Anonymous - Dara

Too tired to raise my chin from my chest, I felt like a cloth doll as I was swung around on the men's shoulders and, when they tired of their rejoicing at the defeat of the 'Bruiser' and brought me down again, I collapsed in a crumpled heap onto the cobble stones. I have no memory of what happened next but it seems that Vladimir, with Dara's help had carried me back to our room and washed and anointed salve to my wounds. Dara coaxed spoonfuls of brandy between my swollen lips. Then Vladimir undressed me and put me to bed. And there I stayed for two days, blind, deaf, aching all over and unwilling to move.

On the third day, after a good night's sleep, the bruises ached less and I was able to see and hear Dara a little as, with big anxious eyes, she clucked over me like a worried hen. She nursed me back to my normal healthy self with tender cuts of meat and thick chicken soup. In less than a week I was on my feet and ready for work again.

On our next visit to 'The Dog's Head' some days later, we learnt that my opponent, like me, had also taken about a week to recover from the fight. It was thought that the 'Bruiser' had cracked his skull when he fell onto the cobbles, for he lay in a coma and no one could get a word out of him for nearly five days. He was a shaken man when he did eventually get out of bed and, within a few days, had left for Philadelphia. No doubt he was too shamed to face the scorn of the men of Chicago. What was more important to me was that my employers gave no sign that they had heard anything about the fight with the 'Bruiser'.

Some weeks later Vladimir introduced us to a Dr Lionel Shepherd. A tall, thin man with light grey hair that hung down to his shoulders like a lion's mane. We were having a drink in 'The Dog's Head' at the time and I gathered from the conversation which followed that the doctor was about to open a health institution on Lakeside nearabouts where Vladimir had his fruit and vegetable stall.

He was an impressive figure, wearing a white shirt with a high-winged collar that rose up from a dark blue cravat and a black tail-coat. His deep rich voice, elegant manners and scholarly appearance commanded respect and attention from all who were in his company.

On learning that I was in the soap business, he asked if he could call on me as he had something of importance to discuss that might prove profitable to both parties.

Eager, curious and excited, Dara and I sat in our room the following evening awaiting the doctor's call. That's the effect he had on most everyone. You couldn't help feeling, in his presence, that every time he was about to speak you would hear something of grave importance.

When he did arrive, he got down to business straight away. He had, he said, a formula for a medication soap that was an excellent remedy for many skin complaints. The ingredients were a mixture of common herbs that could be obtained without any difficulty. Would my employers, James S. Kirk amp; Company, be prepared to manufacture the soap according to his formula under contract, he asked, and confine the supply of this soap to him alone?

I agreed to put the proposition to my employers and added that, provided the order was large enough, I could see no problems which were likely to arise in the execution of such an order under contract. He thanked me most politely, impressing on me the need for secrecy in this matter, then invited Dara and me to join him in a drink at the tavern.

As I had thought, my employers were only too pleased to enter into a contract to supply the doctor with his medication, the first delivery to commence after a month, by which time the doctor estimated he would be ready to open his health institution. I was not to see the opening of the institution because, a week before it was due to open, I received an urgent message from my mother calling me home as my father was seriously ill. Although I dropped everything that I was busy with at the time and set off immediately, my father was dead before my arrival at the farm.

The shock of my father's death so numbed my brain that it was only during the funeral did I appreciate that his passing was going to completely change my life from then onwards. I would have to take over the farm, finish my work as a salesman for James S. Kirk and, what was more important than anything else, say goodbye forever to Dara. And what's more, do all of these things within a few days as it was impossible for my wife to cope with all the work of the farm.

After informing my employers that I couldn't continue my work as a salesman, not even for another day, I made my way to the rooming house at Lakeside to spend my last night with Dara. I shall never forget the look on her face when I told her what had happened to bring about the utter finality of this last time we could be together.

All the colour went out of her face as she put her hand to her mouth. With wide-open eyes she just stared at me as if she was unable to comprehend what I was saying. I tried to look away but that wide-eyed stare of hers brought my words to a stuttering halt and held me spellbound. She swayed and I brought my arms around her and held her close.

It seemed as if eons of time went by before she pulled away from me saying, 'Well, if this is going to be our last night together, let's make it a happy one-something to remember. We won't talk about you going.'

She came back to me and, putting her arms around my neck, looked up at me. 'Elmer, darling, don't say goodbye in the morning. Get out of bed while I'm still asleep and just go.'

Her mood suddenly changed. 'What would you like to eat? We have got chicken and slices of cooked beef. While I'm preparing the meal, go out and get a bottle of wine.'

After our supper we talked for hours about all sorts of things, never once touching on my departure in the morning. There was no passion or joy in our loving when we got to bed. Most of the night we just clung to each other under the bedclothes as if we were trying to shut out the harsh realities that would come with daylight.

… The years go by. The farm prospers. I have adapted myself to a different lifestyle, but there is an empty space in my heart that only Dara could occupy. When I get low and depressed I go to the barn where I have secreted away an unsigned letter I received from Dara shortly after we parted. Reading the letter lifts my spirits and when I put it back in the little tin box I seem to hear her voice coming to me through the mists of time and space, whispering the words that ended her letter: 'Goodbye, my love.'

I knew from the very moment Elmer opened the door to our room that something dreadful had happened. He just stood there with a worried expression on his face.

Going up to him, I took him by the hand. 'Tell me, Elmer. I'll understand.'

He gazed at me for a little while as if trying to imprint on his memory the features of my face, and then exhaled a long sigh. 'The milk sickness got my father and he died last Friday. I'll have to leave Chicago and take his place on the farm. They are all depending on me.'

Looking down and speaking in a voice so low that I could hardly hear him, he continued, 'I'm only here for the night; tomorrow morning I'll have to go back to the farm.'

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.