The Poison Morality

by Stacey Kathleen

There was no need to worry about these things, at least for the moment, she thought looking at the envelope. She has work to do and it was not finding her mum to ask about a sister she had not known.

  Chapter 6: Old Man in the Park

  The British Library hummed with people this morning. School groups of children clumped behind their teachers, constantly being shushed. Their energy couldn’t be restrained; even a trip to the library seemed exciting to them, or more likely, being out of class. Sophie envied them and she couldn’t say that she remembered ever being as excited about anything as they were.

  Dropping her returns, she set off towards the shelves without any particular book in mind. Book after book, she searched for anything that appealed but she wasn’t in the mood really to search. She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see someone that looks like her watching, unable to concentrate. She had been looking forward to being back in her favourite place in London but she was too distracted to enjoy it, finding it difficult to settle on even one book in contrast to the ten that she returned. Who left the photo?

  The one thing she could say about running into Oliver is, despite his suspicions, she also confirmed that he didn’t think they were valid without a confession she wouldn’t give.

  Coming across some romance novels, she pulled one of the paperbacks and sat at a table. The cover had a handsome pirate with long dark hair, shirt open to the waist and the woman clinging to him, mouth open beckoning to be kissed.

  Thirty pages in, she wondered if anyone had drama like this in real life. A young woman, kidnapped from her wealthy family by a pirate when another notorious pirate rescues her and she becomes Kate from Taming of the Shrew. There was a lot of drama to stir the emotions in these novels. If she compared to her own dreary life it seemed exciting until Oliver showed up and now there was more excitement than she could deal with. She tossed the book across the table frustrated, drumming her fingers on the table, looking around. Who knew where Sophie lived and would have access to such a photo?

  Staring again at the front of the book, she speculated, sliding it back towards her and flipping through the pages looking for the lovemaking, just out of curiosity. When she finally found the sex, there was so little detail that Sophie felt like she had actually learned very little. Of course, if she wanted to learn more about sexuality, there were plenty of books on the subject but she was too embarrassed to even go into those sections. Was Sydney alive? If so, where had she been for twenty years?

  Maybe she should give it a rest and do something else for a while. Maybe lunch at the café or checking out the exhibit or going onto the internet in search of the missing sister, which made her hesitant still not knowing how far down this rabbit hole she wanted to go.

  She could start by searching the social media websites but nothing came up for a Sydney Newton in London. Maybe, she didn’t want to be found. Maybe someone else wanted her to know about Sydney and perhaps Sydney got a copy of the photo and had the same shock of finding out about Sophie.

  She was restless, that was it, restless. Her mind drifted to Oliver. Oh great from Sydney to Oliver, there were too many new people in her life suddenly. Being a recluse it was somewhat a shock to the system.

  He was a nice guy and no amount of bad past experiences would change what Oliver is, not to mention handsome. Her phone startled her, vibrating in her pocket. It was him, again. She had successfully ignored his calls and his messages without listening to them. She may have inadvertently agreed to share a meal with him but she didn’t say when. They obviously were thinking of each other at the same time. If this was a romance novel, she thought, that would be considered kismet.

  Sighing, she rushed through the aisles, grabbing books without looking. Leaving without books just wasn’t an option in her opinion. She checked out and walked out into the early February day. The sun was surprisingly warm, minimizing the chill. Sophie walked the ten minutes to Regent’s Park and picked a bench by the lake watching the swans glide gracefully across the water. The ducks waddled to her in the hope that she had crumbs to give them and quacked at her when she didn’t deliver. The birds signalled the arrival of spring and Sophie was glad. She was tired of the cold. The warm weather made her work easier.

  Reaching into her bag of books, she pulled one out, totally ignorant of what she had picked up and pulled out a book of photographs from around the world. For an hour she sat looking at it enjoying it very much, even wishing that she could go to some of those places but she had never left England.

  They revealed mysterious and glamorous worlds her favourite being Paris; she always wanted to go to Paris. It was so close, yet it seemed so far away. She stared at a photo of the Eiffel Tower for several minutes when an older man shuffled along standing on the side of the lake, his bread bag in hand, caught her attention. Birds surrounded him in anticipation, beaks upturned; chasing the bread he tossed about.

  He was hunched over in the shoulders, his coat ragged looking, and his pants were at least two sizes too big held on by a belt cinched tightly around his waist. His gaunt face making his hooked nose seem more prominent, a short white, scruffy beard, lined his jaw and chin.

  Sophie watched him throw the last of the crumbs and fold the bag neatly and stuff it in his pocket. He spotted her and walked over and sat on the other end of the bench. “What you got there?”

  Sophie felt awkward, fingering the pages nervously, “Um… photos from around world.”

  “Ah, the world, eh? Well, you’ll never get anything out of that book. You want to see the world, go,” he waved his hand, “Go. You’re young,” he spoke slowly; “you should just go see it. When I was in the Royal Navy, I travelled but I saw more water than land. I can’t go anywhere now.”

  “Well I’ve never been out of England, I’m not sure if I can go by myself.” Was this what people defined as small talk?

  “You don’t have a bloke? A pretty bird like you doesn’t have anyone to take her places? Pity,” he paused and Sophie didn’t feel the need to respond. “Agh…you don’t need anyone, just hop a train and go anywhere. Start off with a short trip, dip your toes in and next thing you know you’ll be walking the Great Wall of China.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” she chuckled, nervously hiding her smile behind her hand; the pages of the book blowing in the breeze, carrying the smell of rain.

  “If I had married, I would have taken her anywhere she wanted to go. The world is small, only the difference in humanity makes it seem big.”

  “You never married then,” Sophie asked genuinely curious.

  “No,” a look of regret shown on his face. “No wife, no children, no legacy but the country I served. When I die there will be no one to cry over me and that’s fine,” he shrugged. “No one to hurt, no one to disappoint.”

  “Do you regret it at all,” she looked at him waiting for an answer.

  “Every day. It’s too late for me now, I’m dying,” he looked at her face for the first time to see her reaction, “Cancer.”

  The wind was picking up, making her eyes tear up from the cold but he misread it as sympathy, “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve lived a long life. I’ve done a lot that amounted to very little. In the Royal Navy I saw and did unspeakable things and saw and did some amazing things. Trying to find happiness in the darkness, not just during war time but in everyday life, that’s all there is.”

  “Did you,” Sophie paused wanting to ask the question, the subject being a delicate one, “kill anyone?”

  “Oh yes,” he stared across the lake, leaning back, his arms outstretched on the back of the bench, one ankle rested on the knee of his other leg, “I’m sure I did. But only from a distance, you see. I never had to look the enemy in the eye because if I did, there would have been no way I could have pulled the trigger. I would have been the dead one because I couldn’t watch the enemy die. They were young men like us. It was easier to launch a torpedo on another vessel than to aim a gun at someone’s head. That’s why I chose the
navy instead of the army.”

  “I can imagine,” she understood completely what he was saying.

  “How can you, love? Fortunately, you will never be burdened with such a decision because even still, the guilt is a heavy cross to bear.” That’s where he was wrong about her, she knew all too well. “You can’t let the guilt get to you or the fear will. I justified it by thinking that I was doing it for someone else not just for my own survival. For King and country, for the countless millions that was imprisoned for their beliefs, and not just those of us young men fighting on our side but the ones on the other side as well. Not the Nazi’s I mean, the ones who fought because of the terror of what their own country would do to them if they didn’t would be worse than dying in war.”

  Not knowing what to say, Sophie just sat in silence for a while and then said, “You sacrificed your youth and peace of mind so generations could go on living the life you wouldn’t have?”

  “I could have had that life but I was too messed up and I thought what woman would have me, little did I know that everyone is some kind of crazy,” he looked at her again, this time she met his gaze, “Don’t waste the sacrifice someone made for you by looking at a bloody book. Go live, it’s my little gift to you,” he smiled and patted her shoulder.

  They both lived through some traumatic experiences and both have chosen lonely lives because of them but he was old and dying and she was young and alive feeling completely unworthy of the chances she was given.

  Her mobile rang, it was Oliver again, he was relentless. She nodded and smiled, “I have to go, now.” There was a job planned in a couple of days she had to prepare for and the air turned chilly when the sun faded behind dark clouds.

  “Sure, sure,” he waived her away, “If that’s a potential future husband, answer it, don’t keep him waiting.” Putting the book back in the bag she stood. The medicine on her cut started to wear off but she wanted to take one last walk through Queen Mary’s Gardens before the rain came. “Time is the only real enemy. Don’t keep him waiting,” the man repeated. The mobile chimed signalling another message, saying her goodbyes to the man, knowing she will probably never see him again.

  He looked at her and saw a woman incapable of doing something he himself had a hard time doing during wartime but like him it was survival. It was different of course, there was no war, just making a living.

  On a bench by the fountain, the evergreens lined the perimeter of her favourite part of the grounds; she listened to the succession of messages. Listening wasn’t commitment of any kind. First they were just to ask her out again and to make sure she was alright. And then the messages turned more urgent, worried about her cut and that he had not heard from her, to just a plea to call him to let him know she was okay. Courtesy dictated she should call him, he had done her a tremendous favour but he witnessed and that made him a potential threat. Once home, she unloaded the books, she found an eclectic mix, all of which seemed interesting but ironically one of the books she picked up was about World War II.

  Chapter 7: Playing God

  Oliver called Sophie and left messages, using the excuse of her cut to check up on her, she had not rung back. The corridors of the hospital were quiet, Oliver stood looking out the window in the direction where Sophie had ran into him, the pavement darkened and slick from the mist of rain that fell all day. Drops hung from the bare branches of the trees and people walked hidden with their umbrellas, colourful in contrast with the drab. The day had started warmer and brighter but by the time he had come to the hospital it had turned gloomy, like his mood.

  A gasp came from behind him. Liam’s mother was hiccupping from hours of crying. The twelve year old’s body gave up the fight for life; his parent’s hopes of his waking had dissipated a week ago when Oliver told them there was no more brain activity. It was the machines doing all the work now. His mother wept, never leaving his side until she absolutely had to, sending the father on errands and he just obeyed her like a zombie.

  They were struggling with the decision to take him off life support. When asked, Oliver promised to do it for them if that’s what they chose but the decision was a long time coming. He almost wished Liam would go on his own so they could all be spared this moment.

  Yet it was an honour that they trusted him to do it, his rapport with them strong. Any of the doctors or nurses could but they wanted him. Never had he been asked to “pull the plug” and he never had to before when necessary so he lingered; trying not to be intrusive but available.

  There was no free time since he had been on call for them. They were told to call him anytime; that he would be there as soon as possible and today was the day. It was his day off, he was going to go visit Sam and his family but this was more important and they understood the sacrifices made for his patients. They would still be there, alive and well.

  Although death was common in this ward, it was completely different when it was a child. Adults he could handle their deaths, sometimes they made their decisions, they weren’t like children. Children never knew how not to hope, not to lose faith, not even when the inevitable loomed before their short lives.

  They were not jaded yet by life’s ups and downs, happy times and desperate times. Perhaps it’s because they had just come from the other side and not of this world long enough to become scared but the parents, how they were tormented and Oliver was pained along with them.

  They had decided to let him go tonight on his birthday. They were tearfully saying their goodbyes to Liam but he was already long gone and Oliver tried to remember that when the sadness choked him.

  Both the parents looked at him. There was no need for them to speak and gently, peacefully, Oliver unhooked Liam’s feeds and the machines. The beeping sound slowed and when he flat lined, Oliver turned off the monitor, taking mental note of the time. Placing a hand on each parent’s shoulder, he squeezed in acknowledgment and walked out of the room, the sobbing inside louder.

  “Did you do it,” Camille’s soft voice whispered, she cradled the crucifix in her hand, she knew what was going on, and she was Oliver’s right hand in the hospital. She was the faith equivalent to his science.

  Oliver leaned against the wall a few feet from the door, listening to the sorrowful sounds of despair; he was used to those sounds. He was exhausted but patient. “Yes,” he was clearly upset; his face revealed sadness, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, and his hand rested on his chest. He was dressed in a casual shirt in jeans only having come for the family inside, his weary face showed his dedication.

  “It hurt the heart don’t it, when the young ones go. But he not suffering anymore,” she put a hand on his arm for comfort that didn’t come.

  Camille closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.

  “Yes, it does,” he waited, his head down, thinking a small prayer of his own then after she kissed the crucifix and crossed herself, “Aren’t you praying for Liam a little too late?”

  “That boy with God now,” her Caribbean escaping through with her words, “he’s with the source of love. I’m praying for the parents cause only part of them died tonight and they are not fortunate as he is.”

  “There’s nothing to be said to them, nothing can be done but what they asked me to do,” he shook his head, “I hope I never have to do that again for any child,” Oliver ran his hand through his hair, tousling it and shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “You did the right thing. I pray for you too, Doctor,” she patted his arm. “No matter how you’re trained or taught nothing prepares you for it. Pronounce him and go home, get some rest. I know you’ve been waiting for them,” she nodded indicating the couple inside.

  Truth was he wanted Sophie more than he wanted to go home. As bad as he felt he needed to check on her, he didn’t care if she did resist. Liam’s death pushed the need to see her to the forefront. After the gloom of this day, he needed some light. The balance had been shifted and he needed to find balance again by finding Sophie well.

 
“When they go, I’ll take care of the rest.” She squeezed his arm and he nodded in agreement and rounded the corner back into the room. The parents didn’t acknowledge his presence, heads down on the bed clutching the body that was their son.

  Scribbling the time of death on the chart and as quiet as he could, he paused looking at the pale, freckled face of the boy. It was times like these that he was glad he wasn’t a parent but he also realized the twelve years they had with him were the most precious they would ever have.

  In the lounge, Oliver put on his coat, his emotions weighing heavily on him when he heard her behind him. “I bet you liked turning that boy’s life off, didn’t you? Like a switch,” she snapped her fingers, “just like that.”

  He turned to see Jacki, hands across her chest, the sarcastic smile exposing white teeth in contrast to her dark skin, her black eyes glaring at him. He squinted at her, “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I know you like playing God.”

  Oliver just relaxed, unclenching his fists that became an automatic reaction to her presence, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him anymore angry than she already had. “He had no life anymore and we all have the potential to play God, even you.” The corners of his mouth turned down in disgust. “That’s what we’re here for aren’t we? To help people in their time of need, or have you forgotten that? If that’s not playing God,” he held his arms out to the side in gesture and let them drop again, “I don’t know what is.”

  “But not like you, Doctor. You think you did him a favour, don’t you? How is it so easy for you?” The disdain left her face with a touch of sadness replacing it, he almost felt sorry for her. That pain was channelled and meant to be used as a weapon through her words. Her face suddenly seemed to age beyond her forty-four years.

  “Easy? You think that was easy for me? Not that it’s any of your business but their son was gone way before I did what they asked me to do. Now they can accept their loss and move on,” Oliver started to walk past her towards the door and stopped beside her, his face inches from hers, “It wasn’t for him.” he said, standing close, pointing back towards the room. “Sometimes, it’s better to let go what’s already gone. I did it for the living.”