Free Awakening by Stevie Davies Page A

before her.
    Beatrice is the link between Anna and health; Anna and eternal life. But she allows her sister to win the current skirmish; backs off and marches straight over to Dr Quarles’s house.
    He’s over in the twinkling of an eye. Quarles examines Anna thoroughly, lamenting that one cannot actually see into the intestines. Displaying none of the nervous agitation Beatrice would have predicted, the patient acts like an incredulous third party observing a South Sea islander from a distance.
    The words ‘enema’ and ‘blister’ are spoken in private conference.
    The moment Anna claps eyes on the soda-water bottle, she knows. She screams that it’s violation, she won’t, you mustn’t, get out of her room. Beatrice shushes her, laying out the red rubber sheet on the bed. Anna, with more energy than she’s shown for weeks, slips out of bed, grabs the rubber tube and flings it towards the fire. It lands on the rug; Beatrice rescues the apparatus, takes it to the wash bowl and rinses it thoroughly.
    â€˜Come on, Annie, this is silly. Don’t be childish.’
    As children they accepted without complaint the weekly enema to keep them regular. They understood the reasons for it. You could not go shopping or visiting or to Sunday School if you were likely to be caught short. The Pentecost children were treated with respect and felt little indignity in submitting to harmless turpentine and green soap dissolved in hot water. Jocelyn seemed actually to welcome and enjoy it. Beatrice did feel curious about that.
    Anna won’t. She fights. They scuffle silently.
    â€˜You’re killing me, Beatrice.’
    Beatrice sits down at the end of the sofa, places one hand on her sister’s calf. She’ll have to bring in a neighbour to help. ‘Do you not believe in Dr Quarles?’
    â€˜I believe he exists . I know he’s an ass.’
    â€˜Well, sweetheart, never mind; I’ll leave you in peace for now.’
    â€˜What do you mean by for now ?’
    Anna is on to you like a shot. Beatrice prevaricates. ‘I’ll look in on you later. Shall I bring you a cup of tea? Or some hot milk and water? No?’
    When Mrs Bunce arrives, there’s another painful scene in Anna’s sick room.
    â€˜There, there,’ says Mrs Bunce, and flips Anna over onto her stomach like a fish. She’s a large woman, nurse, midwife, layer-out. She wears a black hat and carries a black bag wherever she goes; the children call her a witch. There’s little Mrs Bunce hasn’t seen before. In goes the nozzle; Beatrice, taking a deep breath, presses it deep into Anna’s anus. It has to be done, so do it efficiently, she tells herself – for Anna’s sake. Her sister, who’s given up struggling, lies bathed in tears and cold sweat. When it’s all over, she will not look at Beatrice. She curls up in her bed, tears seeping into the pillow.
    The bowel movement follows. Beatrice removes the chamber pot. As she washes her hands, she hears Quarles’s man at the door, delivering the blister. She hardly has the heart to administer it; her throat chokes with unshed tears. But it must be done. She swallows some gin and feels ashamed, not at the actions she must perform but at her own rancorous absence of pity. Beatrice’s goodness is tainted with something obscene – this endless assertion of predominance.
    Gently, Beatrice draws back the blankets. Anna, compliant, has lost her fight; rolls onto her back, eyes shut. Beatrice raises her sister’s nightgown. One – two – three. The wax blister with the hot boiled leaves is rolled onto the delicate skin of her abdomen. Swiftly, Beatrice pulls down the nightgown and kneels at Anna’s bedside, holding her hand in both of hers. Tears leak from the corners of Anna’s eyes at the searing pain. She seems to pass out; is whispering something, over and over.
    â€˜I’m so sorry,’