The Enchanted Doll by Paul Gallico. Part 5.
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One night I couldn’t sleep at all. I walked up and down my room, thinking about myself and my illness. It seemed that I was suffering from the same illness as Mary.
Suddenly I knew what was wrong. I was in love with Mary! And because I couldn’t look after her, I felt ill and unhappy.
‘I know why Mary’s dying!’ I thought. ‘She’s dying because nobody loves her. Nobody in the world is giving her hope for the future. Her mother and father are dead. Her aunt only keeps her because she makes money from Mary’s dolls. Mary has no friends and she feels ugly because of her leg. Her life is empty – except for the dolls.
‘I have to see her! I have to speak to her for a few minutes, alone – or she’ll be lost to me forever!’
I thought about this all through the night, and the next morning I telephoned Jim Carter at his shop.
‘This is Doctor Amony, Jim,’ I said. ‘Will you help me?’
‘I’ll do what I can for you, doctor,’ Jim said. ‘You saved my son’s life last year, and I’ll never forget that. How can I help you?’
‘Thanks, Jim,’ I said. ‘Do you remember Mrs Rose Callamit, the doll woman?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Jim.
‘When she comes into your shop again, I want you to telephone me. Then have a long conversation with her,’ I said. ‘I need twenty minutes. All right?’
‘All right,’ said Jim.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Jim. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.’
I was worried about a telephone call while I was out. So each evening I put my head round the door of his shop. But he just shook his head. There was no news.
Then one day, at five o’clock in the afternoon, the telephone rang. It was Jim.
He just said, ‘She’s here.’
I ran to the house where Mary lived. When I got there, I ran up the stairs. Luckily, the door was not locked, and I hurried through into Mary’s room.
She looked so thin now, and very ill. She still had the paints and pieces of cloth around her.
I thought, ‘She wants to make one more doll before she dies.’
She looked up when I came into the room. Her eyes opened wide in surprise when she saw me. She thought that it was Rose.
She said my name. But she didn’t call me ‘Doctor Amony’ – she called me ‘Stephen’.
‘Mary!’ I cried. ‘I’ve come to help you. I know what’s making you ill.’
‘Does it matter now?’ she said, quietly.
‘There’s still time, Mary,’ I said. ‘I know your secret. I know how I can make you well. But you must listen to me while I tell you.’
She just closed her eyes and said, quietly, ‘No. Don’t say anything, please. Leave me. I don’t want to know. The end is near now.’
I sat down and held her hand.
‘Mary, please listen to me,’ I said gently. ‘When children are growing up, they receive love from their family. Then, when they’re older, they can give that love to other people. They give love, and at the same time they receive kindness, happiness and hope. Then they have more love that they can give. But you’ve given your love, Mary, and you’ve received nothing. Now you have no love that you can give.’
I was not sure that she could still hear me. But I wanted her to live so much.
I had to continue.
‘It was your aunt,’ I said. ‘She took away all your hopes for love and happiness. And later,’ I continued, ‘she did a worse thing. She took away your children.’
I looked at Mary. ‘Have I killed her?’ I thought. ‘The one person who loves her?’
Then I felt her small hand move in mine and her eyes slowly opened. She seemed almost glad to hear these words. This gave me hope.
I talked gently. I tried very hard, because I wanted her to understand.
‘Those dolls were your children, Mary,’ I said. ‘You thought that you couldn’t be a mother. So you made those beautiful dolls. Into each one you put some of your love. You made them gently and carefully, and you loved them like your own children.
‘Then your aunt took each one away and she gave you nothing. You continued to use all your love. People can die when they have no love left inside them, Mary.’
I finished speaking and she moved. She seemed to understand what I was saying.
‘But you won’t die, Mary,’ I cried, ‘because I love you! Do you hear me? I love you and I can’t live without you.’
‘Love me?’ she said quietly. ‘But I have a twisted leg. How can you love me?’
‘That doesn’t matter to me, Mary. I still love you,’ I said, gently. ‘But Rose lied to you. I can make your leg straight. In a year you’ll walk like every other girl.’
I saw tears of happiness in her eyes. She smiled and put her arms out to me.
I took her up in my arms and she held me. I put my coat round her to keep her warm. Then I carried her across the room.
Suddenly we heard the front door shut and the sound of running footsteps. Then Mary’s door crashed open as an angry Rose Callamit came into the room.
Mary started to shake with fear. She hid her face in my neck.
But Rose was too late. She could do nothing now, and she knew it. She did not speak a word when I walked past her. I held Mary close to me. I went out of her front door, down the stairs and into the street.
Outside, the sun shone and the sky was blue. Children played happily and noisily in the street as I carried Mary home.
That was three years ago.
As I write this, Mary is playing with our son. Our second child will arrive in a few weeks.
Mary doesn’t make the dolls now. She doesn’t need to make them. But I silently thank the day when I first fell in love with the beautiful doll in Jim Carter’s shop window.
THE END
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