They don't get it in England, but we get a lot of people around here dying of milk sickness. As far as I know, it doesn't occur anywhere else. It is thought that about one in ten people in the Northern States die of this sickness; sometimes whole families are wiped out. Abraham Lincoln's mother died of it.'

'But what is it, Elmer?' I asked, 'and how do they get it?'

'It comes from cow's milk,' he answered, 'and the cows get it when they graze near woodlands and eat white snakeroot. My mother calls it “the trembles” because that's what you do when the poison gets into your system-you tremble all the time. This is followed by convulsions and a quick death.'

He was overcome for a moment or two, then pulled himself together. 'My father must have drunk the milk of a cow he had bought only three days before his death. When he was thirsty he often helped himself to a mouthful of milk from a cow, especially when he was working in a field some distance from the house. Many times I have seen him crouch down near a cow's udder, pull at one of the tits and squirt the milk into his open mouth.'

I said, 'You don't need to talk about it any more, Elmer, if it upsets you.'

'No, I had best tell you. It is good that I can talk about it. Well, it was easy for me to find the infected cow by chasing it across a field. Sure enough the beast started to tremble after its exertions and the vinegary breath coming from it confirmed my suspicions that this was the cow whose milk had poisoned my father.'

We were late getting to bed, but I found it was impossible to sleep. When Elmer rose shortly before dawn, I made a pretence of being sound asleep. I held my emotions in control until I could no longer hear the sound of his footsteps as he descended the stairs; only then did I give way to the anguish that had tortured me throughout the night.

An agonized, hoarse cry, coming up from the very centre of my being, filled the room and echoed back to me like the sound of an animal in extreme pain. I was alone in the depths of my own hell, writhing on the rack and crying out for help. My distress was such that it affected my breathing and I had to sit up and gasp painfully for air. I tried to get out of bed, but fell back on the pillow exhausted. Feeble sobs shook my shoulders and the tears began to flow as I drifted into, and out of, uneasy slumbers.

Three days elapsed before I struggled out of bed. Three days of alternatively sobbing and mindlessly floating through time. Dizzy and confused, I clung to chairs and table as I searched for I do not know what. In passing, I looked in the mirror. An old hag with a lined, shrunken face gazed back at me from the mirror with pale, dead eyes. I knew not who she was, nor did I care, for nothing stirred in my mind. A loud knock on the door brought me to my senses. Startled, I moved quickly to the door and locked it.

It was Vladimir asking if I was alright. 'I've heard that Elmer has gone back to his farm,' he yelled from the other side of the door. Getting no answer he knocked again and shouted, 'Are you alright, Dara? Let me in.'

I tried to shout back at him, but I couldn't manage it as my throat was dry and sore. When he knocked again I said hoarsely, 'I'm ill. Get me some food and leave it outside the door.'

He must have heard me despite my weak voice for he answered, 'If you are ill you had better let me in.'

Taking the key from the door, I put my lips to the keyhole. 'No. I don't trust you. You are a womanizer. No man but Elmer can come into this room. Go away, I don't want you. I want food.'

Getting back into bed, I lay there listening to him appealing for me to let him in. Sometime later I awoke to more knocking on the door. It was Vladimir again.

'Dara. Can you hear me?' he asked. 'I've brought you meat pies, fruit and ale.'

I got to the door and said, 'Thank you. Now go away. I will be alright if you leave me alone.'

'Are you sure?' he asked doubtfully.

'Yes,' I answered wearily as I leaned against the door.

After I had heard him leave the house I collected the food and drink. Feeling better, having eaten, I washed and brushed my hair and put some warm clothes on, for I was beginning to shiver although I didn't feel cold. I had just put some water on to boil to make some coffee when there was another knock at the door. Tense with pent up emotions, ready to explode at the slightest noise, I shouted hysterically, 'For God's sake, Vladimir, stop pestering me.'

'It is not Vladimir,' a voice answered back. 'This is Dr Shepherd. May I have a word with you? If you don't want me to come in, we can talk through the keyhole.'

The situation had become ridiculous. I started to giggle at the very idea of us having a serious conversation through a keyhole. The giggling got worse and I abandoned myself to great whoops of mirth. Blind with tears, I fell and rolled around the floor helpless with maniacal shrieks of laughter.

The hysterics eventually blew themselves out and I got to my feet amidst frantic knocking on the door. 'Stop that knocking,' I shouted. 'I'll be with you in a minute.' I recovered my composure and drank half a glass of water before approaching the door again.

'Dr Shepherd, have you got Vladimir with you out there?' I asked, if you tell a lie I'll never believe another word you say in future.'

There was some whispering going on outside, then, 'Yes, but Vladimir says he will go away if that's what you want.'

I didn't answer. Then the doctor said, 'Vladimir has gone. There is only me here now.'

Unlocking the door, I opened it and said calmly, 'Please come in, Doctor. Would you like some coffee? I'm just about to have some myself.'

If he was taken aback by the sudden change in my demeanour he didn't show it, apart from giving me a searching look as he walked to the table where he pulled up a stool and sat down. Leaning forward, with his elbows on the table, he said, “Thank you. Yes, I would very much like to have some coffee.'

When we sat facing each other with our mugs of coffee, he said, in the same quiet voice he had used when he thanked me for the coffee, 'Dara, look at me.' Holding my gaze he continued, 'You are suffering from a great emotional shock, my dear. I sympathize with you for I know how you must be feeling, having lost your lover. If you want to tell me about it I'll listen. Not with my intellect, but with my heart. If you don't want to talk about it then we will speak of other matters.'