Observations placeholder

The Reluctant healer – William J Macmillan

This particular Sunday morning all the suppressed emotion of the past weeks arose and overwhelmed me.

Finally I achieved sufficient measure of self-control to get up and dress. I made myself take the short journey to the beach. I went in swimming-hoping that exercise would help to lift my almost suicidal unhappiness. The laughter and gaiety of the crowd, with their picnic baskets surrounded with family and friends, was too much for me. I fled back to the city.

Once in my hotel room I knew I must change my clothes and go out for dinner or . . . Anyway, I knew I must get out of that room. I went to the best restaurant in Oslo. After dinner I felt impelled to take a walk through the Palace Gardens. I was standing on the street corner across from the Opera House with traffic rushing by when I became aware of in unbelievably delicious scent. At first I thought it came from the Gardens.

Then I realized these were a quarter of a mile away. I looked about me, but there was no one standing near who seemed a likely source of this perfume.

The traffic let up for a second and I dashed over to the other side of the street. Here I stopped to look at the bill posters advertising coming attractions at the Opera House. The scent increased steadily. People passing me turned to gaze at me as they passed. Several laughed. Suddenly I knew it was I who was the focal point of this perfume. I walked as rapidly as I could across the square into the Palace Gardens. Here I tried to find a secluded bench, but they were all occupied. Eventually I did find a stone seat against a wall. I tried to analyze what the scent was. While it was not anything I could place, it was vaguely familiar. It had something of the sweetness of syringa, but it contained an astringent quality. It was indescribably refreshing. My depression lifted as though it had never existed.

I wanted to sing or dance or do something to express the energy and joy which flooded me with every inhalation of this perfume. It had now lasted half an hour, and it was as pungent as in the beginning. To return to my hotel I had to walk along a street fairly well filled with strolling couples. I hoped they would not notice me. It was a forlorn wish. My passage was marked by turning heads and suppressed laughter. I was torn between agonies of acute self-consciousness and profound gratitude to Heaven for having restored me inside and out. I wished most heartily Heaven would use less unusual and public methods.

Gradually the perfume faded. I looked at my watch. It had flowed through me for three-quarters of an hour.