Confessions of a libra

Beatrice, Wild Woman | Credit: Here

15.06.25

I stole a member of our troops. I didn’t mean to. I was working at the Convent. Volunteering my time to help patch up the soldiers after the war. The horrors I saw. It’s a good thing I’m well-acquainted with death. Old friends, actually. I go about three times a week. My favourite patient is this man, Jude C. Doe. He doesn’t remember his real name from the shock, you see. He flirts with me like the others sure, but there’s something else about him. Something in the eyes. An old knowing or gnawing urge to be overcome.

It took a special kind of man to hold my attentions. Especially as someone who managed to live just on the periphery of society. I do just enough to be seen and not be called a bother. The idea came suddenly on a day I wheeled him out, for a walk on the grounds. Our walk began in silence. The birds chirped perilously and I wished they too would honour the sanctity of morning silence. The air was crisp, the grass could do with a bit of a trim again – I note. A commotion slapped us out of reverie, as a beautiful poodle ran in front of us and a nun almost tripped trying to catch the darn thing. I let out a chuckle.

“What’s even the point?” Jude began.

“Sorry?” I asked, unsure.

“What’s even the point of all this Bea? Of waking? Of slow mornings? Of beautiful dogs carelessly running four-legged -” his rant stopped midway, and I heard him regulate himself out of a heavy pant.

“Life will always have meaning Jude. You just have to choose to find it,” I say in a soothing tone. I gripped his shoulder, sending comfort energetically to him.

He took a moment to reply, sitting with my words. His reply came like a man broken.

“I don’t believe in anything anymore,” he said in a hoarse.

My heart cracked, and I felt every splinter. I knew what I had to do, and I didn’t waste any time.

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

We arrived at my cottage in the dark of night. The stars twinkled mischievously, keeping an eye out for those who might try and find us. I got him settled and got the candles lit and started on the fireplace. While out there in the big cities or here among the rich folk they had access to luxuries like electricity, some of us had always known the old way. It served us just fine. I blew at the kindling until the fire caught, all the while Jude watched me. He must think I’m mad, a spinster initiating an escape for an injured soldier with memory loss. I looked back at him, perfectly covered under plenty of blankets and a couple of coats. He stared into my eyes, with that look again.

“Now I didn’t bring you around this place so you can mope around,” I said with a sprinkle of cheek.

He smiled, small and apologetic. He knew not to argue. He’d heard an earful out of me yet after his little comment. I filled a pot with water and set it up by the fireplace. Then went and stood behind him with a comb in hand.

“I’d going to work on your head, if you’ll let me. I want see if I can soothe your bones from the very top of your skull,” I said matter-of-fact.

He nodded curtly, once. I took a deep breath and began softly brushing his short hair. I asked him to sing me a song but he said he wasn’t any good.

“I’m not looking for good, I’m looking for heart. Soul. Sing what your heart aches for.” I instruct.

I began massaging his scalp in little circles. Just like my little Elliot loved, before his death. Oh, life was cruel! Wars, pestilence, thievery…the world was gripped by rot. He began a song, clearly a song he’d once sung with his comrades. His voice began in a croak but soon he was belting it as though from deep in his chest cavity. I finished his massage before the song ended. Pouring us both a stiff drink, I let him finish as I planted myself next to him. I watched his face by the warmth of firelight. He took a gulp of whisky and wheezed a little in the aftermath. I giggled at his overzealousness.

“You already look better Jude, your cheeks have some life in them again!” I say in jolly bliss.

“Well, you’ve always had a way of bringing life out of me, Ms Beatrice.”

I cocked my brow at his sudden sheepishness and formality. If only he knew how selfish it was for me to take the man who’s words stayed with me far longer than I’d ever given anyone else the room. He didn’t know how much he had already transformed my own existence, just by being himself.

“Bea, please. Don’t age me. I’d quite like to hold onto my youth if only to spite the uppity.” I grumbled.

Jude let out a booming laugh that startled me for just a moment. My own laughter wasn’t far behind.

“It’s that kind of talk that keeps you firmly out of that Nunnery, I dare say!” Jude joked.

“They haven’t even heard half my blasphemy,” I drolled.

Jude’s laugh sobered, “It is truly unusual for a woman to be so forthcoming with her opinions.”

“And a damn shame it is too,” I say with a final swig of my oaky potion.