Thou art no longer lonely in the world. – Nathaniel Hawthorne
I sometimes feel sorry for those who don’t have a calling. In the course of my life, I meet so many people whose jobs are nothing more than a way to earn a living; not a source of satisfaction or meaning, nor a sacred duty or trust, nor a labor of love, but rather just a means of keeping body and soul together. Now, that’s not so bad for young men who are working their way through school, or young women who are just marking time until the right man comes along. But for the poor women forced to lead lives of drudgery, or the men whose sacred fire has been quenched by years at a dead-end job, it must be horrible.
That’s why I’m so very thankful to be one of those who feel called to my work; as a young girl in Padua I was well-educated but quite sheltered, and since my dear father left me with more than enough to support me in great comfort I was quite content to while away the years in the study of medicine, philosophy and literature, and to amuse myself puttering in the garden. And so things might have remained had not Fortune declared otherwise; with the collapse of my country’s economy after the last war I was ruined, and so I took what remained and, like so many of my countrymen, came here to the New World to start a new life.
Though I probably know more of the secrets of the healing arts than all but the most gifted physicians, my learning was drawn entirely from my father’s tutelage and my own extensive studies after his death; I had no diploma from a university to set before the eyes of the stolid old men who ran the hospitals, nor could they be bothered to administer to a woman (let alone one for whom English was not her mother tongue) the practical and oral examinations by which I could have proved my skill. But while my sex and heavy accent presented barriers to my gaining employment as a doctor, they also provided me with the tools necessary to charm my way into a position as a nurse. And this proved a blessing in disguise, for it was through that situation that I eventually awakened to my true vocation.
The hospital at which I worked was recognized as a leader in caring for those who had been mutilated by traumatic injuries, both in their immediate care and in the complications that might arise in the months and years to come. It was soon recognized that I showed not the slightest revulsion or faintness in dealing with even the most horrifying disfigurement, and so naturally I was always assigned to deal with such cases. I firmly believe that they err who treat all maladies as merely things of the body, and that the spiritual component cannot be neglected; accordingly, I spent as much time as possible conversing with my patients, giving them encouragement in order to prevent their sinking into despair due to the great misfortunes which had come upon them. My long-term patients and those with chronic complaints soon came to rely upon me to lift their spirits, and would often share their troubles to me.
I had been working there some two years when I had the conversation which changed my life, with a young man who had left most of his lower body behind when he was brought home from the Argonne. The consequences of his injuries were severe, recurrent and worsening, and the prognosis was that he had not long to live. He often spoke to me of his troubles, and one quiet night when the ward was otherwise empty we were able to have a long and intimate conversation, because there was no one else I had to attend to; it was then he confided the source of his greatest pain to me.
“It’s not the dyin’ part,” he said; “’cause I knew when I went ‘over there’ that there was a chance of that, an’ livin’ as half a man ain’t really livin’ anyhow. It’s just that – an’ I’m sorry to be so blunt, Bea, but I don’t know how else to say it – well, I sure wish I could’ve enjoyed a lady before I went.”
Then and there, I knew what I had to do. I had never kissed a man before, but I had seen enough of it in the cinema to know how it was done; moreover, I was fully aware of the effect it would have. I stole a glance to be absolutely sure we were alone, and then I gave him as long and passionate a kiss as I dared. A look of wonderment crossed his face, and I whispered a promise in his ear and told him I would return later. He passed peacefully sometime before morning, with a serene and contented smile on his face.
At first, I found all of my gentlemen in a similar fashion, and arranged to meet them at their homes when I was off duty. But after a time I realized that it was not only the maimed who needed me, but others as well – the chronically ill, the very old, the hopelessly alienated, the desperately lonely – all of them could benefit from my ministrations. And as I grew more worldly I recognized that I could make a far more comfortable living at my new calling than I ever could as a nurse; furthermore, there were men in want of my help all over this great country, so I could hardly afford to be tied to any one place. As the years went by I got very good at seeking them out, at determining which of them really needed me and which I should pass by, at securing payment in advance, and at avoiding those who could not accept my profession and would surely have harassed or even imprisoned me had they recognized what I was doing.
Now the world is embroiled in another great war, and some say America will soon enter it as well; if that does happen, I will be ready to give peace to its victims. My father, Heaven forgive him, employed his esoteric skill to “protect” me from men by making it impossible for any living thing to survive contact with my flesh; the process thus rendered me immune to disease and decay, and I look today much as I have for well over a century. Through decades of experiment I succeeded in rendering casual contact harmless, yet I am still poisonous to the core; any man with whom I am intimate will within hours fall gently and painlessly into the sleep from which there is no awakening. So though normal relationships and children are forever forbidden to me, I have at last found a vital role in the world as the handmaiden of Death, calling him to those for whom his presence is not dread, but welcome.
(With grateful acknowledgement to the work of Nathaniel Hawthorne).
Another killer story Maggie, 🙂 Thanks.
In this case, literally. 😉
So true. The comment below about this being your best I mostly agree with, but in my mind there are a few that are very memorable. And yes this is a confession of having read all of them a couple of times through. Just enjoy your style and go on the theorem of only absorbing 40-50% of something the first time you read it.
Is there any chance of returning to the empathic courtesan of the future/alternative culture, or the lady traveling with the politician to the alien world that helped get the treaty through the good impression on the alien child and mother. It would seem that either of those could expand into longer stories or repeat appearances as to the good influence of the female esoteric on the political climates of those worlds.
Just trying to put a bug in your ear,love the sci-fi. Oh and did you ever get the book released with the others that was referenced in the comments of your other stories a while back? If so a link please if it is only out digitally thats fine to.
Man – you just made my day! Because I thought I was the only one that had to read these things two or three times to get the gist!!
Yeah … it’s like … I click on THC and see “Fictional Interlude” … and my mind goes … “Oh shit, another test! How much time do I have to read this thing? She’s not getting me THIS time!!”
And I’ll go through – sentence by sentence asking myself … “Is that sentence significant? Is there a clue there?” and I’ll be like … “Nah – that’s just a casual reference”. And then holy shit it turns out I completely missed the bus and THAT sentence held the whole storyline!!
Not easy being a dumbass. Although – I DID ACE my State Bouncer’s License test yesterday! I especially enjoyed the portion of the test where I had to throw a reserve police officer on the deck and restrain him. Fuck – you have no idea how good that felt!! LMAO!! 235lbs on his shoulder blade!!
It’s not you Krulac just simple human nature. I saw the study years ago that no matter how smart you are it is only possible to absorb approimately 40% of the details when you read some thing. It take another 2 or 3 times to get up to recognizing 2/3 of the information. And if memory serves me right to get over 90-95% recognition of the details takes eight or ten read throughs. Also this study was done on college students, undergrads, and professors and the numbrrs held out for all of the study group. So even the undrrgrads and professors the ones you woulf expect to have better retention didnt do any better than the freshmen.
And congrats on the test, back in the day when i did that when college was in session and the bars full it ws just a matter of being the craziest mofo in town to get the job. Another example of over regulation perhaps.?
No I don’t think it’s over-regulation. I was a bouncer in Waikiki almost 30 years ago and the manager expected us to just beat people up and throw them out. But today – we have a fairly litigious nation and bouncers aren’t allowed to just beat the hell out of people. You can only go hand’s on when a guy commits a felony – otherwise it’s talk to the guy / call the cops.
I found out I can’t even seize a cellphone and delete pictures when a guy takes pictures of a stripper on stage. He can only be asked to leave – but the pics and cellphone are his. I found that to be pretty unbelievable.
I try never to say “never”, but I really do view these stories as “slices of life”. I’m not a novelist, and I feel that some characters and situations are just better presented in a single episode. Still, I did manage to produce a sequel to Aella the Amazon’s story, so it’s not out of the question you might see Marilith again (though her tale seemed to confuse a few readers).
Well as I told Krulac, we all need to read things a few times to get get a better understanding.
Did the collaborative effort of prostitute stories mentioned in the comments a year or two back eve come to fruition?
And to any who notice,excuse my misspellings in these comments. For some reason when commenting here from my phone the spellcheck shuts down.
The reason that never went anywhere was that my blog picked up much faster than I ever suspected it would, so I just never had the time to deal with it! Sometime this autumn I’ll be doing two collections, one of my best columns and the other of my stories; they’ll probably be self-published in ebook form, and then if they do well a paper publisher may pick them up.
I’ll be keeping an eye out for that, then.
Whoa … I didn’t see that coming!
You weren’t supposed to. 😉
I think this was your best one!
I’m glad you liked it! 🙂
Definitely one of your best, though I still love the story about the Companion to the Superheroes the best.
That’s one of my personal favorites as well.
@ aspasialibertine
Are you referring to “The Specialist” or “The Companion”?
She means “The Specialist“.
The Specialist.
Thank you, Maggie. I didn’t guess the ending on the first reading – but then I never do! It’s only when I re-read your stories that I pick up the subtle hints that you’ve dropped throughout the narrative.
I do try to be subtle; I’m glad that I’m still succeeding!
Much like Love & Life, sometimes Mercy & Death ride on the same pair of wings.