St. Valentine's Day Trip to Switzerland

Their last journey together.

Dear readers, although this story is offered as a tale of love and devotion, the subject matter is highly controversial. Some might find this story harrowing while others may not approve of the premise. I offer it as a different yet, hopefully, still romantic slant on the usual St Valentine's Day stories.

Story:

Emma awoke and rose early on the 14th of February for she knew she had a busy day ahead of her. She smiled, inwardly, as she glanced at her sleeping husband who still lay on their matrimonial bed. A bed they had shared over many decades; not always the same bed, of course, but one that they could proclaim as being a place where lovers lie together in harmony.

"Oh Harold, I do love you so, and I have your Valentine's card right here," Emma whispered the words searchingly; however, she expected no reply.

She moved to her chest-of-drawers and from under the pile of panties and vests produced a small white paper bag. She cringed at the rustling noise as she removed a card whose frontage was decorated with soft cuddly bears, hearts, and pale coloured ribbons. The inside section bore a message in shaky handwriting which read, "To the only man I've ever loved, and the only one I ever will."

Harold has always been an old grouch when it comes to cards that mark events which he felt were exploitations and he had little to do with such occasions. He still however always accepted the cards presented to him at Easter, Christmas and on St Valentine's Day. In absence of a return card he would give Emma flowers instead; on St Valentine's Day the flowers were, more often than not, orchids.

As if on cue, a knock on the door startled Emma from her daydreaming.

She returned to the bedroom, shortly, after answering the call, carrying a solitary orchid in a small vase. She had asked a neighbour to do the chore she knew Harold could no longer perform that to purchase the flower. She placed the vase on Harold's nightstand and bent to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Harold, its beautiful!"

The sleeping man's eyes flickered open on sensing his wife's tender lips on his cheek. His eyeballs flashed to the side of their sockets, first left then right. Today he had awoken knowing who and where he was but that seldom was the case, nowadays.

Illness had ravaged his mind leaving him bemused and confused for most of the time, and yet there were still moments in time where his memory would return to taunt him and his wife; periods of precious time that grew less frequent with each passing day! Most days, now, he would not recognise his loving wife. Sometimes his objections to her intrusions manifested themselves with accompanying violence. "Who are you woman, go away, leave me alone." He would flay his fists while ranting.

On 'good days' Emma and Harold reminisced of earlier times; of their family and outings to the seaside or trips inland to walk through forests and over grassy fields. They loved their English county countryside and, ever the more so, they loved the romantic names that the author, Thomas Hardy, had given to the same area.

Harold now spent most of his days in bed and, at the times when he was aware of his surroundings, would love Emma to read from Hardy's novels. His favourite story and yet the saddest, for him, was 'The Mayor of Casterbridge.'

That story starts out by relaying the tale of a twenty-one year old hay-trusser who, while besotted with rum-laced furmity, has a row with his wife and then auctions her and their child for five guineas. He is then too ashamed to immediately track down the buyer, a sailor.

Although the hay-trusser succeeds in business and later becomes the Mayor he lives with his private shame of what he has done. He does later, partially, repay his debt to his wife and the sailor who bought his wife and child but the Mayor essentially dies a broken man.

When Harold had first read that novel he was already well into his marriage to Emma; nevertheless, his mind was then sound and sometimes, when in a reflective mood, wondered if there wasn't a little of 'The Mayor' in him or, indeed, in every man. Had he always been as fair, loving, and caring as he should have been to Emma? Had he, metaphorically, sold her love for a mere five guineas on more than one occasion? The one thing which always reassures him is that Emma's love for him has been and remains tireless!

In his more sombre moments, Harold knew that Emma was growing frail and he was becoming more of a burden to her. He also knew of a solution to their ills. He was aware that it would take a lot of convincing before his loving wife would consider honouring his requests. He decided not to broach the subject directly but would try to ease Emma around to his way of thinking; obviously, it would take time and he was reminded that his lucid days were fading fast.

Way back in November, last year, Emma had sat in front of her PC and couldn't help but smile at the fact that, at her age, she had only just begun to realise the potential and power of the Internet. Harold had encouraged her to learn to use the computer. Emma's faithful next door neighbour, a much younger woman, had shown her the basics and she had become quite a proficient surfer. Harold set Emma computer orientated tasks to complete, one of which surprised her. That task was for her to research an old 1973 movie, "Soylent Green."

Soylent Green: A gruesome science fiction film set in an over populated world where the awareness of food shortages ranked paramount. 'Older people were extinguished' is the barest minimum I need to say; however, in their final moments the elderly were allowed to watch scenes on large screens that depicted tranquillity, peace and harmony. This particular research left Emma first puzzled and then thoughtful as to what Harold was trying to tell her.

Further requests and themes of research, from Harold, led Emma to web pages on Swiss clinics; clinics which were 'liberal' when it came to assisted death. Harold later spoke of his desire that on St Valentine's Day he wished to go on a day trip to Switzerland. No more was said on the subject.

Harold's tired eyes finally focused on the solitary orchid. He smiled a watery smile through tear filled eyes. "Is it time for our trip?"

Emma nodded and then, scarcely above a whisper, replied "Yes, sweetheart today is the day. I'll need to get you ready for our carriage will be here, shortly."

The mention of the carriage caused her husband to chuckle childishly. The thought led his mind across fields and along unmade hole-potted roads. He had returned to Hardy's countryside and the carriage would, indeed, be a Fly. He could even hear the snort of the horse that drew the carriage: hear the swish of its tail swotting flies, and smell the leather of the harness as the steed chomped at the bit. His thoughts were edged in shades of green, 'Soylent Green'!

"Aye, 'ee must ready me for the journey" he coughed out the sentence using Hardy's old English words whilst trying to raise his self up on weakened elbows.

"Best you lay still and let me do my work," snorted his wife as she forcibly returned him to a lying position. "Let me get the washing of you organised."

The brief exercise had sapped Harold's strength and so he lay resting quietly until his wife returned with a bowl of warm water, a face cloth, and a towel. It stirred him once more to action.

"Please lay still, Harold, things are bad enough as they are without 'ee making it worse."

After placing the washing materials on the floor, Emma rolled her husband first one way then the other while peeling off his soiled pyjama top and bottoms. She then commenced to wash his face.

Softly yet skilfully she cleaned around his eyes and nose. A chill ran through her body; not one of foreboding but one of love and affection. Although Harold's eyes were closed she could feel their warmth. She could recall the steely strength and resolve those same blue eyes had shown whenever they had faced adversity. She sighed and murmured her affection, "Strong features, strong man."

"My young lion" she continued in admiration. Her thoughts flew to Hemingway's 'The Old Man and The Sea' and equated Harold to the old man's dream of a young lion frolicking on the beach. A tear trickling down her cheek brought her back to today's reality.

She washed his once strong hands, shoulders, and back. Emma wished that he had the strength to embrace her now as he had done so many times in the past.

When she touched near his groin Emma felt his limp manhood flinch. She smiled for it had been quite some time since that had happened. She paused to see if he wanted pleasure. His growing hardness was his tacit reply. Her strokes were slow, gentle and deliberate. She did pause to wonder what others might think of her loving actions.

Dismissing all negatives, after all it was an act of pure love, she continued until Harold reached fruition. In Emma's eyes such sexual acts were the exchanges that only true lovers share; especially, today of all days.

The signs of satisfaction on Harold's face made his wife have second thoughts."We don't have to go on the Swiss trip for we could stay here at home!"

"No, the time has come the Walrus said..." recited her husband as much in jest as anything else.

"Are you sure?

Yes, dear Emma, I'm sure."

After finishing the washing of his body Emma struggled but managed to slip on Harold a clean pair of pyjamas.

Leaving him alone for a moment she left the room to retrieve two small packages and a glass of water. She lifted and cradled her darling Harold in one arm while offering him the water and the first of two pills from one package. Once the first pill had been administered she gave him the second. Harold made the effort to cuddle Emma as she, in turn, cuddled him. The last question she ever asked of him was, 'Why on St Valentine's Day?'

He replied "It's the day when lovers pledge their undying love for another; openly or in secret! I love you Emma with all my heart. Now, please read 'The Mayor' to me"

Emma read until, she knew her husband was well on his 'Day Trip to Switzerland'. She rose and took a small suitcase from under the bed.

The case was full of St Valentine's Day cards; one for every year of their 55-years of marriage. As Harold had discarded the cards so she had stored them away. She thumbed through her treasured memories recounting the precise year in which she had given each one; a true chronicle of her loving marriage.

Climbing back on the bed, she took the two pills from the second package and with a sip of water, between each one, swallowed them.

Emma took hold of Harold's hand, closed her eyes, and, in her mind's eye, started walking after the Fly carriage that seemed to be waiting just a short distance down the lane. She knew that soon she would be heading for the coast and along with her young Lion should be frolicking on the beach.

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Dear Reader, if I've raised emotion, of any kind, in you then I've accomplished my task. All comments and votes appreciated.