Of Maggots and Men

Delphine found her father sitting by the fire deep in thought. At the familiar sound of her footsteps he looked up.

“So, how is he?”

“It’s a bad wound. To the thigh. It’s deep, it’s going to need taking care of. He doesn’t want us to fetch anyone.”

Her father nodded.

“He’s right. It’s not safe.”

Pere, don’t worry. Georges was very careful. No-one will suspect he is here.”

“Listen. Go to Agnes for the herbs, say it is for my sister’s son, Nicholas. Say you had an urgent message to go visit them, as Nicholas is hurt and his mother is sick. I know you are an honest girl. But honesty doesn’t pay in this world right now. Be careful with Agnes, she’s a very clever woman. Her mother was a witch, and so to her grandmother before her. Just stick to what I have told you to say, and don’t be tempted to add anything more. I know you and your stories. Keep it simple.”

“Yes father, I will.”

Simple, why do the men keep on talking about things being simple, there’s nothing simple about any of this - she mused as she made her way to Agnes cottage by the Pont Neuf.

The interview with Agnes was not as hard as she had thought. Her father’s story seemed to work and while Agnes made up the poultice, Delphine went along the street and bought some bread and a little meat. She decided it was best if she told a few others the same story. Later that day both the baker and the butcher told Agnes that Delphine was going to Brech to look after her sick cousin Nicholas and by the end of the day, the lie was known by so many it had become an undeniable truth which would keep them all safe. At least for a while longer.

Agnes had warned Delphine that once the poultice was bound to the wound it would slowly draw the poison out of the wound. If the wound was deep, a fever might develop and it could last a few days. She gave her a vial of evil looking green liquid which was to be sipped only if the fever took hold and some herbs to brew into a tea to help him sleep. Finally she gave her a small box, with the instructions to drop a few of these into the open wound. As Agnes handed over the box, she looked deeply into Delphines eyes. You must do this, it will help him, no matter what you think, you must trust me on this.

Once home Delphine brewed the herbs into a pale yellow tea. It smelt faintly of chamomile , and Georges happily drank it. Then Delphine opened the box. Inside were a dozen writhing maggots. Delphine was so shocked she dropped the box. Georges looked up.

“What was that?”

“Filthy, disgusting maggots. She told me I had to put them on the wound.”

“What?”

“She said, no matter what you think, you must do this. You must trust me.”

“Then you should do it.” said Georges.

“Really?”

“Yes really. I’ve seen too many men die days after the battle is over. Do as you are told, for once in your life.”

Delphine reluctantly began hunting down the maggots on the bed covers. Once they were back in the box, she turned back the bedcovers, and one by one dropped them into the open wound. It seemed to her the most disgusting sight in the world. Then she took the honey poultice and smeared it over the entire wound, then wrapped it tightly in a clean cloth as Agnes had directed. Delphine was not convinced that this would work.

“Delphine, don’t worry. I am sure it will work. I am strong. My story is not over yet. Now let me rest, that tea is making me feel sleepy, and I am looking forward to nice sweet dreams, for a change.”

The next morning when Delphine went to change the bandage pus oozed out from the wound and the stink was overwhelming. The sight of the maggots crawling over the rotting flesh made her feel sick and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. Holding her breath and praying she did not vomit she carefully wiped the pus away, applied another coating of the honey poultice and sealed the maggots into their sticky tomb with a fresh bandage. Georges quivered with each touch, but his eyes remained firmly shut. Deep in his delirium Georges had slept for 12 hours and showed no signs of waking.

“What on earth was in that tea?” she wondered to herself.

Agnes had said that it could take a few days for the wound to begin to heal. Delphines instincts warred against each other. On the one side maggots were the epitomy of dirt and disease and she wanted to burn them and eradicate them from the wound; on the other hand Agnes ancient wisdom had been passed down for hundreds of years and many times Agnes had been able to save lives when the doctors stood by helplessly. Delphine wiped her brothers brow, his skin was on fire. She opened the windows, to cool the room, then took the blood encrusted bandage downstairs to burn on the fire. Standing in the kitchen Delphine washed her hands over and over again with soap. But the thought of those maggots kept entering her head, and she could not feel clean no matter how hard she tried. Eventually she realised it was pointless and returned to the fire in the parlour where her father waitied patiently for news.

“Et alors?”

Delphine sat down in the red armchair opposite him and held her face in her hands.

“Delphine, dites-moi.”

Delphine raised her head, looked her father in the eyes and shaking her head she slowly replied.

I really don’t know. He sleeps, he shakes, his skin burns, the sheets are soaked with his sweat. He has not drunk anything since yesterday.”

She stopped, but he encouraged her to continue with his hands.

"The wound is full of oozing yellow, green pus.”

“This is good.”

“Is it?”

“Oui. There is poison inside him, it must come out. The honey draws the poison out, if it did not it would seep into his blood and kill him.” Delphine’s father put his hand on hers.
“Trust me. This is a good thing. It will help. We just have to be patient and wait.”

“But the waiting is so hard. What if I did it wrong? I don’t want to be the one to fail him. Can’t we get someone else to come and take a look?”

“You aren’t failing him. He trusts you, and no-one else. That’s why he is here. Another person may be a more experienced nurse, but they might save him, only to send him to the guillotine.”

Delphine took her hand away slowly.

“I know. But it’s just so hard. Until he is better I cannot rest, all I can do is worry.”

Delphine’s father stood up, and lifted her face towards his.

“This is how it must be. Just carry on doing what you are doing, and all should be well. His body may be weakened, but his spirit is fighting. Between the two of you and the Lord, I am sure he will be well again. Now tell me when was the last time you had some food?”

Delphine did not know.

“Pere, I can’t think of food now.”

“But you must. It will not help Georges if you fall sick too. Sit there, rest and let me bring you a little something.”

Delphine sank back into the warmth of the chair and nodded. He was right, she knew it. But she had been so busy it had not even occurred to her to be hungry. Food seemed an almost abstract thought, far removed from her reality.

Soon her father returned with some bread and a cup of broth.

“Sip this slowly. Mme Picault sent this over this morning, thinking that you had left me on my own and I might need some help.

He smiled. “It seems that your little lie has spread all over the neighbourhood. And as you can see, it is perhaps not a completely bad thing.”

“It seems I am a good catch, a widower of my age. Your mother must be laughing in heaven to see them simpering over me.”

Delphine smiled gently. It had been a long time since her father had mentioned her mother. It had been ten years since she had died, and apart from her mother’s sister no other woman had ever set foot across the door. After her death Delphine had gone to live with her aunt and her family in Brech. Both her father and her aunt had assumed that a motherless girl would not want to be spending her days alone with her father and brother mending sails and fishing nets. So despite her protestations she had gone to live on their farm with goats and chickens for company, rather than the boats and ships of Auray. But Delphine had soon grown bored of the place. Nothing happened, there was no adventure, no excitement. She missed the sea, she missed the changing tide and the crash of the waves on the shore. She missed her fathers tales by the fireside, tales of long fishing trips, of wild storms at sea and the far away lands where sugar and spices came from. She had never lead a quiet life, there were always comings and goings, visitors from England, America, Martinique, Guadaloupe, St Vincent.

Delphine had tried to reason with her aunt, but it had fallen on deaf ears. So she had run away. Twice her father had returned her to her aunt, reminding Delphine that it was for her own good that she was there; that he could not look after her, the way her aunt could. Delphine had looked at him with her big blue eyes and he had almost turned around there and then.

But even this had not worked. So she resorted to poisoning them. Her mother had always warned her not to touch the foxgloves growing in the woods as they were poisonous. She picked some, taking care to wrap her hands in a scarf. Then she went to the barn and chopped them into pieces and wrapped them up in the scarf for later. That evening she carefully sprinkled them into the soup, as it boiled on the stove. At dinner she claimed she did not feel well, and went to bed hungry. The next day her aunt, her uncle and all cousins fell ill, but Delphine’s health quickly improved. Her father came and took her home.

On the way he had said

“So should I be worried, or will you stop now that you can come home?”

Delphine looked at her father defiantly.

“Papa! Of course, YOU have nothing to worry about.”

He nodded and smiled. “Bien, we’ll say no more about it. Your secret is safe with me.”

Unable to leave the house Delphine had to rely on her father for any news of what was happening outside. Gossip was rife, but it was clear from the rumours that everyone assumed Georges had fled back to England to join the émigrés again. Delphine’s father did not comment, but his silence was taken as assent and convinced people even further.
The more Jacques thought about it, the more he realised that the best option for Georges had to be to return to England.

After the third day the fever broke, Georges was at last able to drink some water and sip a little broth. When Delphine peeled back the bandage the maggots had mysteriously disappeared, the dead blackened skin was gone. In it’s place was healthy new skin, a little red in places, but pink and clean. Clear liquid wept from the centre, for the most part Georges was clearly on the mend. His long deep sleep had revitalised him. When Delphine came down to pass on the good news, Jacques gestured for her to sit down.

“Delphine, ma fille. I’ave something to ask of you. It is no longer safe for your brother to be here in France. He must go back to England, but this time I think he should not go straight back into the bosom of the émigrés. He needs to rest, and he needs to focus his mind on something other than all this plotting against the Republic. I am going to ask my good friend Robert Goody to take him in and keep him out of trouble, if he can. And you must go with him.”

Jacques put up his hand,

“I know what you are going to say, but my mind is made up. It is not safe for you here, I want you to go with Georges. Perhaps you can persuade him to give up this ludicrous fight, which he can never win. Think of it as an adventure. You have often said how much you wish you could see the places I have been. England is perhaps not as exciting as the Carribean, but still it would be a chance to flex your wings a little. You are no longer my little bird, perhaps it is time you learnt to fly.”

That night Delphine dreamt that she was on a small boat far out to sea. The sky was black, waves were crashing all around her, threatening to engulf her. In the water she could see a small red blob. The blob moved and changed shape, and she realised that an arm was waving at her. The red blob was a person’s head, and they were signalling to her for help. Delphine looked around for her father, but he was not there, she was alone. The red blob disappeared beneath a huge wave. Looking up she saw that the sails were torn and tattered. In the bow she spotted an oar. It seemed an impossible task but Dephine knew she alone could save them. Grabbing the oar she began to paddle towards the figure in the water. The boat seemed to move quickly through the waves. Soon she was reaching out a hand to pull the person on board. In the darkness it was hard to amke out the features of the face, but Delpine knew that it was familiar. As the young man clasped her hand, she could see his blond curly hair, blue eyes and a broad smile. Delphine smiled back. She pulled him onto the boat, he fell face down at her feet, lay panting for a moment, and then as he turned to face her he said,

“Thank-you Delphine, you saved my life.”

Jack. The name flashed through her like a bolt of lightning. It was as though her heart had recognised him before her head.

When she awoke moments later, she could still feel Jack’s hand in hers. She was surprised to find herself dry and warm in bed. Delphine made her way downstairs in a daze. She lit the fire as she always did.

“What’s that tune you’re humming?” asked her father.

“I wasn’t humming anything.”

“Yes you were. You seem very happy this morning, what’s put you in such a good mood? Is Georges feeling better?”

Delphine stood up quickly, brushed the ash from her hands and wiped her forehead, leaving a trail of black soot across her face.

“I’ll just go and check on him.”

Her father nodded.

Delphine cleared the stairs two at a time, how could she have forgotten about Georges? She arrived at his bedside hot and flustered. He had been sleeping but the clatter of her entrance disturbed him and he opened his eyes.

“What is it? Have they come for me?” he sat up, eyes wide open.

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. I was just checking to see if you wanted anything to eat?”

Georges head sank back into the pillow, and he gave a faint smile.

“A little coffee would be good. Maybe some bread?”

Delphine went to leave, stopped and leant against the doorframe for a moment. Turning her head back she said,

“It’s good to see you looking so much better. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Thanks. How long have I been asleep?”

“Six days.”

“Oh, so long? I would have thought I felt more rested.” he said smiling.

“Delphine,”

“Oui?”

“You are a good girl.”

Delphine smiled, but she was aware it was a different smile from the one in the dream.

Downstairs she found her father in the kitchen with a baguette tearing hungrily into a baguette.

“How is he?”

“Hungry!”

Delphine went to make the coffee.

“Delphine.”

“Oui mon pere?”

“You have soot on your face.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you go and wash it off. You seem a little distracted this morning. I can make the coffee, I need to practice.”

Delphine blushed and ran upstairs to her room. She stood at her washstand, holding the mirror to her face and could see the black smear across her forehead. She put down the mirror, poured water from a pink floral jug into the bowl. Dipping a cloth into the bowl she noticed how faded the pink flowers inside the bowl looked. It had been her grandmothers wash stand. The set was old and cracked. She remembered the day her father had found her pet frog in the jug, and dropped it onto the bowl in shock, chipping the lip of the bowl. She ran her finger along the chipped edge, smoothed with time.

Checking that the smear was gone, Delphine put down the mirror and went back downstairs. Delphine looked around the parlour. Flames danced in the hearth sending shadows across the stone floor. Delphine pushed her hair out of her face and the shadow moved, She realised it was her own shadow. Delphine looked at the familiar objects on the fireplace. The silver plate, a present from her parents wedding; a horseshoe nailed to the chimney for luck, the yellowing lace cloth on the mantelpiece. It had been knitted by her mother when she was pregnant with Georges. When Delphine had asked what her mother had made when she was pregnant with her, her father had laughed.

“Ma pauvre petite. Rien. When you have your own children you will understand. When you have no children you have to find work for your hands to do. But once you have one, you will never have to worry again. There is always plenty to do. Your blessed mother worked every day of your young life. And when the lord took her away, I had no idea how hard she had worked, until she was no longer there to do it. I wish I had known, I would have told her to enjoy life more. Instead I have to ask this of you. Enjoy life. Go to England. Live and be happy.