How did you catch a cold? Whats his condition? gasped Margaret, the motherinlaw, peering over her teacup. Hes still in bed. Its only a slight fever, nothing serious, the frost has just begun.
This isnt just any frost! Its the work you bring home from the shop, every little thing! How many times must I tell youchange your job!
Emily lay halfasleep when a sudden clang roused her: the front door swung open. She rubbed her eyes, glanced at the clockonly eight in the morning.
Andrew, love, is that you? she called, listening for any sound inside the flat.
No answer came, only the soft creak of a door opening toward the bathroom, then silence.
She threw a housecoat over her shoulders, slipped her bare feet onto the cold tiles, and hurried to the washroom.
When she pushed the door, she froze.
There, by the mirror, stood her husband Mark, his lips stretched wide as he stared at his own protruding tongue.
Emily, is it true that a person with a cold shows a white tongue? he asked, his voice thin.
Are you saying youve got a cold? she murmured, still halfdreaming.
I think so, Mark replied, touching his forehead anxiously. I need a thermometer. Where did we put it? Let me lie down. Theyve even given me the day off. I suppose well have to call a doctor.
Emily fetched the glass thermometer. It read 37.2°C. The winter had truly set in, and Mark slipped beneath the covers. A doctor arrived an hour later, handed out a fitnote, and left.
Emily dialed her mother:
Could you pick up Tommy from nursery? He cant come homeMark has a cold.
Her mother, delighted, agreed. She adored her grandson, lived alone, and Tommy was her sunshine.
And what about Mark? Anything serious?
Nothing unusual. The doctor gave him rest, prescribed a few things, and well take it easy.
How are you feeling? her mother asked, worry threading her voice.
All right! I have a second shift at work, Ill ask Margaret to drop by this evening, and Mark will watch the kettle. Thats a whole week of nightshifts ahead. Thanks, Mum, weve got it sorted.
What to do now? A light chicken broth needed, simmered on a stock, so a quick trip to the corner shop was inevitable, besides the pharmacy. She pulled chicken thighs from the freezer, bought carrots and potatoes.
At the pharmacy she collected everything required. Later, at lunch, she woke her husband.
Mark, get up, have some broth, Emily nudged him by the shoulder.
A groggy Mark sat up on the bed.
I feel a bit queasy! Could you bring the soup to the bedside? I cant make it to the kitchen.
Is it that bad? All right, Ill bring it. Then you can check your temperature again
He ate the broth, measured his temperaturestill 37.2. Emily handed him tablets. Mark turned his face to the wall and drifted back to sleep. Thank heavens.
In their world, a husbands sick leave is paid in full, but for Emily the shops accounts are a different story. The familys mortgage loomed, and she could not afford to fall ill herself. She called Margaret again:
Mrs. Whitaker, Mark has a cold. If anything, keep an eye on him this evening. We usually have a crowd of shoppers at night, and I wont be able to reach him.
How can you be so ill? Whats his state? Margaret exclaimed.
Hes still in bed. Its only a slight fever, nothing serious, the frost has just begun.
Thats not just any frost! Its your job that brings home all that stuff! How many times must I tell youchange your work!
Mrs. Whitaker, Im not weak! You yourself said Mark could collapse at a moments notice when he was a boy. The cold weather is coming, so I have nothing to say
To stop the endless chatter, Emily cut her mother off. Margaret loved to spin a tale of an elephant from a fly, and she might be at the door within the hour. Let her have a look, Emily thought, I must get ready for work.
Sure enough, Margaret arrived with boxes of assorted herbs for the son, insisting they might help. She chattered while swapping Marks damp shirt for a dry one, declaring:
Look how you lie there in a soaking shirt; youll only get worse. How did you not see this coming?
Mrs. Whitaker, he was already sleepingwhat could I have done?
Emily left for work. A few hours later she felt a wave of weakness. She, too, was becoming frail, but she could not show it; the shift had to be covered. In the evening her temperature spiked higher than Marks. She wanted to complain, but he was preoccupied with his own misery.
I feel chilly and dizzy. Mother gave me tea with raspberry and honey; it helped a little, but by night Im still unwell. What should I take?
You know, Im feeling awful too
Then take something, Mark replied, glancing once more at his whitetongued reflection in the mirror. Its still there.
She could not afford to be sick. Complaining to anyone was useless: her mother would call every five minutes with advice, Margaret would blame her, and Mark would stay in his own world.
The decision was madeno complaints, just quiet pills and another day at the shop. The mortgage would not disappear.
All week Mark wallowed in his weakness, insisting he felt terrible even as his thermometer steadied at 37°C. Margaret visited often with her tinctures and infusions. Emily dreaded seeing her at home; her own appearance seemed bleak.
Mark noticed nothing, drifting between the television and his phone. When Emily returned, she checked his temperature, and only on the fourth day did it finally settle.
The weakness lingered, but they managed. Mark stayed in bed longer, demanding food at his side, temperature checks, and a drink whenever he asked.
Margaret claimed he had been frail as a child, and now, after five years of marriage, this was his first real coldunbearable, she declared.
He fought the slight malaise, constantly moaning about his condition.
The following week the doctor discharged him. Tommy was taken home. Mark would return to work tomorrow.
Sitting at the kitchen table with an evening tea, he recounted:
As a boy everything passed easier; now Ive gone through something you cant imagine!
Whats so special about it? Why couldnt you just bear it?
Youd know if you were in my shoes! Easy to talk when youre healthy.
I was! Ive been through the same, but you never noticed.
Mark gave his wife a skeptical glance, then a sly smile, as if he had uncovered a secret:
Joking, are you? All right, lets go to sleep.
Emily sighed sadlyhe truly hadnt seen a thing.
And that is the strange logic of the dream: a woman who has given birth can only halfunderstand the feverish world of a husband whose temperature hovers at 37°C.
