Switch Bitch

by Roald Dahl

  A big handsome bosomy girl she was, with flaming red hair and a peculiar name, a very old-fashioned name. What was it? Arabella? No, not Arabella. Ara - something, though. Araminty? Yes! Araminty it was! And what is more, within a year or so, Conrad Kreuger had married Araminty and had carried her back with him to Dallas, the place of his birth.

  Anna went over to the bedside table and picked up the telephone directory.

  Kreuger, Conrad P., M.D.

  That was Conrad all right. He had always said he was going to be a doctor. The book gave an office number and a residence number.

  Should she phone him?

  Why not?

  She glanced at her watch. It was five twenty. She lifted the receiver and gave the number of his office.

  'Doctor Kreuger's surgery,' a girl's voice answered.

  'Hello,' Anna said. 'Is Doctor Kreuger there?'

  'The doctor is busy right now. May I ask who's calling?'

  'Will you please tell him that Anna Greenwood telephoned him.'

  'Who?'

  'Anna Greenwood.'

  'Yes, Miss Greenwood. Did you wish for an appointment?'

  'No, thank you.'

  'Is there something I can do for you?'

  Anna gave the name of her hotel, and asked her to pass it on to Dr Kreuger.

  'I' be very glad to,' the secretary said. 'Good-bye, Miss Greenwood.'

  'Good-bye,' Anna said. She wondered whether Dr Conrad P. Kreuger would remember her name after all these years. She believed he would. She lay back again on the bed and began trying to recall what Conrad himself used to look like. Extraordinarily handsome, that he was. Tall... lean... big-shouldered... with almost pure-black hair... and a marvellous face... a strong carved face like one of those Greek heroes, Perseus or Ulysses. Above all, though, he had been a very gentle boy, a serious, decent, quiet, gentle boy. He had never kissed her much - only when he said good-bye in the evenings. And he'd never gone in for necking, as all the others had. When he took her home from the movies on Saturday nights, he used to park his old Buick outside her house and sit there in the car beside her, just talking and talking about the future, his future and hers, and how he was going to go back to Dallas to become a famous doctor. His refusal to indulge in necking and all the nonsense that went with it had impressed her no end. He respects me, she used to say. He loves me. And she was probably right. In any event, he had been a nice man, a nice good man. And had it not been for the fact that Ed Cooper was a super-nice, super-good man, she was sure she would have married Conrad Kreuger.

  The telephone rang. Anna lifted the receiver. 'Yes,' she said. 'Hello.'

  'Anna Greenwood?'

  'Conrad Kreuger!'

  'My dear Anna! What a fantastic surprise. Good gracious me. After all these years.'

  'It's a long time, isn't it.'

  'It's a lifetime. Your voice sounds just the same.'

  'So does yours.'

  'What brings you to our fair city? Are you staying long?'

  'No, I have to go back tomorrow. I hope you didn't mind my calling you.'

  'Hell, no, Anna. I'm delighted. Are you all right?'

  'Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine now. I had a bad time of it for a bit after Ed died...'

  'What!'

  'He was killed in an automobile two and a half years ago.'

  'Oh gee, Anna, I am sorry. How terrible. I... I don't know what to say...'

  'Don't say anything.'

  'You're okay now?'

  'I'm fine. Working like a slave.'

  'That's the girl

  'How's... how's Araminty?'

  'Oh, she's fine.'

  'Any children?'

  'One,' he said. 'A boy. How about you?'

  'I have three, two girls and a boy.'

  'Well, well, what d'you know! Now listen, Anna...'

  'I'm listening.'

  'Why don't I run over to the hotel and buy you a drink? I'd like to do that. I'll bet you haven't changed one iota.'

  'I look old, Conrad.'

  'You're lying.'

  'I feel old, too.'

  'You want a good doctor?'

  'Yes. I mean no. Of course I don't. I don't want any more doctors. All I need is... well...'

  'Yes?'

  'This place worries me, Conrad. I guess I need a friend. That's all I need.'

  'You've got one. I have just one more patient to see, and then I'm free. I'll meet you down in the bar, the something room, I've forgotten what it's called, at six, in about half an hour. Will that suit you?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'Of course. And... thank you, Conrad.' She replaced the receiver, then got up from the bed, and began to dress.

  She felt mildly flustered. Not since Ed's death had she been out and had a drink alone with a man. Dr Jacobs would be pleased when she told him about it on her return. He wouldn't congratulate her madly, but he would certainly be pleased. He'd say it was a step in the right direction, a beginning. She still went to him regularly, and now that she had gotten so much better, his oblique references had become far less oblique and he had more than once told her that her depressions and suicidal tendencies would never completely disappear until she had actually and physically 'replaced' Ed with another man.

  'But it is impossible to replace a person one has loved to distraction,' Anna had said to him the last time he had brought up the subject. 'Heavens above, doctor, when Mrs Crummlin-Brown's parakeet died last month, her parakeet, mind you, not her husband, she was so shook up about it, she swore she'd never have another bird again!'

  'Mrs Cooper,' Dr Jacobs had said, 'one doesn't normally have sexual intercourse with a parakeet.'

  'Well... no...'

  'That's why it doesn't have to be replaced. But when a husband dies, and the surviving wife is still an active and a healthy woman, she will invariably get a replacement within three years if she possibly can. And vice versa.'

  Sex. It was about the only thing that sort of doctor ever thought about. He had sex on the brain.

  By the time Anna had dressed and taken the elevator downstairs, it was ten minutes after six. The moment she walked into the bar, a man stood up from one of the tables. It was Conrad. He must have been watching the door. He came across the floor to meet her. He was smiling nervously. Anna was smiling, too. One always does.

  'Well, well,' he said. 'Well well well,' and she, expecting the usual peck on the cheek, inclined her face upward toward his own, still smiling. But she had forgotten how formal Conrad was. He simply took her hand in his and shook it - once. 'This is a surprise,' he said. 'Come and sit down.'

  The room was the same as any other hotel drinking-room. It was lit by dim lights, and filled with many small tables. There was a saucer of peanuts on each table, and there were leather bench-seats all around the walls. The waiters were rigged out in white jackets and maroon pants. Conrad led her to a corner table, and they sat down facing each other. A waiter was standing over them at once.

  'What will you have?' Conrad asked.

  'Could I have a martini?'

  'Of course. Vodka?'

  'No, gin, please.'

  'One gin martini,' he said to the waiter. 'No. Make it two. I've never been much of a drinker, Anna, as you probably remember, but I think this calls for a celebration.'

  The waiter went away. Conrad leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully. 'You look pretty good,' he said.

  'You look pretty good yourself, Conrad,' she told him. And so he did. It was astonishing how little he had aged in twenty-five years. He was just as lean and handsome as he'd ever been - in fact, more so. His black hair was still black, his eye was clear, and he looked altogether like a man who was no more than thirty years old.

  'You are older than me, aren't you?' he said.

  'What sort of a question is that?' she said, laughing. 'Yes Conrad, I am exactly one year older than you. I'm forty-two.'

  'I thought you were.' He was still studying her with the utmost care, his eyes travelling all over her face and
neck and shoulders. Anna felt herself blushing.

  'Are you an enormously successful doctor?' she asked. 'Are you the best in town?'

  He cocked his head over to one side, right over, so that the ear almost touched the top of the shoulder. It was a mannerism that Anna had always liked. 'Successful?' he said. 'Any doctor can be successful these days in a big city - financially, I mean. But whether or not I am absolutely first rate at my job is another matter. I only hope and pray that I am.'

  The drinks arrived and Conrad raised his glass and said, 'Welcome to Dallas, Anna. I'm so pleased you called me up. It's good to see you again.'

  'It's good to see you, too, Conrad,' she said, speaking the truth.

  He looked at her glass. She had taken a huge first gulp, and the glass was now half empty. 'You prefer gin to vodka?' he asked.

  'I do,' she said, 'yes.'

  'You ought to change over.'

  'Why?'

  'Gin is not good for females.'

  'It's not?'

  'It's very bad for them.'

  'I'm sure it's just as bad for males,' she said.

  'Actually, no. It isn't nearly so bad for males as it is for females.'

  'Why is it bad for females?'

  'It just is,' he said. 'It's the way they're built. What kind of work are you engaged in, Anna? And what brought you all the way down to Dallas? Tell me about you.'

  'Why is gin bad for females?' she said, smiling at him.

  He smiled back at her and shook his head, but he didn't answer.

  'Go on,' she said.

  'No, let's drop it.'

  'You can't leave me up in the air like this,' she said. 'It's not fair.'

  After a pause, he said, 'Well, if you really want to know, gin contains a certain amount of the oil which is squeezed out of juniper berries. They use it for flavouring.'

  'What does it do?'

  'Plenty.'

  'Yes, but what?'

  'Horrible things.'

  'Conrad, don't be shy. I'm a big girl now.'

  He was still the same old Conrad, she thought, still as diffident, as scrupulous, as shy as ever. For that she liked him. 'If this drink is really doing horrible things to me,' she said, 'then it is unkind of you not to tell me what those things are.'

  Gently, he pinched the lobe of his left ear with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Then he said, 'Well, the truth of the matter is, Anna, oil of juniper has a direct inflammatory effect upon the uterus.'

  'Now come on!'

  'I'm not joking.'

  'Mother's ruin,' Anna said. 'It's an old wives' tale.'

  'I'm afraid not.'

  'But you're talking about women who are pregnant.'

  'I'm talking about all women, Anna.' He had stopped smiling now, and he was speaking quite seriously. He seemed to be concerned about her welfare.

  'What do you specialize in?' she asked him. 'What kind of medicine? You haven't told me that.'

  'Gynaecology and obstetrics.'

  'Ah-ha!'

  'Have you been drinking gin for many years?' he asked.

  'Oh, about twenty,' Anna said.

  'Heavily?'

  'For heaven's sake, Conrad, stop worrying about my insides. I'd like another martini, please.'

  'Of course.'

  He called the waiter and said, 'One vodka martini.'

  'No,' Anna said, 'gin.'

  He sighed and shook his head and said, 'Nobody listens to her doctor these days.'

  'You're not my doctor.'

  'No,' he said. 'I'm your friend.'

  'Let's talk about your wife,' Anna said. 'Is she still as beautiful as ever?'

  He waited a few moments, then he said, 'Actually, we're divorced.'

  'Oh, no!'

  'Our marriage lasted for the grand total of two years. It was hard work to keep it going even that long.'

  For some reason, Anna was profoundly shocked. 'But she was such a beautiful girl,' she said. 'What happened?'

  'Everything happened, everything you could possibly think of that was bad.'

  'And the child?'

  'She got him. They always do.' He sounded very bitter. 'She took him back to New York. He comes to see me once a year, in the summer. He's twenty years old now. He's at Princeton.'

  'Is he a fine boy?'

  'He's a wonderful boy,' Conrad said. 'But I hardly know him. It isn't much fun.'

  'And you never married again?'

  'No, never. But that's enough about me. Let's talk about you.'

  Slowly, gently, he began to draw her out on the subject of her health and the bad times she had gone through after Ed's death. She found she didn't mind talking to him about it, and she told him more or less the whole story.

  'But what makes your doctor think you're not completely cured?' he said. 'You don't look very suicidal to me.'

  'I don't think I am. Except that sometimes, not often, mind you, but just occasionally, when I get depressed, I have the feeling that it wouldn't take such a hell of a big push to send me over the edge.'

  'In what way?'

  'I kind of start edging toward the bathroom cupboard.'

  'What do you have in the bathroom cupboard?'

  'Nothing very much. Just the ordinary equipment a girl has for shaving her legs.'

  'I see.' Conrad studied her face for a few moments, then he said, 'Is that how you were feeling just now when you called me?'

  'Not quite. But I'd been thinking about Ed. And that's always a bit dangerous.'

  'I'm glad you called.'

  'So am I,' she said.

  Anna was getting to the end of her second martini. Conrad changed the subject and began talking about his practice. She was watching him rather than listening to him. He was so damned handsome it was impossible not to watch him. She put a cigarette between her lips, then offered the pack to Conrad.

  'No thanks,' he said. 'I don't.' He picked up a book of matches from the table and gave her a light, then he blew out the match and said, 'Are those cigarettes mentholated?'

  'Yes, they are.'

  She took a deep drag, and blew the smoke slowly up into the air. 'Now go ahead and tell me that they're going to shrivel up my entire reproductive system,' she said.

  He laughed and shook his head.

  'Then why did you ask?'

  'Just curious, that's all.'

  'You're lying. I can tell it from your face. You were about to give me the figures for the incidence of lung cancer in heavy smokers.'

  'Lung cancer has nothing to do with menthol, Anna,' he said, and he smiled and took a tiny sip of his original martini, which he had so far hardly touched. He set the glass back carefully on the table. 'You still haven't told me what work you are doing,' he went on, 'or why you came to Dallas.'

  'Tell me about menthol first. If it's even half as bad as the juice of the juniper berry, I think I ought to know about it quick.'

  He laughed and shook his head.

  'Please!'

  'No, ma'am.'

  'Conrad, you simply cannot start things up like this and then drop them. It's the second time in five minutes.'

  'I don't want to be a medical bore,' he said.

  'You're not being a bore. These things are fascinating. Come on! Tell! Don't be mean.'

  It was pleasant to be sitting there feeling moderately high on two big martinis, and making easy talk with this graceful man, this quiet, comfortable, graceful person. He was not being coy. Far from it. He was simply being his normal scrupulous self.

  'Is it something shocking?' she asked.

  'No. You couldn't call it that.'

  'Then go ahead.'

  He picked up the packet of cigarettes still lying in front of her, and studied the label. 'The point is this,' he said. 'If you inhale menthol, you absorb it into the bloodstream. And that isn't good, Anna. It does things to you. It has certain very definite effects upon the central nervous system. Doctors still prescribe it occasionally.'

  'I know that,' she said. 'Nose
-drops and inhalations.'

  'That's one of its minor uses. Do you know the other?'

  'You rub it on the chest when you have a cold.'

  'You can if you like, but it wouldn't help.'

  'You put it in ointment and it heals cracked lips.'

  'That's camphor.'

  'So it is.'

  He waited for her to have another guess.

  'Go ahead and tell me,' she said.

  'It may surprise you a bit.'

  'I'm ready to be surprised.'

  'Menthol,' Conrad said, 'is a well-known anti-aphrodisiac.'

  'A what?'

  'It suppresses sexual desire.'

  'Conrad, you're making these things up.'

  'I swear to you I'm not.'

  'Who uses it?'

  'Very few people nowadays. It has too strong a flavour. Saltpetre is much better.'

  'Ah yes. I know about saltpetre.'

  'What do you know about saltpetre?'

  'They give it to prisoners,' Anna said. 'They sprinkle it on their cornflakes every morning to keep them quiet.'

  'They also use it in cigarettes,' Conrad said.

  'You mean prisoners' cigarettes?'

  'I mean all cigarettes.'

  'That's nonsense.'

  'Is it?'

  'Of course it is.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Nobody would stand for it,' she said.

  'They stand for cancer.'

  'That's quite different, Conrad. How do you know they put saltpetre in cigarettes?'

  'Have you never wondered,' he said, 'what makes a cigarette go on burning when you lay it in the ashtray? Tobacco doesn't burn of its own accord. Any pipe smoker will tell you that.'

  'They use special chemicals,' she said.

  'Exactly; they use saltpetre.'

  'Does saltpetre burn?'

  'Sure it burns. It used to be one of the prime ingredients of old-fashioned gunpowder. Fuses, too. It makes very good fuses. That cigarette of yours is a first-rate slow burning fuse, is it not?'

  Anna looked at her cigarette. Though she hadn't drawn on it for a couple of minutes, it was still smouldering away and the smoke was curling upward from the tip in a slim blue-grey spiral.

  'So this has menthol in it and saltpetre?' she said.

  'Absolutely.'

  'And they're both anti-aphrodisiacs?'

  'Yes. You're getting a double dose.'

  'It's ridiculous, Conrad. It's too little to make any difference.'

  He smiled but didn't answer this.

  'There's not enough there to inhibit a cockroach,' she said.

  'That's what you think, Anna. How many do you smoke a day?'

  'About thirty.'

  'Well,' he said, 'I guess it's none of my business.' He paused, and then he added, 'But you and I would be a lot better off today if it was.'

  'Was what?'

  'My business.'