Inger Ash Wolfe - The calling

Friday, 12 November, 3 p.m.

He was precisely on time.

For most of the afternoon, Delia Chandler hadbusied herself with small tasks around the house.She had already vacuumed the upstairs and down-stairsthat week, but she did it again, taking care tomove tables and chairs to ensure she got the headof the vacuum everywhere that dust could hide.One of Simon's tenets was cleanliness: she did notwant to meet him for the first time with so much asa speck of dirt anywhere in the house.

She ran the dishwasher and cleaned the dishtray. She even washed the bar of soap in the bathroom.In his communications with her, Simon hadsaid that the key to health was to take care of yourenvironment as you took care of yourself. She hadfollowed his advice very closely indeed, preparingthe teas exactly as he detailed, drinking themat the prescribed times of day, taking gentleexercise at exactly 6 a.m., and getting into bed at9 p.m. to make sure she got nine full hours of sleepevery night.

His ministrations however long-distance theywere had been invaluable in keeping her strengthup until he could come. The cancer was in herbones now, and it had spread like a moss throughher pelvis and into the surrounding tissues. DrLewiston had laid out for her the palliative options:once the pain got too intense, she would be movedinto the hospice where it would be 'managed'. Sheimagined herself being put to sleep like a dog. Hersons, Robert and Dennis, had said they would paywhatever costs were involved to ensure hercomfort. Sweet boys. She agreed to whatever theyproposed, knowing that, when the time came, shewould not need their help at all.

At two-thirty, Delia went upstairs and changedinto something befitting the guest she was about toreceive. She pulled on a new pair of pantyhose, andthen stepped into a blue wool dress. Any movementof her arms above shoulder level shot ascatter of pain throughout her body, as if a tinygrenade had gone off in her hips. She eased thedress up over her chest and shoulders, and she satdown to catch her breath. Then she stood andlooked at herself in the mirror. She was quite presentablefor an eighty-one-year-old, dying woman.She put on a pair of black low-heeled shoes, butthought better of them, and put the orthotics backon. Simon would not want her to be in pain for thesake of looking good for him. No, he would notapprove of that kind of vanity.

The doorbell rang at three o'clock on thebutton. She even saw the second hand hit twelveat that very moment. She took a deep breath,smoothed the dress over her stomach, and openedthe door.

Simon stood on her doorstep, bearing a heavyvalise. He was terribly thin, perhaps one of thethinnest human beings she had ever seen. It gavehim the appearance of height. He wore a longblack coat and a black derby on his head, and hisface was deeply lined. He had the aspect of a gentleelder, even though she knew he was younger thanshe was, by at least thirty years. His was a face withall the blows of life nesting in it. Her heart wentout to him, even though it was she he had come tosuccour.

'Mrs Chandler,' he said. 'Thank you for invitingme to your home.'

She drew the door wide and gestured intothe house. 'Simon, I am honoured to welcome you.'

He entered and removed his hat, placing itsilently on the hall table. He undid a black silk sashfrom under his chin, and slid out of his caped coat,and handed it to Delia. The outside of the coat wascold from the fall air without, but inside, where hisbody had been, it was warm. She went down thehall a little and hung it for him. When she cameback, he was sitting on the couch, eyes scanningthe room, and his long hands clasping his knees. 'Iimagined your house would be just like this, MrsChandler.'

'Please call me Delia.'

'Delia, then. This house is as if I'd dreamed it.Come and sit near me.' She did, lowering herselfuncomfortably into the chair beside the couch.When she was seated, he lifted his valise onto thetable and opened it. A smell of camphor emergedfrom inside. 'We needn't truck in chit-chat,' hesaid. 'It's as if we are already old friends, no?' Shesmiled at him and nodded once in assent. Itdelighted her that his demeanour in person wasentirely of a piece with how he was in his emails:grave, but not humourless, and quietly authoritative.He drew out half a dozen vials from thevalise. They were filled with dried plant matter andpowders. He lined them up neatly on the coffeetable. 'How have you been?' he asked. 'How's yourpain?'

'It's manageable,' she said. 'I take the lantana forthe pain in my bones, and it works for a couple ofhours. But I don't mind. A little respite is all I needwhile waiting for you.'

He smiled at this, and reached out to take herhand. He clasped it gently. 'I choose very carefully,Delia, who I come to see. Only those who are completelycommitted will do. Are you still completelycommitted?'

'I am.'

'And you are not frightened?'

She hesitated here and looked away from him. 'Ihave told myself to be truthful with you, so I willsay that I have been scared, yes. A little. But notnow, not at this moment.'

'Good,' he said, and his voice told her that it wasall right to have experienced some trepidation. Itmeant she had faced it and moved past it. 'Weshould get started then.'

'Yes,' she said.

'I do have to ask you to do one thing for me first,however. It will make you somewhat uncomfortable.'Delia looked at his eyes and waited for him toexplain. 'I must look at your body, Delia. I needto see your skin before proceeding.'

She blanched at this, and thought of herselfpicking through the few dresses in her closet forone that would make her look the most presentable.Now he wanted her to stand exposed beforehim? But she did not question him, rather she roseand faced him in front of the low coffee table. Shereached behind herself with one hand and drew thezipper on the back of her dress down, wincing inpain.