The Camden Tales

17 - Wicked Dreams

-=₪ May 1924 ₪=-

Home / 150 Camden Road / 7.36am

Malka and Alfie were in bed. Edna had been in to open the curtains, allowing the morning sun to burst through.

Bright from the rays, the room displayed its lived in mess. Malka's medical box was on the chaise longue, which was largely unpacked and spread all around the immediate vicinity.

The dressing table had a large ceramic bowl and cloths, which Malka had used to bathe Alfie and a large linen towel hung over his chair in the corner. Books were piled about with old newspapers and the small pharmacy was scattered everywhere.

Alfie had been in bed all week, laying flat and healing with Malka beside him the entire time. She only left to attend business when absolutely necessary, which was mostly calls from Bina, that Malka took in the boudoir.

Malka lifted her breakfast tray to the floor and looked over to Alfie. He hadn't touched his breakfast. She climbed out of bed and walked round to his side and adjusting her long white cotton nightdress on the way. She removed his breakfast tray and placed it on the floor by the wardrobe.

She wanted him to eat something, but figured a plate of food was a lost cause. She picked up the hard-boiled egg and the drink of freshly squeezed orange juice. Placing the glass of juice on his nightstand and lifting his arm from the bed to her lap, she sat beside him. Tapping the egg on his nightstand, she looked over her shoulder at him.

"You are having nightmares again, Alfie."

He didn't respond but continued to stare at the ceiling. He'd been like this all week, laying in bed and healing in silence. Malka had noted that he was healing well however and was looking more like himself everyday. The swelling had gone, and what brusing remained was a light yellowish in colour. His stitches had been removed and Malka had found his longer hair at the front could be used to vaguely hide the shaved patches when brushed back.

His skin was worse than ever, however, and she hadn't felt his lips against hers since a few days before Good Friday when she became niddah. Malka longed for any sign of affection or an indication that he even wanted her around.

"They've been different, your nightmares." she stated.

Alfie swallowed heavily and closed his eyes as Malka began to peel the egg.

"I wish you would talk to me, Alfie."

"I can't."

Malka quickly looked to him, surprised he spoke while also pleased to hear his voice. His eyes were back on the ceiling as she observed him in silence. This was confirmation that something was wrong and he was deliberately hiding something from her.

"Why?" she asked in a whisper.

"I don't know... how." he answered quietly.

Malka couldn't reconcile this answer, it simply made no sense. Their sharing knew no bounds, or so she thought. They had talked about the affairs, the murders, their shared childhood traumas and history. Her brow furrowed.

What could he possibly not know how to tell me!? She thought looking at him.

She placed a hand on his cheek, encouraging him to look at her, but he wouldn't.

"I don't understand." she said, moving her fingers from his cheek to his chest.

Her words were met with silence as he continued to stare at the ceiling. She leaned in for a kiss, but he turned away and looked to the windows.