Dara

by AnonYMous

  My heart went out to him, but I could think of no words that would express adequately the pity I felt for the young Lionel of those days. To be subjected to what he thought was a desecration of the pure young girl he loved, and then this messy birth, must have been a terrible shock to his fastidious, sensitive nature. Such events in our youth can scar us for life.

  It was as if he had read my thoughts for he said haltingly, 'I am not seeking your pity, Dara, but only trying to explain how this emotional disturbance early in life affected my future relations with decent women and forced me into the company of whores.

  Although I was mentally disturbed about certain aspects of women, physically I was in good shape. Indeed, there was a virility in my body so strong that I was often put to shame on awakening in the morning to find the evidence on my nightshirt of the nocturnal emissions that came with my dreams.

  At twenty, a young widow took me to her bed and, although I made repeated attempts to enter her, the sight of the black hairs spread around her private parts wilted my manhood. With scorn her angry words bit deeply into my pride and self esteem. The mystique and allure of the female body, nevertheless, continued to have enormous attraction for me but, try as I might to have union with those ladies that favoured me, it always ended in miserable failure.

  'There is a powerful force that drives us men to expel our seed and, because of frustration and the complexity of my disturbed thoughts, I turned to prostitutes to relieve my passions. Their ribald laughter and coarse remarks when I requested nervously only a hand manipulation of my male member made me cringe with shame. Nevertheless, many of these debauched creatures will do almost anything for money and, after seeing the earnest expression of my countenance, would lead me to some dark, fetid alley where, with skilful hands, they would assuage the burning flesh of my loins. I suffer such unspeakable anguish each time I have to resort to whores to relieve my lustful desires and, each time, leave them with a feeling of degradation and loathing for my affliction.'

  He sat in brooding melancholy unable to say any more and afraid to look at me for what he might see in the expression on my face. He had no need to worry on that score, for I only felt a great sympathy for him.

  There was no resentment in my mind at Lionel's revulsion of certain parts of the female body. I remembered a similar feeling in myself when hair first began to appear above my giny, but it didn't bother me unduly. Stroking the hairs gave me the same pleasant sensation as I got when I ran my hand over the back of a pussy cat. Indeed, when intimately chattering with other girls, they often used the word 'pussy' when referring to their private parts. Many's the time when I couldn't get off to sleep at night I would play with my 'pussy' and get a sensual gratification from a gentle finger caressing between the lips of my giny.

  I have a great need to be attached in fond affection to someone and I had become very fond of Lionel during the last few months. Although I didn't fully understand his predicament, I didn't doubt the strength of his desires and the conflicts they created in his mind. Acting on impulse, but with great pity in my heart, I took him by the hand and led him to the small yard at the back of the institution. He followed me like a small boy who was about to be reprimanded for committing some misdemeanour.

  Knowing there would be embarrassment for both of us for what I was going to do, I wasted no time in getting my left arm around the back of his waist and undoing the cod buttons of his trousers. It was but a piece of limp flesh when I first got my hand on it. Gentle caresses soon put some life into it and when it got stiff and large I closed my fingers firmly around the hard cock and tugged at it until his seed spurted out. His body slackened and he let out a long sigh of relief. I felt I couldn't leave him there with it hanging out, so I tucked it back into his trousers and buttoned up his cod buttons.

  Putting my arms around his neck I gave him three or four kisses on the chin saying between times, “There, there, Lionel-I want you to be happy — it is but a small service for me to do for you-think nothing of it-and don't ever resort to prostitutes-not while I'm here.' Getting as far as the office door I called back to him, And when you get into the light of the office, look me straight in the eye and give me a bright smile-that's all the thanks I want.'

  This shared secret intimacy brought us closer together in the weeks that followed. The number of patients, however, continued to fall off as the cold of the winter began to strike more keenly into our bones. Lionel had a worrying cough which got worse when bitterly freezing winds lashed flurries of snow into the institution each time the front door was opened. He had to retire to his bed near Christmas time with a fever and a hacking cough. One morning I found a pail by his bedside with blobs of blood in it. He seemed, to my eyes, to have lost a lot of flesh. The skin of his face was shiny and the cheeks shrunken. Alarmed, I asked him what ailed him.

  'It's consumption of the lungs,' he answered in a weak voice. 'It runs in the family. A grandmother and an aunt died of it.'

  'Is there a cure?' I asked.

  'There is not a lot of hope when you start to cough up blood but the milk from a woman has been known to cure consumption.'

  Taken aback by this reply I could only respond with, Are you serious, Lionel?'

  'Your eyes are sticking out in astonishment, Dara,' he chided. 'Do you think I would speak lightly about a disease that could be the death of me? When you are as sick and weary as I feel this morning you will turn to any means that may bring about a cure. Besides, the “suck a woman” remedy for consumption has been known throughout the medical profession for over a hundred years.'

  Pointing to his medical books neatly arranged on a shelf he asked me to look for a book entitledPrimitive Physic or an Easy and Natural Method of Curing most Diseases. I soon found the book he wanted and brought it to his bed.

  'The author of this book,' he said, 'is John Wesley, the founder of Methodism and a man of high intelligence and integrity.' Turning the pages he exclaimed, Ah! Here it is; but wait one moment, I see he recommends the application of salt and onions pounded together as a cure for chilblains. Now that is a mixture I have given to many of my patients with excellent results. You can see that John Wesley, apart from being a very religious man, was also very knowledgeable about medical matters.'

  'But what does he say about consumption?' I asked anxiously.

  'Yes, alright, I am about to tell you. These are his very words: “In the first stages of consumption, suck a healthy woman daily”. He then goes on to say that this cured his father.'

  'If that's the case, Lionel,' I firmly announced, 'we must get you a wet nurse as soon as we can. Today if possible. But how do we find such a person?'

  'Ask Vladimir. He knows nearly all the women around here, and while you're out buy some beef and vegetables. I think a bowl of meat broth would help to build up my strength.'

  After buying the beef I made haste to Vladimir's stall and, pushing my way through the women crowding around his stall, sought guidance about finding a wet nurse. He gave me the names of two women and their whereabouts. One of them, a Mrs. Ada Bunt, lived nearby but she was out when I called so I left a message that her attendance was required at the health institution. I returned to Lionel's bedside in case he had taken a turn for the worse in my absence.

  Ada Bunt arrived at the institution late in the afternoon, smelling strongly of drink. A blunt, blowzy, heavily-built woman with a coarse laugh. I took a dislike to her on first sight but greeted her politely for Lionel's sake. If he was going to be cured by a woman's milk, what did it matter where it came from. She laughed uproariously when I told her that the doctor required her milk.

  She remonstrated in a loud voice, 'What! A man at my tits; that's something I hadn't expected. I'm not sure I want that,' she said dubiously, and then a greedy look came into her eyes as she viewed the interior of the institution.

  'You will have to pay double. Two dollars a visit and as much milk as he can swallow. What do you say?'

  I nodded agreement and took her t
o the doctor. She didn't reply to Lionel's polite greeting but settled herself down on a chair near his bed, unbuttoned her blouse and exposed two huge breasts, each as big as my head. The nipples were also very large and hung down like two dark brown pox-marked thumbs. She got Lionel into a sitting position with his knees between her fat thighs and then, putting a hand behind his head, pressed his face into one of her breasts. I couldn't tell how Lionel was taking this treatment, but I found the whole business shocking and revolting.

  She was obviously enjoying humiliating the doctor and giving him rough treatment. When the time came for him to change over to the other breast she was deliberately awkward slurping the wet nipple across his face and then winked at me, assuming I would also share the joke. That settled it for me. I vowed she wouldn't enter the building again. Someone would have to be found to supply Lionel with the milk he needed to cure his consumption.

  When he had finished with the other breast I settled him back into his bed and, escorting the woman to the door, handed her two dollars and told her that we wouldn't require her services any more. She started to protest but didn't get very far with that as I pushed her through the door and locked it.

  Shortly after her departure I set out to call on Mrs. Minnie Summers, the other woman that Vladimir had informed me had recently lost her baby. When I met her, after a number of enquiries as to where she lived, I made it clear to her, right from the very beginning, that it was a man with consumption who needed her milk.

  She was a young woman of about twenty years with rosy cheeks and a fresh complexion, completely unprepared and at a loss for words to answer my request for her to wet nurse a grown man.

  'I don't know what to say,' she said. 'I'm all confused. You had better talk to my husband.'

  He was at the table finishing his evening meal when I entered. Sitting down opposite him I immediately launched into an emotional appeal for his permission to allow his wife to save a good doctor from dying from consumption. I went on at some length and made such a passionate plea to their Christian charity that they were both on the point of tears by the time I had finished talking.

  The long and the short of it was that I left them on the understanding that they would think about it and, if they decided to help the sick doctor, Minnie would be at the health institution the following morning at nine o'clock. Before I left Minnie at the door I informed her that if she was willing to help to cure the doctor of his consumption she would be paid two dollars a visit which would amount to fourteen dollars a week for her services. An attractive sum of money for people in their circumstances.

  On the morrow Minnie knocked on our front door prompt at nine o'clock. I had arrived early to help Lionel dress and shave. He was looking better but there were pink patches on the cheeks of his face which gave a false appearance of good health.

  Minnie, blushing with confusion, was plainly embarrassed at the prospect of exposing her breasts to Lionel. To save her modesty I draped a table cloth over her front and tied it at the neck. When she had her blouse undone I instructed Lionel to tuck his head under the cloth and take the milk he so desperately needed to make him well again. To begin with he seemed to be having some difficulty in getting the milk to flow and Minnie, with a tender expression on her face, gently placed a hand on the back of his head and squeezed her breast with the other hand. There were no more problems after that and the three of us soon became good friends in the days that followed her first visit.

  As far as Lionel's health was concerned, it was never the same two weeks running. There were times when he seemed to be almost his normal self, seemingly in good health and attending to the patients with great care and understanding. And then without any warning there would be a relapse when he was too weak to get out of bed. I was sure the milk he was getting from Minnie was very sustaining and it provided the nourishment he needed but I had serious doubts as to it bringing about a permanent cure of his consumption. Time alone would tell I thought, but feared the worst.

  Lionel could be very kind and generous with his services when the mood took him that way. One morning in early February he received an urgent call to attend a man lying on the dockside with a broken leg. I was reluctant to let Lionel go as it was a cold, wet, windy day and he had a persistent cough which usually was the forerunner to a relapse that brought him to his bed. There was no stopping him. Collecting bandages and tinctures I hurried after him as he left the institution in haste.

  Some men were assembling a makeshift stretcher when we arrived at the scene of the accident. Lionel made a quick examination and instructed me to cut the cloth of the trouser leg from ankle to knee and then to purchase twenty eggs from a nearby stall. Taking a bottle of whisky from his pocket, he allowed the injured man to drink a generous portion of it before preparing to set the broken bone. After setting the bone, Lionel bandaged the leg with three large strips of linen, coating each strip with the whites of the eggs which he had mixed previously with flour. After a little while the egg-soaked linen became as hard as wood. On learning that the patient had a wife with seven children and that he was as poor as a church mouse, he told the man that there would be no charge for his services. Before the man had time to thank him Lionel was on his way back to the institution. We had walked but a short distance when the heavens opened and a heavy rain storm descended upon us. We were soaked to the skin before we got back to the institution.

  Lionel, chilled to the bone and shivering, quickly undressed and got between the bed sheets. I poured out a large glass of brandy and got him to sip it while I prepared some hot soup.

  The next day he looked dreadful, as if he was at death's door. From that time on he was very rarely out of bed and coughing up blood almost every day.

  One evening early in March he struggled to a sitting position in his bed and said, 'I haven't got long to live, Dara. Will you stay with me until the end?'

  'Don't talk like that, Lionel,' I answered. 'Soon we will be getting warmer weather and then you'll feel much better, so let's hear no more talk of death.'

  Gazing across, as if he was seeing the very spectre of death awaiting him, he said in a voice little above a whisper, 'Nearly all my life I've been conscious of some dark indefinable menace forever dogging my footsteps, lurking and threatening, awaiting the time to spring upon me. In a way I'm relieved that I now know its name is consumption and my life is drawing to a finish. It is no good you saying otherwise; I know. I'm asking you again. Will you stay with me until the end? I may yet have a few more months to live.'

  He turned his face to mine. 'Will you?'

  'Yes,' I replied, 'I promise that, come what may, I will remain with you to the very end, but let's not talk about such a doleful subject any more.'

  'I'm sorry, Dara, but we have to talk about it. There are some important decisions to be made. When I die I want to be in Newport by the sea with a boyhood friend who married a cousin of mine. If you can get me as far as New York I can be put on a boat which will take me to Newport. Will you do that for me, Dara?'

  'Of course I will,' I answered. 'I'll go all the way with you if you want me to.'

  He sank down on the pillows and closed his eyes and after a little while, seeing he was asleep, I made my way back to my one room apartment.

  The next day he called Bob Derry and me into his office and, without any further ado, began to make preparations for his departure for Newport. Addressing us both, he said, 'I'm leaving Chicago and going to Newport. The building will have to be sold and as I have no strength to attend to this matter myself I want you, Bob, to negotiate that sale on my behalf. Here is a note which states that you are to act as my agent for the sale of the property. Get the best price you can, but make it a quick sale as I want to be on my way as soon as possible.'

  At this surprising turn of events, Bob Derry stood there non-plussed.

  'On your way, Bob,' snapped Lionel irritably. 'There is no time to waste.'

  After Bob had departed, he addressed me. 'Visit all the medical m
en and pharmacists in town, Dara. Tell them that I'm closing the health institution and selling off all my effects including the Electropathic Machine. I'll leave it to you to get the best price you can.'

  During the week that followed we had 'would-be' buyers viewing the property with Bob Deny in tow, and representatives of the medical profession bargaining about prices for the effects. By the end of the week the building was but an empty shell apart from Lionel's bed. I was sitting on the end of the bed discussing with Lionel the details of our journey to New York when a bluff, hearty man in his middle years walked into the institution.

  'What are you doing here?' he questioned us in a loud voice. 'This is my property.'

  I was pleased to hear that the building had been sold and made known to him who we were and asked him the whereabouts of Bob Deny.

  'Mr. Deny,' he exclaimed, 'sold me the building two days ago for cash. He would have it no other way. He told me that he was leaving that day for Cincinnati to meet you, Doctor Shepherd, to hand over the money.'

  'But Doctor Shepherd is not in Cincinnati,' I protested. 'He is here as you can see for yourself.'

  'Whatever arrangement you made with Deny is none of my concern,' he barked. 'I now own this property and here is the bill of sale to prove it.'

  I handed on the bill of sale to Lionel for his perusal. After studying it for a moment or two, he got up and, with a look of hopeless resignation, turned saying, 'That crook, Bob Deny, has absconded with the money. There is nothing we can do about it. This gentleman is undoubtedly the new owner of the building.'