The Welsh Fasting Girl by Varley O'Connor

Author:Varley O'Connor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bellevue Literary Press
Published: 2019-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

Do you not see the path of the wind and the rain?

Do you not see the oaks beating together?

Do you not see the sea scouring the land?

Do you not see the truth preparing itself?

—Gruffudd ab yr Ynad Coch

Whoever you are, we too lie like drifts at your feet.

—Walt Whitman

THE CORONER’S INQUEST

A GUARD ON THE LATE-AFTERNOON TRAIN from Pencader brought the news of Sarah’s death to Carmarthen, but it wasn’t believed. False rumors had circulated for days. It wasn’t until ten o’clock on the night of the seventeenth, seven hours after she died, that an official telegram was received at the Carmarthen Weekly confirming the outcome. Christine had spent the week conferring with reporters, reading news on the wires, and poring through British newspapers people bought to the last copy. Brooklyn, Philip wrote, did the same, and he said to forge on with the excellent work. He expected daily missives—bother the content, because it all sold. Sarah Jacob was not the first and would not be the last fasting girl of the period, but she was the single one to die while nine members of the medical profession looked on.

Pary returned late on the seventeenth from the telegraph room to his office, where Christine sat with Lloyd, and said, “It’s over.”

“And?” Lloyd asked.

Pary stared at Christine. “You were right,” he said, and she did not understand. “They’ve killed her,” he said.

Lloyd released a long whistle. “Now there’s hell to pay.”

“I didn’t actually think—” Christine put her face in her hands and pushed at her eyes.

“It would seem,” Pary said, “that for all our skepticism, we believed in science, believed the doctors would—protect her,” and he dropped to the open chair. “Poor little girl.”

He collected himself and informed them about the committee meeting the following day, at which they would hear the nurses’ report.

Christine added dates and times to the dispatch she had composed for this possibility, sent it off, and went home to the inn.

The house was pitch-dark. Mrs. Owen ordinarily left candles burning for her in the front window at night. Christine felt for the door and found it locked. Everyone had deserted the offices when she had, in order to snatch a few hours of sleep in preparation for the long days ahead. Cold and tired, she rapped the knocker hard. When an abashed Mrs. Owen in nightcap and winter shawl creaked open the door, Christine said, “What happened?”

“The child’s dead!” Mrs. Owen exclaimed. “I assumed you’d be working the night, with it all going on.”

Well, I hadn’t decided, Christine’s inner voice said, to go over there and bury her myself. She pushed by Mrs. Owen and started upstairs, furious, for a second unable to comprehend the Welsh words that followed: “I didn’t expect it.”

Christine turned back: “None of us did. There’s nothing else to be done tonight. I’ll attend the committee meeting tomorrow.”

“Will there be an inquest?” asked Mrs. Owen.

“Oh, surely,” replied Christine. It would not be enough for a group of Welsh neighbors to blacken their

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.