The White Worm

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by Sam Siciliano


  “Ashamed.” My brow knotted up. All right, he didn’t think he could be a proper husband. He was probably worried about conjugal “duties”. That must go back to the problem with the prostitute, but something more seemed to be involved, some… mystery. Could he have some actual physical defect which would make the sexual act impossible for him? And how would he know that? Of course, if he were normal, he would know well enough whether he was capable or not. I hesitated. “Adam, do you know what onanism is?”

  This time he truly froze—he had the glass almost to his lips—and it hung suspended two inches below his mouth. He seemed to have forgotten to breathe, but then he sucked in air. At last he lowered the glass.

  “Well?” I asked.

  He let out a long shuddery sigh. “Yes—to my shame! Now…” He looked up at me, and his eyes had gone liquid. “Now you must understand.”

  I stared at him. “I do?”

  “Yes—yes. I have squandered my manhood, wasted… wasted…” He looked away, then took a huge swallow of brandy.

  Idiot, I thought. Dunce. I was not berating Adam, but myself. Even respectable physicians of a certain age still believed that every sexual act weakened the body, and of course school masters and vicars constantly warned young men about the dreadful consequences of masturbation. My laugh this time was brief and bitter. Could it really be so terribly simple, so inane, so stupid?

  “I suppose someone at school warned you about the consequences of onanism?”

  He nodded. “Yes, yes. Old Master Herbert warned us again and again. He told us what would eventually happen. Some of the boys thought it was funny. They even laughed afterwards, but not me. I knew it was wrong and what it would do to me! Oh I tried—I swear I did—but I simply could not help myself. I prayed and prayed, but that didn’t help. I still… I still don’t understand… why it should be so difficult to be pure.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, Adam. And I suppose the episode with the prostitute convinced you that the worst had already happened.”

  He sat upright. “Who told you about that? Surely not my father!”

  “No, no—I figured it out on my own. I have seen other men who have had a similar experience. It proves nothing—nothing at all. It does not mean you are not a man. It means you are not an animal who can copulate at will with any female. Nor does it mean there is anything physically wrong with you. In fact I am certain…” I smiled gently. “I am certain your manhood is completely… viable. It might take a little while, but should you marry Diana you will absolutely be a proper husband to her.”

  Again he seemed to freeze, the glass in mid-air, this time hovering over his knees. His eyes were locked on mine. “You are serious? You are not just trying to keep me from despair?”

  “I am trying to keep you from despair, yes—because there is simply no reason for despair. There is nothing wrong with you.”

  “But I thought…”

  “Yes, I know what you thought. It is an old idea—it is medieval medicine. ‘Each sexual act drains some vital essence, shortening one’s life. You only have so much essence, and if you squander it, you gradually become a drooling sort of idiot, pale and weak, like Uriah Heep.’ That is nonsense, Adam! Modern doctors no longer believe that.”

  “Can this be true?”

  “Yes—yes. Listen, I think I can demonstrate to you the absurdity of this whole theory. According to it, you should grow weaker over time as your vitality drains away. That is true, is it not? Well, then, your desire should also lessen and your ability to squander that essence. Now you tell me—I suspect you began as a boy. How old were you when you first discovered the act?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “So that was some six years ago. Has your desire waned over those six years?” He shook his head. “In fact, I’ll wager the frequency has not gone down, but quite the opposite.”

  His eyes were still locked on mine. “Yes. It’s gotten worse and worse. And when I’m around Diana… I can’t seem to help myself.” He shook his head. “It’s always her—always her that I…” He looked away. “It is shameful—it is. I can’t stop thinking about her, thinking about her naked and…”

  I leaned over and seized his arm, squeezed it tightly. “Look at me.” He swung his head round. “It is not shameful—it is not. It means that you desire her. That’s what happens when men and women love one another. It is not all pure and idyllic and soulful—it is carnal and fleshly as well—and it is all one, all part of love. You can love Diana, Adam. I know you can. You will not fail her, and you must know she will never fail you.”

  He stared at me a long while, then sank back into the chair. He stared briefly at the brandy, downed the glass in a single swallow, then covered his mouth with his big hand. “You would not lie to me, I know. You are my friend.”

  “Yes.”

  He lowered his hand, and an odd smile pulled at his lips, even as he shook his head. “What you must think of me. I must have seemed truly mad to you.”

  I laughed. “Yes.”

  He suddenly stood. “But Diana! How many times I have hurt her. Oh I must tell her—I must tell her at once.”

  I swallowed the last of my brandy and stood. “That would be a good idea. I think she would be most relieved.”

  “You don’t think it’s too late?”

  “I know it is not too late.”

  He strode out of the room and into the hallway, shouted, “Diana! Diana!” The door to her room was ajar, light streaming into the hall. He went in first. Diana stood up. She and Michelle had been sitting on a small sort of sofa. She had put on a blue woolen robe, dried and brushed out her long red hair. Her face, her eyes, still seemed wary, but she could not restrain a smile.

  “Oh, Diana.” He crossed the room in three huge steps, seized her hand. “I have been so stupid. I thought—I thought I was sick. I thought I could not—but Henry says there is nothing wrong with me. Nothing. I…” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’m sorry, so sorry for all my foolishness. I do love you. I swear I do.”

  Her face had been so pale, but a flush had appeared at each cheek, spread slowly outward. “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll stay with me? You’ll—”

  “Forever.” He kissed her hand again. She stared at him. He let go of her hand, then put his enormous hands on either side of her slender face. He hesitated only an instant, then bent his head and touched his lips to hers. Her long fingers gripped his arms just above the elbows and slowly tightened. She let go, then slipped her arms round him, even as he lowered his hands and embraced her. They were still kissing. Michelle was behind them, and she raised one eyebrow and gave me that crooked, one-sided smile. I noticed that Diana’s feet had left the ground. Her right calf and bare foot rose involuntarily as she tried to caress Adam’s leg.

  Michelle quietly stepped around them. Their heads had tilted slightly, their mouths opening wider. Michelle took my hand and we stepped outside into the hallway. “What on earth did you do, Henry?” she whispered. “Talk about a miracle cure!”

  “I should have figured it out a long time ago. It goes back to his school days and some stern half-crazed master. Adam has long been guilty of the frightful crime of onanism, and he thought it had drained him of all his manly essence and rendered him unfit for marriage.”

  She looked closely at me. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Oh for God’s sake! I cannot believe it. Although… when I was a girl, the sisters often told us about the great treasure of our virginity and the frightful consequences should we yield it up.” She drew in her breath slowly, then leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Very good, Dr. Vernier. A masterful diagnosis.”

  We heard a long kind of moan, and then Diana said, “Oh Adam,” in that sort of voice one only hears in bedrooms. I reached over and closed the door as quietly as I could, leaving us almost in darkness. Another door down the hall was still open with the lamp lit. “I think any dou
bts about his manhood may soon be resolved once and for all.”

  Michelle reached up and grasped my arms just above the elbows, then pushed me back against the wall. “Henry,” she whispered. She turned her head to kiss me. Our arms came round one another even as our mouths opened wider. Her body and her mouth were so familiar to me, but familiarity had not bred contempt, but instead immediate passion, warmth and comfort. Her kiss was playful at the end, something about the way she moved her jaw. She backed away and slowly drew in her breath. “We could still teach these youngsters a thing or two,” she said.

  “Oh, but the fun is in discovering for yourselves.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I do love you, you know, especially when you make wonderful things happen.”

  “And I love you. Let’s get to bed.”

  She laughed. “Forward man! Yes, let’s.” She took my hand. Behind the door came an odd cry, whether from Adam or Diana I could not tell.

  “Oh wait—I must speak to Sherlock. He will want to know.” I squeezed her hand. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

  “Very well. I’ll warm up the bed for you.” She went one way down the hall, I the other.

  I paused at the top of the stairs. Holmes stood before the distant fireplace, a tall thin figure holding a cigarette in hand. Mrs. Troughton sat in a nearby chair talking. He turned round and saw me, then raised his other hand. I slowly descended. A heavy silence had settled over the huge room, and the air was cold until I was near the fire. I pulled out my watch and saw that it was one thirty a.m. Little wonder I suddenly felt exhausted.

  Mrs. Troughton rose. “It’s long after midnight. I’ll be off to bed, gentlemen. I’ll sleep well tonight, I know, and I’ll give a prayer of thanks that the mistress is safe at last.”

  Holmes nodded. “Good night, madam. And thank you for your assistance in this business.”

  “It was the least I could do. And thank you, Mr. Holmes, for saving Diana’s life.” She nodded, smiled briefly at me, then walked away.

  Holmes’s drew on the cigarette. “Any luck with our reprobate, Henry?”

  “Oh yes.” I explained briefly what had happened.

  Holmes brow creased as he listened, then his mouth twitched once, twice, in and out of a smile. He shook his head at last. “Incredible. I am glad I entrusted the matter to you. It is a case I could have never solved, that sort of grand muddled tangle of the human psyche. Perhaps I should assume the role of Watson and write up your adventures, Henry. I could call this one ‘The Case of the Befuddled Bachelor.’ Surely the Strand would be interested in the story.”

  I laughed. “I suspect it would be somewhat too controversial.”

  “I suppose so. All the same, well done indeed. I only wish… It is a pity young men at school are subjected to school masters like Herbert rather than men like you. The educational establishment of Great Britain depends too much on dried-up old bachelor prudes.” Again that grimace of a smile. “Men like myself.”

  I stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know better.”

  He sighed, took a final draw on the cigarette, then tossed the butt in the fire. “I hope so. ‘Know better.’ Hard to be sure. Was it wisdom or foolishness…?” His gray eyes were fixed on mine. “I mean what passed with Mrs. Wheelwright. With Violet.”

  I hesitated. “It was neither, exactly. The brain deals in wisdom and foolishness, but the heart is another matter. We think that our brain reigns supreme, but the heart sometimes wields its own power and will not be denied.”

  Holmes shrugged. “It is far too late for philosophy, Henry. I shall smoke another cigarette, and I suspect Michelle must be waiting for you.” He smiled, and I knew that it had not required some labored deduction of that phenomenal brain for him to know why she was waiting.

  I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn. “I am tired. All the same, if you had not dealt with Arabella, Diana might well be dead by now. She and Adam would not have had their chance. You are the true hero of the hour, as always. And the way you dealt with that monstrous creature! I could not understand why you were shaking so earlier when you came out of the water.”

  He nodded. “It is true. I cannot remember when I last felt such fear. Momentum drove me into the water, the need to act, but once I was bobbing about there with Diana I had time to reflect! I did not know how long I might have or what the real odds were. It was only a sort of dumb luck, Henry, that the eel appeared a few minutes later when Lady Verr was in the pit, rather than earlier.”

  I smiled. “So you truly don’t believe in poetic justice, then?” He only shrugged. I sighed. “I am an agnostic, as you know, but in this case… I prefer to think that God had something to do with it.”

  Holmes had withdrawn his cigarette case and taken out another cigarette. “I hope so, Henry. I hope so.”

  I stared down at the flames, then suddenly noticed Holmes’s bare feet. His boots were nearby. He must finally be warming his feet after that icy plunge into the pit and all our time outside. They were white and bony, the long toes clear brethren to his thin fingers. Everyone had been solicitous of Diana, but no one had thought to look after him.

  “Go on, get to bed,” Holmes said. “I shall just go up after this last cigarette.”

  “Oh, I’ll stay with you that long. It is nice here by the fire. And I must make certain you limit yourself to only one more!” He smiled. I covered my mouth and yawned again. The tension of the long day had mostly dissipated. “You know, this time I do feel that I actually helped out somewhat, rather than just being a witless observer—helped with Adam, anyway, that is.”

  “You have always helped out, Henry. You have never been merely a witless observer. You have a way, especially, with these young women that I can never match.”

  “Well, your courage is incomprehensible to me. Yours and Michelle’s both.”

  He shrugged. “We all have our strengths. And our weaknesses.” He held the cigarette between thumb and forefinger and slowly drew in. The log on the grate made a crackling noise and spat out some sparks.

  * * *

  Holmes, Michelle and I were having a late breakfast around ten a.m. the next morning, when Diana and Adam finally appeared. They were dressed, but their hair was still somewhat astray. Hers was bound up, but a wispy red strand came down past her white ear, and another drooped over her forehead. Both also had a flush akin to a glowing coal, a warm radiance, which I recognized only too well. They appeared dazed and sleepy, but beautiful and very happy. Adam, in particular, was so transformed as to be almost unrecognizable. I realized that never before, in all the time I had known him, had I truly seen him happy.

  He stepped up to the table, Diana’s slender fingers clasped in his enormous hand, and smiled down at us all. “Mr. Holmes, Diana and I must be married!”

  Holmes regarded him thoughtfully, a certain humor showing in the antics of his mouth. “Yes, I suppose you must, and as soon as possible, I think. Best to present your father with a fait accompli.” They nodded. “Very well, then. You have both been dwelling in the parish longer than the required fifteen days, so you may dispense with the banns and purchase a license today from the Reverend Sloap. You can be married sometime tomorrow in the morning, as is customary. I know the vicar will be happy to perform the ceremony. Henry can serve as best man.”

  Adam nodded and his powerful fingers gripped my shoulder. “Oh yes—yes.”

  “Michelle can act as maid of honor. And as for myself… In my long career there is one duty I have never performed, nor is the opportunity ever likely to arise again.” He stared up at Diana, his eyes suddenly wary. “Miss Marsh, would I be presuming too much, or might I have the great honor of giving away the bride?”

  “Oh, Mr. Holmes—the honor is all mine!” She did not hesitate, but touched his cheek with the fingertips of her free hand. “There could be no one more worthy than you.” Her smile brought out the dimple by her mouth.

  For once Sherlock Holmes seemed at a loss for words.

  Ab
out the Author

  Sam Siciliano is the author of several novels, including the Titan Sherlock Holmes titles The Angel of the Opera, The Web Weaver and The Grimswell Curse. He lives in Vancouver, Washington.

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