My Virtual Reading Room

“Very well…since you insist,” I managed, my voice still not quite steady.  “I was treating a 15-year-old boy from a wealthy family…his mother is in her mid-30s, still very attractive and quite a social butterfly.  The boy fell ill about two weeks ago; it was just a high fever at first…”

“Go on.”

“So the mother would stop by and see the boy for a few minutes in the morning and in the evening, in between attending parties and social events.  Then, a few days later, it became evident that the boy was suffering from smallpox.”

“Oh, Watson…I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Holmes…but that was not yet the worst of it.  He was very ill, and his mother was afraid of contracting the disease, you see…so she would not come into his room.  The boy died last night, and he knew he was dying…he begged his mother to come see him for the last time, or at least to walk past the window of his room so that he could say farewell, but she could not bring herself to do even that.  And today, I received a request from one of the physicians in that area to come see the mother. Holmes, we had to send her to the insane asylum. The guilt and grief drove her mad…” I hid my face in my hands, trying to avoid breaking down completely.

Holmes laid a hand on my arm. “My dear Watson, surely you could not have done anything differently?”

“No, I suppose not…yet one feels responsible when something like that occurs…even if I could have done nothing else…”

He smiled sadly. “I shall never understand the medical mind.  I have some pleasant news, however.  Die Fledermaus is on tonight; would you care to attend?”

I smiled for the first time that day.  “Yes, thank you.  But I thought you did not care much for Strauss?”

“Nor do I; but I believe you do?”