The Red Staircase

by Gwendoline Butler

  Ariadne was looking around her with interest. I realized with surprise that this was the first time she had ever been inside a peasant house. It was a first time for me too. Inside the cottage it was cosier and more comfortable than I had expected. Certainly it was crowded with furniture – a heavy table, a bed and a wall-cupboard, all of dark wood and clumsy construction, more or less home made, I should think – and everywhere smelt of cabbage; but it was a home.

  Katia’s dignified reception of us made it clear that it was her home even though Dolly’s grandfather had owned her own grandfather as a chattel, and I liked her for it. I was the one who smiled at her; Dolly didn’t smile, but continued to look preoccupied, while Ariadne stared around her with a strained expression.

  Ariadne and I had placed our baskets on the table, but although Katia gave a polite dip as if to say thank you, she didn’t hurry to look at them; instead, she stayed and watched Dolly Denisov. ‘The child needs a doctor, Excellency, and, as you know, there is not one in the village.’ She gave me a look as she said this; I had never wished more that I was properly qualified.

  ‘And you want me to send for one? I could do that, of course, but I think I have brought you help.’ Dolly sounded thoughtful. ‘Where is the child?’

  Katia nodded towards an inner room. ‘In there with his mother, poor little thing.’

  ‘He’s not crying,’ said Ariadne. ‘Madame Mozorov said he was crying painfully.’

  Katia smiled. ‘Oh, you asked her, did you? Well, you should have known what sort of an answer you’d get; that Mozorov woman always likes to tell a tale. So they didn’t tell you that it was Katia who had come to the big house? I left a message with the servants, but they’re a hopeless lot you’ve got there now, Excellency, and you ought to know it. Hopeless. Thieves, too, I dare say.’

  Clearly there was no love lost between the village people and the servants at the big house.

  ‘No, the little man’s asleep now,’ went on Katia. ‘Do you want to see him?’

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb him,’ I began nervously, but Dolly cut across me: ‘Let him be brought in.’ There was no mistaking the command in her voice, and Katia could not have disregarded it even if she had wanted to. In any case, the child was already at the door in his mother’s arms. The girl stood there shyly for a moment and then came forward and stood by her mother. The two were alike in feature and stature, plump, well-built women. I knew the girl at once for the one who had visited me so secretly. She smiled at me; I smiled back. I thought now that she was younger than I had calculated, younger than me. Katia was probably no older than Dolly Denisov, I guessed, though from her red-cheeked, weather-beaten complexion you would never know it.

  Of the child there was not much to see; in spite of the heat he was so muffled up in wraps and shawls that nothing more than the top of his head was visible. His grandmother was wrong, though; he was not asleep. I knew it at once, the knowledge flooded in through my own body. He was not unconscious, but he was at a very low ebb indeed. This too, I knew strongly. I had been reluctant to come here to see the child, but I was here now and could not turn away. I felt sad as I remembered the bright, intelligent baby I had seen such a short time before.

  ‘What is the trouble? What sort of illness is it? How long has he been ill?’ This was Dolly.

  ‘For two days now,’ whispered the girl. ‘He could not take his food, and then he began to cry. Now he does not cry, but just lies. And that worries me more.’

  Rightly so, I thought.

  ‘I wonder if it’s a fever,’ said Dolly.

  ‘He was hot. Now he is deathly cold,’ said Katia.

  She knows he is dying, I thought. And not a fever. Some sort of internal obstruction, flashed through my mind.

  Almost against my will, I went over to the baby and stared at the pale, shrivelled little face. The girl hugged the baby to her more tightly, as if she didn’t want me to see. Above his head her own face was now expressionless, the smile faded.

  I lifted the shawl back, although I sensed her reluctance. ‘Let me see,’ I said gently.

  ‘He has always been a delicate boy.’ Katia stepped forward defensively.

  ‘Yes.’ I held the shawl for a moment, and then softly replaced it. I already knew about the tiny, shrunken, twisted left leg. But the whole body seemed shrunken now. ‘So I see.’ The mother looked at me in a wordless, piteous plea.

  What possible future could there be for a crippled child in a poor Russian peasant household? Was not oblivion better? Didn’t I know it in my heart? No wonder I had been reluctant to come in.

  ‘At least he won’t have to serve in the army like his father,’ said Katia, as if she’d read my thoughts.

  The child gave a mewing cry. ‘Is he in pain?’ said Dolly. She looked at me.

  ‘Yes, he’s in pain.’ I avoided meeting his mother’s eyes.

  Deliberately, I tried to withdraw myself. I made the cold decision not to help. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. Better to let the child die, better he should cease to live now, without further pain. I said to myself: No. No, no, nothing shall happen. I gritted my teeth, aware that Dolly was watching me with curiosity. I gave her an awkward smile, but she wouldn’t leave me alone.

  ‘Do take another look, Rose,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you know about babies. Have you ever seen such a case as this before?’

  ‘I know very little about infants.’

  ‘But you’re not looking.’ She put her arm round me and turned me gently but firmly towards the child. ‘And he is looking at you.’

  It was true; the child had opened his large, dark brown eyes and was gazing at the room, not as if he saw anything but certainly with some consciousness. I saw him blink. His grandmother crossed herself, and muttered a prayer under her breath. The mother gave a little cry and started to stroke her son’s cheek. ‘Oh, do look, Rose!’ said Dolly.

  But I was too preoccupied with what was happening to me to answer. It was as if I was being pulled towards the child. Whether I wanted it or not, some energy within me was flowing towards him. The process was beyond my control, it was quite involuntary. I didn’t wish it to happen, but it was happening and I couldn’t prevent it. I wanted now to save him. No matter what his life might turn out to be in the future, I wanted to save it.

  I tried to collect my thoughts. I had brought an overall with me in a bag, and a few simple drugs. I put on the overall, tying the belt slowly while I studied the child. He had a tremendous fever, I was sure of that, so the first thing must be to reduce it before he had a convulsion which offered the risk of damaging the brain. I sat on a stool and held out my arms for him. Reluctantly he was handed over. I removed some of the wrappings, ignoring Katia’s cry of protest.

  ‘Get me a bowl of water and some towels. Water from the pump will do; you need not heat it.’

  The water was produced almost immediately, and I stripped the child of his remaining clothes and sponged him down. After a stunned silence, there was an outburst of crying from Katia. ‘It will cool him,’ I said calmly. More calmly than I felt.

  But it soon became apparent even to Katia that the child was easier and more comfortable for being sponged, and so she shut up. The others just watched me in silence. A gentle investigation with my fingers convinced me that there was a mass in his intestines which I could palpate, so there was an internal obstruction of some sort, but how caused I was not experienced enough to judge.

  ‘Have you given him anything unusual to eat?’ I asked his mother. ‘Some food he has not eaten before?’

  She shook her head. ‘He will not eat,’ she said simply.

  I had some calomel in my bag which would have acted as a simple purgative, but I dared not use it after her words, which convinced me that this was no simple case. I reached down to my bag and drew out a little packet of powder.

  ‘A spoon?’ I requested. ‘And some honey?’

  ‘I’ve brought some honey,’ announced Dolly. ‘Ariadne,
that glass jar – hand it over.’

  ‘We have honey of our own,’ said Katia. ‘We have bees.’

  ‘Any honey,’ I said impatiently. A spoon was offered, and I dug it into the jar of Dolly’s honey – the produce of bees from the Black Sea, I noticed. I mixed a small amount of the powder in a half-spoonful of the dark, fragrant stickiness and inserted it inside the child’s mouth. He looked surprised, but accepted it.

  ‘What is it you are giving him?’ whispered Dolly.

  ‘Acetyl-salic acid powder. Quite harmless, but it relieves pain.’

  The child took the honey well. It was possible, I thought, that he was simply dehydrated and underfed, and that, left alone, he would cure himself. I kept him on my lap for a minute, then gave him back to his mother. ‘I’ll leave some of this powder. He can have some more in the middle of the day, and some more tonight.’

  The mother sat nursing her child, whose eyes remained open, while Katia helped Ariadne to unpack the baskets and Dolly gave them orders. ‘Put the honey there, Ariadne. Honey is always very good for babies, Katia. See if you can get him to take a spoonful every so often. The wine is for the mother, it will improve her milk; I dare say there may be something amiss there too, she looks very pale, poor thing … Those are infants’ clothes there, and do use them. It is old-fashioned to swaddle the child so. Exercise of the limbs is the thing, remember, Katia.’ Katia muttered something about the rigours of fresh air.

  For almost the first time the child’s mother spoke. In a soft voice she said: ‘He is easier.’

  Again, Katia crossed herself. ‘That’s good,’ said Dolly with satisfaction. ‘See if you can get him to feed.’ She looked round, gathering Ariadne and me up with her eyes. ‘We must be off. I shall send for the doctor, as I said, Katia.’

  There was a small bustle as we left; an old man mysteriously appeared from somewhere and helped us untether the horse and establish ourselves in the governess-cart again. Dolly took the reins, but before we could move away, Katia came hurrying out of the house. Quietly, with the satisfied air of one delivering an important announcement, she said: ‘The child has taken some milk.’

  ‘Oh, that’s splendid, Katia, splendid,’ said Dolly. ‘Just what I wanted to hear.’

  As we moved away, Ariadne let out a long breath, as if she had been holding herself in all this time. ‘They are really quite comfortable in there,’ she said. ‘It’s not at all what I imagined, but quite clean and home like.’

  ‘I always told you so.’ Dolly touched the horse with her whip. ‘But you never believed me.’

  Ariadne sounded almost disappointed, which was puzzling, but I had no inclination to think about it. I had plenty to think about on my own account.

  ‘You’re silent, Rose,’ said Dolly, but she did not press me. I was thinking about the child, wondering what good I had done for him, and what future there could ever be for him. Had I treated him for his own sake? Or to satisfy some craving inside me? There seemed such a mixture of motives in my heart. In St Petersburg they sold brightly painted wooden dolls. You unscrewed the dolls, and there was another one inside; and inside that doll, yet another one; and then another. I was like that doll. I was always finding another Rose inside me to surprise me. But I wanted that child to live.

  ‘I’m so glad the child seemed easier when we left,’ said Dolly. She looked briefly towards me and I caught her glance, bright with satisfaction. ‘And he really did, don’t you think so?’

  ‘Now you’re frowning,’ said Ariadne.

  ‘Am I? It’s the sun shining in my eyes, and I think my head aches.’ It was true; suddenly I felt a dull ache behind my eyes.

  Peter met us in the hall on our return. The first thing he said was: ‘You have worn this girl out.’ I saw him give Dolly a questioning look.

  I stopped abruptly. ‘No, I’m not tired.’ Suddenly I knew the reason for my discomfort, it wasn’t the sun giving me a headache. ‘I’m just angry,’ I said.

  ‘Good God, why?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I’m angry because I felt so helpless today. I did nothing, when I wanted to do so much. If the child gets better, nature will have cured him, that’s all. Some constriction inside him will have eased. If he dies, nature will have been too much for me. It’s too much for most doctors, as we admit in our hearts.’

  ‘You eased him, Rose. I saw it happen,’ said Dolly. ‘And it was very interesting, too. Spontaneous and happy. Natural. Yes, it was natural.’ She looked at her brother. ‘That is how it was, Peter!’

  ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Don’t go on.’

  ‘I will say it. You were the means.’

  ‘I don’t admit it,’ I said. ‘I think I was as near as nothing no help at all. That’s what maddens me, can’t you see?’

  ‘That’s not like you to say that; the Rose Gowrie I have got to know does not readily admit defeat.’ Peter sounded intense; at once moved and excited.

  ‘But you don’t know me very well. I am beginning to ask how well I know myself. I see now I have a gift for rushing into situations – for good or bad. That unlucky gift I will award myself.’

  ‘I believe what I have seen with my own eyes,’ said Dolly stoutly. ‘And I am glad to have seen it.’

  ‘But what did you see? A sick baby take a sudden turn for the better. It happens all the time, children are volatile, life-seeking little things, they want to live and so struggle for it.’

  ‘Do they?’ said Dolly drily. ‘I’ve seen plenty die. Especially peasant babies. It’s more common than not. I tell you, that child’s life was not worth a penny-piece till you took hold of him.’ Once again that satisfied note of triumph in her voice. She sat down on a soft, low chair, and swung one foot carefully. ‘Trust the judgement of your friends. I had heard all about you, and nothing but good, from Miss Gowrie, who is a great teller of tales as you must very well know. She has many correspondents back in your own country, and she knew what you’ve worked for and the sort of girl you were. She is always picking up little bits of gossip and information about all sorts of people and passing it on – it amuses her and there is no harm done. She is never malicious.’

  ‘Was this before you asked me to come to you?’

  ‘Oh, long before that,’ said Dolly absently.

  Why did I not see the significance then of that remark? But I was consumed by my own feelings.

  ‘You were frightened,’ Dolly continued. ‘I saw it in your face in Katia’s cottage, and it is very understandable. It’s a great responsibility to be able to heal, but it is very strange and wonderful as well … Yes, I can see how you wish to turn away from it sometimes. That is what you are doing, my dear. But I believe you have a very important life before you if it is well directed. One must face life.’

  ‘Other people’s lives,’ I murmured bitterly. ‘It’s easy to face things for other people.’ I felt like a butterfly transfixed on the pin of Dolly’s determination.

  I believe in the economy of life,’ said Dolly. ‘Nothing is wasted.’ And she smiled – a sweet smile, but not entirely directed at me, she was smiling for herself and to herself.

  ‘That’s a frightening thing to say, if you think about it,’ said Ariadne. ‘Every little scrap and tittle of our everyday life all fitting in somewhere and being put to some use. No, I don’t think I like that notion. I believe I feel happier with some oddments left over. It nourishes the illusion of freedom, at least.’

  ‘You pick up a lot of nonsense from your Uncle Peter,’ said Dolly. ‘He teaches you scepticism.’ I heard Peter give a laugh.

  ‘I go to church more regularly than you do.’ Ariadne’s voice was half amused.

  ‘I sometimes wonder what you think about there.’

  ‘And so you should do, Mother, so you should do.’ She glanced at her mother with bright-eyed defiance, enjoying the clash.

  A woman servant hurried into the room and went straight up to Dolly. ‘A message has just come up from the village.’ She bobbed a curtsey. ‘The pos
tman brought it from Katia, the one you visited. She says the child is dead.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Dolly. But we’ve only just left.’

  ‘The minute after you departed. The messenger came running. Katia wanted you to be told. She said he died without pain, poor little creature.’ The woman crossed herself. ‘He died smiling. It’s God’s will.’ Another bobbing curtsey, combined with another cross. ‘Is that all then, Your Honour?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dolly. ‘You can go. Well,’ she went on, turning to me. ‘So the child died.’ She was thoughtful.

  ‘You see, I didn’t cure him. It comes as no surprise to me. You cannot cure death.’ But I was wretched all the same. ‘Oh, that poor little baby.’ I covered my eyes with my hands.

  Ariadne came up and put her arm round my shoulders. ‘Don’t cry. Truly, he is better dead.’

  ‘I know, I know, but that too is terrible.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ observed Ariadne soberly.

  ‘Dead, after all,’ said Dolly. She lit a cigarette and strolled up and down the room. ‘It was, probably, inevitable that he should die in the end, and as Ariadne truly says, for the better really. No, he was too far gone. It was not a fair experiment.’

  I looked up sharply at that word. Experiment, I thought.

  ‘Yes,’ went on Dolly, not realizing, I think, how far she was revealing herself. ‘With a stronger child it would have been different. The easing of the pain in itself might have saved life. As it was, the child died smiling. Did you notice that phrase? I did, and it seems to me very significant. He was happy. Wasn’t that a good thing you did?’

  Ariadne said: ‘I should leave Rose alone now, Mother. Let her go and get some rest. Or anyway be quiet.’

  ‘Yes, you go and have a time to yourself,’ said Dolly. ‘I always find solitude very restoring. Peter – I want to talk to you.’