The Collector

At supper she was still in bed but sitting up and reading her Shakespeare I bought.

I asked her if she was better. Sarcastic, of course.

Well, she just went on reading, wouldn’t answer, I nearly snatched the book away to teach her then, but I kept control. Half an hour later, after I had my own supper, I went back and she hadn’t eaten and when I commented on that she hadn’t, she said, “I feel sick. I think I’ve got the flu.”

However, she was stupid enough to say next, “What would you do if I needed a doctor?”

Wait and see, I answered.

“It hurts so when I cough.”

It’s only a cold, I said.

“It’s not a cold.” She really shouted at me.

Of course it’s a cold, I said. And stop acting. I know your game.

“I am not acting.”

Oh, no. You never acted in your life, I said. Of course not.

“Oh, God you’re not a man, if only you were a man.”

Say that again, I said. I had had some more champagne with my supper, there was a shop I found in Lewes with half-bottles, so I was not in the mood for her silliness.

“I said you are not a man.”

All right, I said. Get out of bed. Go on, get up. From now on I give the orders.

I had had enough, most men would have had it long before. I went and pulled the bedclothes off her and got hold of her arm to pull her up and she started to fight, scratching at my face.

I said, all right, I’m going to teach you a lesson.

I had the cords in my pocket and after a bit of a struggle I got them on her and then the gag, it was her own fault if they were tight, I got her on a short rope tied to the bed and then I went and fetched the camera and flash equipment. She struggled of course, she shook her head, she looked daggers with her eyes, as they say, she even tried to go all soft, but I kept at her. I got her garments off and at first she wouldn’t do as I said but in the end she lay and stood like I ordered (I refused to take if she did not co-operate). So I got my pictures. I took her till I had no more bulbs left.

It was not my fault. How was I to know she was iller than she looked. She just looked like she had a cold.

I got the pictures developed and printed that night. The best ones were with her face cut off. She didn’t look much anyhow with the gag, of course. The best were when she stood in her high heels, from the back. The tied hands to the bed made what they call an interesting motif. I can say I was quite pleased with what I got.

The next day she was up when I went in, in her housecoat, like she was waiting for me. What she did was very surprising, she took a step forward and went down on her knees at my feet. Like she was drunk. Her face was very flushed, I did see; she looked at me and she was crying and she had got herself up into a state.

“I’m terribly ill. I’ve got pneumonia. Or pleurisy. You’ve got to get a doctor.”

I said, get up and go back to bed. Then I went to get her coffee.

When I came back I said, you know you’re not ill, if it was pneumonia you couldn’t stand up even.

“I can’t breathe at nights. I’ve got a pain here, I have to lie on my left side. Please take my temperature. Look at it.”

Well I did and it was a 102 but I knew there were ways you could fake temperatures.

“The air’s stifling here.”

There’s plenty of air, I said. It was her fault for having used that game before.

Anyway I got the chemist in Lewes to give me something he said was very good for congestion and special anti-flu pills and inhaler, all of which she took when offered. She tried to eat something at supper, but she couldn’t manage it, she was sick, she did look off-colour then, and I can say that for the first time I had reason to believe there might be something in it all. Her face was red, bits of her hair stuck on it with perspiration, but that could have been deliberate.

I cleaned up the sick and gave her her medicines and was going to leave when she asked me to sit on the bed, so she wouldn’t have to speak loud.

“Do you think I could speak to you if I wasn’t terribly ill? After what you’ve done.”

You asked for what I did, I said.

“You must see I’m really ill.”

It’s the flu, I said. There’s a lot in Lewes.

“It’s not the flu. I’ve got pneumonia. Something terrible. I can’t breathe.”

You’ll be all right, I said. Those yellow pills will do the trick. The chemist said they’re the best.

“Not fetching a doctor is murder. You’re going to kill me.”

I tell you you’re all right. It’s fever, I said. As soon as she mentioned doctor, I was suspicious.

“Would you mind wiping my face with my flannel?”

It was funny, I did what she said and for the first time for days I felt a bit sorry for her. It was a woman’s job, really. I mean it was a time when women need other women. She said thanks.

I’ll go now then, I said.

“Don’t go. I’ll die.” She actually tried to catch hold of my arm.

Don’t be so daft, I told her.