through a lot. It was
a near thing. The police will be in to see you later."
With this kindly word the doctor and his silently disapproving nurse
filed out of the room.
The police? Julia, poor Julia--dead.
Now what? What should I do? I turned, as always, inward for advice and
instructions. "Folks! Why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me do it?
And now--what shall I do? Answer me, I say. Answer!"
There was only an emptiness. It was a hollow, aching sensation. It
seemed to me I could hear my questions echoing inside me with a lonely
sound.
I was alone. For the first time in nearly ten years, I was truly alone,
with no one to turn to.
They were gone! At last, after all these years, they were gone. I was
free again, truly free. It was glorious to be free--wasn't it?
The sheer joy of the thing brought a tightness to my throat, and I
sniffled. I sniffled again. My nose was stuffy. The tightness in my
throat grew tighter and became a pain.
I sneezed.
Was this joy--or a cold coming on? I shifted uneasily on the hospital
bed and scratched at an itch on my left hip. Ouch! It was a pimple. My
head ached. My throat hurt. I itched. Julia was dead. The police were
coming. I was alone. What should I do?
"Nurse!" I shouted at the top of my voice. "Nurse, come here. I want to
send a wire. Rush. Urgent. To my aunt, Mrs. Helga Barth, the address is
in my wallet. Say, 'Helga. Am desperately ill, repeat, ill. Please come
at once. I must have help--from you.'"
She'll come. I know she will. They've _got_ to let her. It was an
accident, I swear, and I'm not too old. I'm still in wonderful shape,
beautifully kept up.
But I feel awful.
Well--how do you suppose New England would feel today, if suddenly all
of its inhabitants died?
--WILLIAM W. STUART
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Inside John Barth, by William W. Stuart
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