The Healing Knife

by S. L. Russell

  Lying sleepless my mind ranged over all the teeming life of the planet, from the scurrying ant to the indefatigable elephant and the deep-diving whale. I thought about our populous and hugely successful race, and wondered if, as some said, one day we would simply self-destruct. Would our earth be better off without humanity? Sometimes it seemed that way. And yet, weren’t we, humans, supposed to be the pinnacle of creation, the apple of God’s eye, of all his creatures most like him? What a mystery it was, certainly not to be fathomed in the middle of the night. The greatest wonder was that I was thinking these thoughts at all; after a lifetime of training myself in a ruthless pragmatism, I was finally allowing my mind to contemplate things I would have previously considered irrelevant.

  I knew that something I could not name had shifted within me, and that a soft, vulnerable inside had been exposed – and yet no harm had come to me. This was puzzling, at once alarming and liberating. Alone, I felt safe. I felt fairly safe with just Michael, Jasper, and Dulcie, who all, it seemed, wished only my good. I could account for this by reminding myself that it was part of their creed. But what of others, the world at large? Surely some self-defence was necessary? I wondered about the day ahead, at St Luke’s, and the socializing afterwards. Was I brave enough for this without my usual armour? Even if I’d wanted to, I wasn’t at all sure that I could buckle it back on, so unwieldy and cumbersome it seemed to me now.

  This openness, this feeling of lightness, persisted when I awoke to daylight on Sunday morning, and heard, as every morning, a joyous muddle of competing birdsong outside my window. I felt like a bone washed up on a lonely shore, bleached by the sun, white and clean and without feeling. I shook my head and told myself I was drivelling.

  The warm weather was still with us but there was a heavy, humid feeling to it, as if we were due for another storm. Soon after nine thirty we piled into Michael’s car, with Dulcie in the boot, and took the country road to church. I sat in the back and listened to Michael and Jasper talking about some of the hymns they’d sung over the years, laughing at the odd choices made, and both of them bursting into song as they recalled some of the odder ones – dirges, infantile choruses, some with eight verses and a refrain. They were both melodious: Jasper’s breaking tenor and Michael’s baritone blending harmoniously. Some things I faintly remembered from my childhood, but most were unfamiliar, and I felt a twinge of panic and a sense of being left out which I ruthlessly quashed. I didn’t know if I belonged, or even if I wanted to.

  When we arrived Michael took Dulcie for a short walk through the hamlet before giving her a drink and putting her back in the car in a shady spot. As soon as people started to arrive Jasper was monopolized by Letty Wetherly, who demanded that he push her wheelchair inside. I heard him say, “I’m playing today, Letty, and the singers need a little run-through before the service, but you can sit by the keyboard if you’re quiet.” Letty cackled at this and I understood that being quiet was probably not in her repertoire.

  Michael shut the car boot and came over to join me as I hovered by the door. “What’s the matter with Letty?” I asked him, my voice low.

  He scratched his chin. “Not completely sure,” he said. “I know she was born with a physical disability – I suspect some kind of cerebral palsy. She can walk, but it’s awkward and painful and she’s prone to falling. In the pool she’s fine – wriggles around like a minnow.” He smiled. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s some cognitive impairment too, which makes her a bit socially unaware, like a clumsy child. People understand and accept her for herself, and she can be very funny – as well as causing her mother considerable embarrassment at times. She loves Jasper.”

  “Yes, she told me, when I was here last Sunday. She said he was very kind.” I looked up at him and smiled. “Like his father.”

  Michael shook his head. “Not always, I’m sure. Perhaps we’d better go in.”

  What happened during that service? I can recall and recount the facts, but there was something else, something almost numinous that lay across the ordinary events like gauze, or moonlight. I thought about the story Michael had told me about Ichabod, wondering if the glory could return. Of course my father could never come back, but could there be other sources of so-called glory? After all, he had been dead more than twenty years, and people do manage to cope with the death of a beloved parent, however traumatic. Simple thoughts, but not, until now, for me. For me that day they were nothing short of revelation.

  The sermon was preached by a retired clergyman, a tall, balding man with a goatee beard. He spoke of Joseph, quoting from the very end of Genesis, where Joseph said to his brothers, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” As he read these words from his Bible I felt a wave of heat wash over me, and my scalp prickled. It was almost as if they spoke directly into my mind. Harm intended for good? Was that possible? Could something bad be reversed, redeemed? Apparently it could, if you had faith. I had a long way to go before anything like that could be said of me; but the bit about saving lives was true enough. If my father had lived, what would I have done with my life? Becoming a cardiothoracic surgeon, with all its striving against the odds, would probably not have been high on my list of career choices. The idea that God, whom I had ignored and discounted for so long, might have intended good – for other people through me – was enough of a shock. To think he might have good intentions for me alone was a step too far.

  Jasper played with competence and panache, singing along. There was, I had to recognize, immense joy there that morning, and the music affected me profoundly. Letty Wetherly sat in her wheelchair beside the keyboard and sometimes, in a quiet moment, cheekily struck a note or two. I saw her mother close her eyes and wince, but Jasper just took Letty’s hand and removed it, shaking his head at her. When the singing started again she was the loudest, even if she wavered off the note and sang words that were totally random. I caught Michael’s eye and saw his amusement.

  After the service I was quiet, feeling almost dazed. Michael joined me in the hall and handed me a cup of coffee. “It’s probably not very hot,” he murmured. I nodded my thanks. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so.” I wondered what to tell him, if anything. “There’s, mm, a lot going on in my head. Not easy to process. But yes, I guess I’m OK.” I glanced to the other end of the hall, where Jasper was sitting at a table surrounded by a number of children. One little lad was talking to him almost vehemently, and an older girl, wearing, I thought, rather a startling amount of eye makeup, leaned on the table across from him, plucking at the tablecloth, a sullen expression on her face. “Genevieve?” I asked Michael.

  He rolled his eyes. “The very same.”

  “Eeeuucch. Fifteen. Horrible age.”

  “Yes, for some.” He looked at his watch. “You done? I think it might be time to depart for the Bowmans’. They’ve probably had time to fire up the barbecue by now, and it looks as though Jasper needs rescuing.”

  He strolled down the hall, speaking to people as he went, and bent over Jasper, muttering something in his ear. I saw him nod. Then Michael came back to me, and we walked out to the car. “We get to swim first,” he said, “while Roy and his boys are cooking.” A sudden thought struck him. “You do have a swimming costume, don’t you? I completely forgot to ask.”

  “I thought one might be needed, so I bought one at the supermarket. It’s red.”

  Michael laughed. “Why did I ever doubt? You are a woman of forethought.” He looked over his shoulder. “Here’s Jasper – a man released. Let’s go.”

  The Bowmans’ house was enormous, built on a vast gravelled courtyard with several outbuildings, at least one of which was more than habitable. Perhaps they rented it out, or kept it for visitors. The garden too was huge, well over an acre I guessed, with a croquet lawn as well as the swimming pool. This sported a bright blue cover, now rolled back, and was set behind a white-painted picket fence with a
lockable gate. “Newish rules,” Michael said. “In case someone gets in when they’re not here and falls in, I suppose. Might be EU rules, for all I know; France tends to be a lot less nannyish than many other countries. I took Jasper to a castle when he was younger and there were precipitous staircases and no handrails, not to mention unfenced holes and pits!”

  People were beginning to arrive, parking their cars behind the house and in the lane that led to it. There were coolboxes dotted about on tables, filled with beer, wine, and soft drinks. I couldn’t see the barbecue, but there was a rich smell of grilling meat and a plume of blue smoke rising from behind a shed at the edge of the lawn.

  “Can I get you something?” Michael asked.

  “I think I’ll swim first,” I said. “I don’t want to drown while drunk.”

  Michael laughed. “We’d rather you didn’t too.”

  “Yes,” Jasper said. “Think of the inconvenience!”

  I pulled a face at him. “So what about Dulcie?”

  “Well, she can’t run around as she normally does,” Michael said, “but she can mooch and hang out with the Bowmans’ dogs. And if she tries to overdo things we can probably ask one of the more sedentary guests to look after her while we’re swimming.”

  “Mrs Crooke likes Dulcie,” Jasper said. “I’ll ask her.”

  “So where do we change?” I said.

  Michael waved a hand in the direction of a wooden chalet at one side of the pool. “It might be a good idea to swim now, if we’re going to. There are some clouds about, and it’s getting hot and sticky.”

  I made my way to the chalet, carrying my bag with swimming costume and towel. There were four cubicles, and outside one of them was Letty Wetherly’s wheelchair. I heard Janet inside talking to Letty, and from the tone of her voice I gathered that getting her daughter ready to swim was proving a problem. I tapped on the door. “Need any help?”

  The door opened a crack. “Oh, Rachel, thank you. We’re OK, I think, but what would be good is if you could keep an eye on Letty while she’s in the pool. She’s very impatient and doesn’t want to wait for me to change. Colin’s supposed to be ready but he’s talking to someone.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Give me a minute and I’ll be all yours.”

  I slipped into the remaining cubicle and shucked off my cotton trousers, T-shirt, and underwear. I could hear Letty’s escalating protests and smiled. When I came out she was back in her wheelchair, punching the air vigorously and singing at the top of her lungs. Her mother, red-faced, passed her over to me. “One of the men will help you get her into the water,” she said. “Once she’s in she’ll be OK: she swims like a fish. You’ll just need to watch over her in case. Anyway, I won’t be a moment.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll manage, won’t we, Letty?”

  “Thank you, Rachel,” Janet said and disappeared back into the changing-room.

  I wheeled Letty to the side of the pool. She was strapped into her chair but started to unbuckle as soon as we approached, and I held her shoulder, anxious in case she fell out and hurt herself. A curly auburn head, dripping wet, appeared out of the water, followed by a grinning face and two outstretched arms.

  “It’s Danny!” Letty crowed, and before I could intervene she undid her restraints and pitched forward without another thought. The young man caught her as she plunged, and slipped back into the water with his arms round her waist. I watched, shaking my head in amazement, as her skinny twisted legs unwound themselves and floated out behind her. Her arms were strong, and she had no fear, sinking and rising, howling with laughter, thrashing and splashing, clearly utterly delighted to be free.

  I saw Michael and Jasper at the other end of the pool, and suddenly I felt unaccountably self-conscious. I wasn’t fat, and I wasn’t lily-white. The costume fitted well. I had nothing to be ashamed of, logically; but I was overcome with a desire not to be seen, and promptly executed a neat-enough dive and came up spluttering: the water was bracing.

  “Rachel, Rachel!” Letty bubbled. “Come on, let’s race!” She was off, and I followed as she floundered and flapped her way up the pool, turning turtle and lying on her back as she tired.

  I kept up and swam alongside. “This water’s cold, Letty.”

  “I like it,” she said. “Too hot outside.”

  Once her energy began to flag we turned and swam more sedately back to the shallower end. Janet was waiting, her well-rounded figure swathed in a floral swimming costume. “Mum looks like a garden,” Letty said.

  “Everything all right?” Janet asked.

  “Yes, fine,” I said. “You OK, Letty?”

  “I’m puffed out,” Letty said. “I’ll stay with Mum for a bit.”

  “Right, I’ll do some lengths.” I turned to Janet. “If you want to swim I’ll come and be with Letty.”

  “Yes, yes!” Letty said. “Come back, Rachel!” She lowered her voice. “Mum can go and swim. Because, because,” she added breathlessly, “there’s something I want to tell you.”

  I swam four lengths, avoiding others bobbing about. One of the teenagers had found an inflatable ball and was hurling it to his friends. As I came back to Letty and Janet it hit me on the side of the head. I heard laughter and “Oops, sorry!”

  I trod water, smoothing my hair back from my face and wiping water from my eyes. “That was great. I’m warming up. Off you go, Janet.”

  “Letty, do you want to get out?” Janet asked.

  “Not yet,” Letty said. “I want to watch. Go on, Mum.”

  Janet shook her head. “Right, I know when I’m not wanted. You and your secrets, Letty!” She pushed off from the side and swam sedately away.

  “So, what is it you want to tell me, Letty?” I said, smiling down at her freckly face.

  For once she didn’t yell. “For starters you have to promise not to tell,” she said solemnly. “Cross your heart?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  She edged closer and muttered in my ear. “I’ve decided,” she said, “I’m going to marry Jasper – not Danny. He’s nice, but not as nice as Jasper. And anyway, he’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” I was at a loss. “Well, you’re right, Letty. Jasper is nice. But… isn’t he a bit young? He’s just a boy, still at school. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.” She frowned. “But I like him. I could wait till he’s a bit older.”

  “I suppose you could,” I said helplessly. “Have you told him your plan?”

  “No!” she hissed. “And you mustn’t either. You promised.”

  “I won’t, of course, if you don’t want me to. You know, Letty… things don’t always work out just how we’d like them to.”

  Letty’s eyes were narrow slits. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, er, once, a long time ago,” I invented hastily, “I liked someone, but he didn’t like me – not as much.”

  “Oh, well, that’s all right,” Letty said, her face breaking out into a grin. “I know Jasper likes me.”

  “I’m sure he does, Letty,” I said. “He likes you a lot, as a friend. But he’s still very young – too young to get married.”

  I was saved by Janet coming back to us, puffing, her hair plastered to her forehead.

  “I want to get out now, Mum,” Letty said abruptly. She turned to me. “Don’t forget, Rachel,” she hissed. “No telling.”

  I shook my head. Had I said the right thing? What was the right thing?

  Janet called to her husband, who by this time had changed and was hovering by the steps. He lifted Letty out, and she clung to him with her arms round his neck. A few moments later she was strapped back into her wheelchair, swathed in a large green towel. She waved to me as she was wheeled away, but her face was solemn. I hoped I hadn’t upset her. I didn’t want to encourage false hope, but at the same time I didn’t want to bring her down – nor did I want to treat her like an imbecile.

  I’d had enough of cold water, and after a couple more lengths I climbe
d out, found my towel, and stretched out on a sun-lounger. The swimming had given me an appetite, and the smell of the barbecue was wafting my way. Most people were now out of the pool and hurrying to change, or towelling themselves down on the edge of the pool, chatting in clusters. Only Michael and Jasper, serious swimmers, were still in the water, and I watched them. Jasper, long and skinny, swam like a silver eel, fast with an elegant stroke, cleaving the water with barely a splash or bubble. Michael, brown from the sun, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, kept up with him easily. His stroke was slower but stronger, his dark head rising as he took each breath. I watched the smooth long muscles of his back as he swam away from me, and I shivered. I thought about Letty and her longings – perfectly understandable, as she was in many ways a normal young woman, but surely doomed to disappointment – and I watched Michael and Jasper pause at the other end of the pool, holding onto the side with one hand, talking and laughing; and then the sun came out from behind a cloud and for a moment they looked gilded. Pieces of my fractured thinking, like a jigsaw puzzle suddenly clicking together under an unseen hand, were sliding inexorably into place, and I felt a wave of something almost like terror. I scrambled out of the sun-lounger and headed for the changing room, towel in hand. The need to be alone, to be invisible, even if only for a few minutes, was back in force.