A BITE TO EAT

JANET MAILE

The bottle was cold to the touch. Silvia held it up to the light and watched the
liquid swirling slightly, sending bluish shimmers throughout the fluid. Dipping
her little finger into the bottle, she cautiously raised it to her lips, wrinkling her
nose up at the strange taste. Could this little bottle of liquid really bring Roger
back to her?

She removed the cassoulet from the oven, spooned out a portion into another
dish and added a few drops of the liquid.

When Roger came in, she noticed that his face was drawn and his eyes had
lost their sparkle. For a moment she wondered whether she should let him go
quietly but then she shook herself. Nothing would be gained by being weak.

She had suspected he was having an affair for quite a while. All that overtime
and nights spent away from home, the usual feeble excuses. She had said
nothing, waiting for it to blow over, but then her friend Ros brought it to a
head. They met up as they did every week for a coffee and a catch up. On
that fateful day, she had said, Have you met Rogers secretary? Silvia
suspected what was coming, but it was no easier when Ros told her theyd
been seen on the downs, late at night, in his car. I wanted to tell you before
anyone else did, Ros said.

Hes a bit old for clandestine meetings in the back of a car, Silvia said, but
she knew it was true. Roger didnt look directly at her any more. He ate as if
he couldnt taste what he was eating and often sat staring out of the window,
far away.

She said nothing, certain it would pass, but a week ago Roger had said, so
quietly she almost didnt hear him, You know, dont you? She shook her
head, fighting back tears; if he spoke the words, there would be no going
back.

She had hurried into the kitchen to get away, but he had followed her.
Afterwards, she could only remember disjointed phrases: Pat, his secretary
six months ten years of marriage - they had rented a flat settling things
between us a generous allowance.

Blinded by her tears, she reached to turn the hob down, stumbled and put her
hand out to steady herself. Roger had acted fast, grabbing her arm and
running her hand under cold water. Later, she could only remember how
firmly he had held her nearly fainting body, could still smell that familiar odour
that was him, could still feel his body pressed tightly against hers. And was it
only out of guilt that he had held her and comforted her afterwards and wiped
the tears from her face?
He had been so caring, so tender, she was almost glad shed burnt her hand.
But when he said, I wont leave for a fortnight, give that hand a chance to
heal up first, the pain in her heart was far worse.

That night, she lay in bed, unable to sleep. There must be a way of keeping
him, there had to be. Each time she turned over restlessly, her hand stung,
reflecting her mental anguish. Waking up the next morning, she found she
knew what to do.

She needed the magazine that had come a fortnight earlier, one of Rogers
geography magazines but she would have to wait until he had gone to work.
She heard him moving around the kitchen, cooking him sausages, bacon,
tomatoes and fried bread and wished there was some way she could hurry
him along, but he liked his food. She knew for a fact that she couldnt boil an
egg, so perhaps the affair wouldnt last.
After eating, Roger hung around, washing up, putting the washing in the
machine, making the bed things he had never done since they had been
married.

Finally he left. Silvia burst into frantic activity. She started in his study,
searching first in the bin, then on the shelves. Its got to be here
somewhere, she said aloud. It must! My life depends on it!

After a while, she found it underneath a pile of papers waiting to be filed. She
ran her finger down the index and found what she was looking for. Turning to
the right page, she scanned the article rapidly, looking for the information she
wanted. Yes, there it was. She sat down in Rogers large, leather swivel chair,
symbol of his manhood, and read about the women in Africa who put a certain
plant into their husbands food. After a few weeks, the men were addicted,
and if they should stray to the next village, soon returned home. She yelped
triumphantly.

Turning on the computer, she searched for somewhere she could buy the
substance. Google returned ten online shops, none of them based in
England. She chose one, entered her credit card details into the order form
and with a click it was done, the order was on its way! Amid her triumph, a
thought struck. Roger had said hed stay a fortnight but how long would it
take the package to arrive and then to work? It was coming from the States.
Would it even arrive before hed left?

In the days that followed, Roger was caring and solicitous. She kept the
bandage on, even though her hand had almost healed. She wondered if he
had begun to change his mind, but she noticed things disappearing out of the
house: Rogers favourite DVDs, the paperweight gift from his brother, a
number of shirts and jumpers. Thirty years of marriage, all wasted.

Every day she raced to the door as soon as she heard the letterbox thud.
Every day she flicked through the brochures and the bills with despair. Would
the package even arrive before Roger left?
Finally a package arrived with Indian stamps on the envelope. Greedily, she
tore it open and stared at the innocent looking brown glass bottle, wondering if
it could really be holding the future in her hands.

She searched through her recipe books for something special. Venison with
blackberry sauce? No, Roger would be suspicious. Chicken with Moroccan
Spiced Vegetables? Perfect. If Roger noticed a strange taste shed just tell
him it was a new herb it was true after all!

With only a few days until Roger left, she added a few drops of the strange
green liquid to every meal Roger ate. If he thought it was strange that Sylvia
did not eat with him, he did not comment on it. It was clear he was just getting
through the days until he could do what he really wanted. It made Silvia mad
she wanted to hit him, make him notice her but instead she kept quiet,
holding in all her anger and passion. She could wait!

She watched for signs of change, anything to show that the plant extract was
working. After the first few days, he was still as determined to leave as he
had been. She grew anxious. If this didnt work, she was lost. She could not
live without Roger.

The fortnight was up. When Roger returned from work, he went straight to the
bedroom and began packing. Silvia rushed after him and she heard herself
yelling, You cant go. You cant leave me. I cant live without you.

He looked at her with surprise. I thought youd accepted it. Youve been so
calm lately!

No, Ill never accept it, she said. Never!

****

Two days later it started. Roger woke up with a splitting headache. He

couldnt move, his limbs were heavy and his chest felt as if it had been
crushed under a weight.

It started as a passing thought, then it gained momentum. If he could go

home. If he could have some of Sylvias home cooking, he would feel
better. This one thought filled his head, becoming urgent, compelling. He had
to get home. Visions of food rose up before him: home-made pies and
casseroles, fish stew, spaghetti Bolognaise.. He licked his dry, cracked lips.

Soon after, the retching started. Through the pain and the nausea, he heard
Pat say, Ill call the doctor.

No, he croaked. No doctor. I want to go home.

Gently, she laid her cool hand on his forehead. You are home, she said.
This is your home now.

No, he said urgently. I must go home. He tried to get out of bed.

Lay down, Pat soothed, as he fitfully pushed the blankets away.

Please, he whispered. Take me home. He clutched at her desperately.

Please. He summoned up his retreating strength. Home! he cried, his
eyes pleading with her.

She fetched a glass of water, wiped his face with a cool flannel, tried to tempt
him with a piece of toast, even read the newspaper to him, but all to no avail.
Roger continued to talk of going home. Finally Pat said bitterly, All right. Ill
do it. Ill take you to her.

He closed his eyes in relief and sank back onto the bed until she brought him
his clothes and helped him to dress. The knowledge that he would soon be
home gave him the strength to stagger downstairs and collapse into the car.

As they drove through the streets, Sylvia was just waking up. She got out of
bed miserable at the lonely day ahead and ate her breakfast in her dressing
gown. She noticed yesterdays washing up still on the side, but didnt care.

She ran a bath. Opening the wall cupboard, she saw that the bath oil was
empty. Moving into the kitchen to throw away the bottle, she thought of that
other bottle, high on the cupboard shelf.

There was enough left for her bath. It had done no good, she might as well
use it up, she thought, throwing the green liquid into the bath and stepping
into the changing swirls of colour.

Ten minutes later, she heard the key in the front door. Alarmed and excited at
the same time, she got out of the bath and wrapped a towel round her. She
went uncertainly into the lounge and there stood Roger, doubled up in pain,
gripping his stomach. Pat stood defensively a little way behind him.

The scent hit his nostrils and he was filled with a desperate craving that
desired immediate fulfilment. Some force inside him rose up, filling him with
the strength of ten men. He moved towards Sylvia, putting his arms around
her and holding her tight. That smell, which summoned up images of rampant
lions, filled his mind, his whole body. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs.
The smell surrounded him, engulfed him. He had come home at last. Here,
the pain, the sickness would be taken away. Driven by desperation he
opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth deep into her flesh.

Janet Maile