Anonymous - Dara

With a warm fire glowing in the office hearth and each of us with a steaming cup of coffee, we would settle down to readings from the lays. The doctor delivered, with magnificent eloquence, the words of the male characters, and I answered for the females. He would stop me occasionally to correct my pronunciation or to suggest that I deliver certain passages with more feeling and therefore give more meaning to the words. I learnt a great deal under his tuition and guidance and there was a marked improvement in my elocution. At his suggestion I committed to memory long passages that I would recite again and again until I was word perfect and able to deliver the lines with dramatic effect.

Shakespeare created some interesting women who had an almost obsessive hold on my imagination. I was particularly intrigued by characters like Juliet, Desdemona, Olivia inTwelfth Night, Rosalind and Viola and the two girls, Hermia and Helena, inA Midsummer Night's Dreamwho 'grew together like a double cherry'. My favourite of all these female characters will always be Juliet because she is the very essence of love. A love that burned so fiercely was bound to end in tragedy.

Whilst most of the evenings were spent in this fashion not all of our precious hours together were given over to Shakespeare. Sometimes we whiled away the evenings in desultory conversation. It was on one such evening that I asked him why he had never married.

He remained silent for some minutes and, realizing that my question had uncovered a sore spot in his memories, I was about to change the subject when he raised his bowed head and gave me a searching look. It was as if he was trying to find pity and compassion in my face.

'My dear Dara, I want to answer your question, but I hesitate to do so because you may find the answer distasteful. I hesitate because I don't want to reveal a side to my nature that would diminish the respect and friendship that I believe you have for me.'

I stifled my curiosity about any secrets he had buried in the past to assure him that my loyalty and friendship were not to be doubted and went on to say, 'Whatever troubles you, Doctor, will only bring forth sympathy from me and, I hope, understanding.'

'Your loyalty has never been in doubt, Dara. When alone together like this, please address me as Lionel. Your friendship warrants, at the least, that privilege. As it happens I am not a doctor. Although my father had a medical degree, I have no registrable qualification to claim the title of doctor.'

My astonishment at this confession must have shown itself on my face. 'You may well look surprised, Dara, for, as you know, I am deeply versed in all medical matters. Without going into details, I learnt a great deal from my father and, after his death, I gathered more from other doctors with whom I was privileged to work as an assistant. it was always my intention to become a physician by profession and, with that in mind, my father found a place for me at Columbia College where I took the Literate and Scientific Course. Because of my father's death I had to forsake my studies after only one year to return home to provide an income for my mother and me. And this I did by working as an assistant for other doctors in the neighbourhood.

'I was heart-broken when my mother died two years later, for I loved her most dearly. That was when I started my wanderings, setting up a number of establishments similar to this health institution. They never lasted more than a year or two before some member of the medical profession in the locality discovered that I had no qualifications and hounded me out of town.'

He paused for a moment to blow his nose and I used this opportunity to exclaim, 'So all this moving about from one place to another made it impossible for you to take on the responsibilities of marriage.'

'No! No!' he answered impatiently. 'That is not the explanation. I had many opportunities to wed good ladies who made it clear that my advances would be welcomed.'

'I can believe that, Lionel, for you are a handsome man and must have been even more attractive when you were younger. Why didn't you marry any of them?'

“The answer to that will come later,' he said. 'First allow me to tell you about my youth. I felt the first radiant glow of love at sixteen when I became infatuated with the daughter of a farmer who was a new arrival in our neighbourhood. Just to catch a glimpse of her as she walked past our house would transfix me with breathless admiration and yearning. In my eyes she was an angel of purity and beauty that could only be worshipped from afar. I was too shy to approach her to make her acquaintance and I spent many anxious hours at our front window in the hope of seeing her walking into town. She had a springy step that bounced her virginal breasts which quickened my senses and sent the blood rushing to my head.

'I was in desperate straits, unable to concentrate on my studies and off my food. She was constantly in my thoughts throughout the day and tormenting my dreams at night. Writing poems was one way that I could express my feelings for this angelic girl who stirred my imagination to raptures of heavenly love.

'One drowsy, hot summer afternoon I was sitting in woodland seeking inspiration for another poem that would describe the noble qualities of the one I loved when I was disturbed by the sound of someone kicking the fallen leaves that lay under the trees. Peering through the thorn and brushwood that hid me from view, I trembled like an aspen leaf in a gentle breeze, when I saw it was she, the goddess of my dreams. Carrying a towel under her arm, she gave a searching look at her surroundings before she proceeded to undress. She was facing the river and had her back to me as she slowly removed each article of clothing. In the shimmering light of the river and the woodland her pearly pink skin took on a delicate translucent beauty that caught my breath and held me in silent awe. Her form was perfect and without a blemish. Walking warily to the river she brought into view a proud, shapely breast that matched the fleshy symmetry of her buttocks.

'I had to sit back and try to control my senses as she splashed in the water like a wood nymph at play. The next time I looked she was on the river bank drying her shoulders with the towel. Anger and horror gripped my mind as I gazed in disgust at a large triangle of damp, dark matted hair that clung to the apex of her thighs and crawled upwards to her belly like some grotesque crab. It was as if the good God above us, jealous of her perfect beauty, had taken up a handful of foul, slimy, mud and splattered it between her legs. Nauseous vomit began to gather in my throat and mouth and I bent down and hammered the earth with a raging fist. Before very long I was retching in disgust at this vision of black obscenity normally hidden from the eyes of man. It was this vision of the female body that was to lie at the back of my mind like a festering sore for the rest of my life.'

Lionel had lapsed into a gloomy silence and, curious to know more about his boyhood, I urged him to continue.

He sighed as if saddened by the memories of the past. 'Some weeks after this emotional upheaval to my finer susceptibilities, I had to accompany my father when he was called to the bedside of a woman who had been in labour for five days. At the time he had taken to his bed with a feverish head cold. On learning that the strength of the woman in labour was ebbing fast and that her relatives feared she was near to death, he struggled out of bed and nearly fell as he was so unsteady on his feet. My mother protested most fervently that he was in no state of health to travel the four miles to this woman's home. But, on seeing the determination in his face, she gave way on condition that I drove the horse and buggy. Despite the coverings of two or three warm blankets, he shivered and coughed throughout the journey. Helping him as far as the bedroom door, I then retired to the kitchen to partake of a bowl of hot soup.