Dara Read online

  Only two women turned up for treatment on the first afternoon we opened the institution for the ladies of Chicago. Another distribution of handbills especially printed to catch the attention of the ladies brought many more female patients seeking consultation with the doctor.

  The big attraction was the Electropathic Machine. The patients viewed it with awe on first entering the building. Always punctiliously courteous with ladies, the doctor would take them gently by the arm to the machine, explaining that electricity was a vital force that brought energy and life to the body. Taking up a simple ebony rod that he had placed by the machine, he would rub it with his silk handkerchief and demonstrate the magnetic power of electricity by picking up pieces of paper or material on the smooth end of the ebony rod.

  The doctor was revered by nearly all his women patients. There was a pleasant, old-fashioned manner and confidence in his speech that won them over as he explained that the magnetic qualities of electricity not only drew out the harmful poisons from the blood, but also invigorated the entire bodily system.

  As they gazed up at him with simple trust in their eyes, he would announce in solemn tones, 'We have, with this machine, an important invention that will do much to relieve the miseries that only the female is subjected to. The Electropathic Machine, through these small coppered pads, puts life and force into everything it touches. When the pads are Placed on the afflicted parts it instantly brings relief to such complaints as rheumatism, backache, kidney, liver and bladder troubles. The machine will also cure female functional irregularities, hysteria and loss of appetite.'

  I never did understand fully how the electropathic treatment worked. According to the doctor, a high electrostatic shock was transmitted from a friction machine, through wire, to the coppered pads placed on the patient's body. After the doctor had located the seat of the trouble, it was my responsibility to take the patient behind a screen where she bared that part of her flesh that would receive the electric shock. When she had laid herself down on the couch I would place the coppered pads on that part of the body that was causing the trouble and the doctor would then cause the machine to transmit the electricity.

  The ladies were most impressed, declaring how much better they felt after the electric shocks. I could do no other than believe them as they came back frequently for more of the same treatment. Word soon spread among the womenfolk of the town of how efficacious this magical machine was at curing ailments peculiar to women that soon we were taking as much money in the afternoons as we were with the men in the evenings.

  In the mornings the three of us were kept busy mixing herbs and preparing the powders, salves and medicines. When I was alone with Bob Derry he was usually talkative, self-opinionated and bossy. With the doctor he was always very deferential. Any knowledge Bob Derry had about medical matters was shallow and superficial and he knew it. He was a young man anxious to go ahead no matter how, and never missed an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the doctor in the hope of learning more about the health business. I thought that was all there was to it until I observed him skimming a percentage of the takings. With the sales money he was always perfectly accurate and remarkably quick at giving change and, as he twisted and turned, you needed sharp eyes to see how some of the dollars found their way into his own pockets instead of the bag hanging at his waist. Keeping a very careful watch on him, I calculated that he was stealing about twenty dollars a night.

  Much to my surprise the doctor just nodded his head and walked away when I told him what I had seen. Following him into the office, I asked, Aren't you going to do something about Bob skimming the takings?'

  Seated at his desk, he said wearily in a voice so low that I could hardly hear him, 'No, I am not going to do anything about it.'

  Seeing the puzzled, anxious look on my face he said by way of an explanation, 'Bob Derry is excellent as a barker and a clerk. I don't think there is anyone around here who could do it better.'

  'But he's stealing!' I interjected.

  'He thinks he's stealing and you think he is deceiving me. It's not so and I will tell you why. The institution is taking a lot more money than I ever expected it to and that is mainly due to Bob's persuasive talk at the front and the extra sales he makes after the patients leave my consulting rooms. You must admit that is true.'

  I nodded my head in agreement.

  'If he had been an honest man he would have asked for commission on the sales or for more money, or both, and in view of the undoubted success of the business and my need to retain his services, I would have given him, within reason, whatever he asked for. But he is not an honest man and prefers to steal what I would have given him freely. It has gone too far for me to do anything about it. If I was to accuse him of stealing now I would have no option but to terminate his employment and then try to find someone as equally good as he is as a barker and clerk.'

  I had another complaint about Bob Deny but, in view of the doctor's attitude about the stolen money, I decided to remain silent and deal with the matter myself. Bob was the type of man who, whenever he found himself alone with a young woman, couldn't keep his hands to himself. I was never at ease in his company, not knowing from one moment to another when he would attempt to take liberties with me. Impertinent as a monkey and as lecherous as a goat, he constantly took advantage of me, fondling the cheeks of my bottom when my hands were immersed in a bowl of claggy medical mixture. Oh yes, he knew when to make his approach, creeping up on me when I was least expecting him to attack. Twice he got a hand down my blouse and grabbed one of my breasts. It was most painful trying to loosen the grip of his fingers on my tender flesh.

  I began to view him with an excess of loathing and, to make matters worse, when I reprimanded him he would just stand looking at me with a sneer on his face. It was as if he was devoid of any feelings of sensitivity and got some sort of perverse pleasure in seeing me in a state of nervous agitation and distress.

  One day, exasperated beyond endurance, I screamed, 'For God's sake leave me alone.'

  Nothing deterred him. With a lascivious smile on his face he came up to me and began to stroke my back. 'Now, now, Dara, don't take on so, and don't bring God into this. You don't fool me. You and I are two of a kind. Like me, you live under Sod's Law not God's Law.'

  I pushed him away and bent down to pick up a mixing bowl on the floor. He was on me in a trice, holding up the back of my skirt he tugged at the hairs around my slot with his fingers. My forbearance snapped. Turning round swiftly, I grabbed him by the ears and, in a boiling rage, pulled him towards me and brought my knee up sharply against the balls between his legs. With an agonized expression he crouched with protective hands covering his privates. I was so angry I kicked his backside so hard that he fell on his face. As he lay on the floor gasping for breath, I bent down and said in a quiet voice, 'You'll get the same again if ever you try to take liberties with me.'

  From that day on he remained distant and reserved, but he never gave me any more trouble.

  Thinking back over the years to the times of Bob Deny makes me reflect on experiences with other men who also had his attitude to the female sex. Thank goodness all men are not like that. Nevertheless, far too many, with an innate arrogance, think we females exist just for their pleasure. They cannot understand why we don't swoon with submissive desire when they grab at our breasts and roughly finger our private parts. The sight of our soft delicate flesh so often brings to the surface their animal instinct for dominance and cruelty.

  My talks with married women have revealed how few of them have been warmed by loving caresses. Night after night they are raped by their husbands. How else can it be described when a man without one word of love roughly pulls up a wife's nightgown and, with grunts and groans, empties his lust into her, only to roll onto his back to snore and snuffle through the rest of the night. This bondaged enslavement to a man is the price women must pay to satisfy their instinctive desire for a home and babies.

  Maidens yearn for the da
y when some man will sweep them off their feet and into a marriage which will be a romantic love story of a kind so different in every way from the lives of the unfortunate drudges who are already married. In their nubile fancies they live only for true love, for to them it is the only reality that gives meaning to life. Every romantic thought that comes into their heads is a silent prayer for love, prepared to sacrifice everything for the one they favour. If only men were less aggressive and domineering and received their wives' gentle affections with tenderness and appreciation, then conjugal bliss would be within the reach of everyone.

  With the approach of the fall the daylight hours lessened before the long shadows of night and so it was with the number of patients seeking our services in the evenings. These extra hours of leisure were absorbed by readings from one or other of the many plays written by William Shakespeare.

  Luckily there was no falling off in the number of ladies requiring treatment from the Electropathic Machine in the afternoons. Without their money the health institution could not have continued as a viable business. Bob Derry's income from his skimmings must have lessened too. Rather than see him standing bored and idle, the doctor often sent Bob off earlier than usual. I was always delighted to see the front doors locked after Bob's departure for this meant another evening devoted to the works of Shakespeare.

  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 sadde
ned 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.

  'Only two or three spoonfuls of soup had passed my lips when my father cried out for my assistance. He was crouched down between the woman's ample thighs, holding on to the wooden forceps that he had inserted into her vagina. “Hold on to the forceps, my boy,” he said, “I am just about all in and will have to rest awhile.” There were large beads of perspiration dripping from his forehead as he stumbled to the nearest chair. Taking over the responsibility for the forceps I closed my eyes but had to open them again when my father called out in a hoarse voice, “For God's sake keep a firm hold on that baby or it will slip back again.” With a firm but gentle grip I pulled on the forceps until the baby's head came into view. “That's better,” my father muttered, and then, raising his voice, “Bear down, woman. And, you, Lionel, go on pulling. We're nearly there. Go on, woman, bear down. It won't be long now.” As more of the baby's head began to appear the vagina was distended to an extent that, up to that time, I wouldn't have thought possible. Catching a glimpse of a mass of bushy black hairs above the vagina stirred my stomach and filled my head with nausea. The next thing I knew was a sudden movement of the wooden forceps and there lay the baby between its mother's thighs, covered in streaks of blood. Dropping the forceps beside the new born infant, I got outside, rushing through the rooms with my hand over my mouth, to spew the contents of my stomach outside the front door.'