Read Online Elena by Thomas H. Cook - Free Book Online

window. I could have sworn it was the wing of death.
    â€œIt’s just a cough, maybe,” Elena said. The somber tone of her voice was not reassuring.
    â€œMaybe I’d better tell Mother,” I whispered.
    â€œI’ll tell her,” Elena said. She bounded out of the room, and within a few seconds my mother was staring down at me with her wondering, confused eyes.
    â€œHow do you feel, William?” my mother asked.
    â€œFine,” I said weakly.
    Elena watched me, worried. I coughed again and she shrank away, staring at me as if I were already dead.
    â€œDo you feel tired?” she asked.
    â€œThat’s enough, Elena,” my mother blurted. However vaguely, she could sense the terror in my mind.
    â€œHave I got it?” I asked softly.
    â€œDo you have a headache?” Elena asked.
    â€œQuiet, Elena,” my mother whispered. “You’re scaring William to death.” My mother was not one to search for the best choice of words.
    â€œHow about breathing?” Elena asked frantically. “Are you breathing okay?”
    I still do not know where Elena learned the symptoms of the Spanish flu, but she certainly knew them.
    My mother stamped her foot. “Go out and play, Elena.”
    â€œIt’s raining.”
    â€œThen go into your room!”
    Elena walked slowly down the short hallway to her room. She did not close the door, and I knew that she was listening.
    â€œNow, William,” my mother said, then she stopped, thinking, trying to get her disordered mind around this strange new circumstance. “Well, now, William … uh … um … let me know if you get worse.”
    â€œWhat if I’ve got it?” I asked shakily.
    â€œWell, uh, just don’t worry it, don’t worry it,” my mother sputtered. “It’ll go away, that’s what it’ll do. It’ll go away.”
    And with that she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the room, my mind wildly calculating all the things I would miss in life by dying at such a tender age.
    Elena came back into the living room a few seconds later and sat down across from me. She pulled her legs up under her and observed me carefully.
    â€œI think I’ve got it,” I told her mournfully.
    â€œYou’ll know soon, one way or the other,” Elena said.
    She was right. I did. Within a few hours the coughing became more severe and I began to develop a dull, throbbing pain, which began behind my eyes then swept out across my head and down throughout the lumbar region. A heaviness fell upon me, parts of my body became numb, and my consciousness began to swim in and out as if I were being pulled under water and then raised up again.
    The next morning I awoke to hear Elena pleading with my mother to summon Dr. Houston. My mother was having a good deal of trouble deciding what to do, and I could hear her broken, half-finished sentences jerking along as she tried to respond to Elena’s insistence.
    â€œYou’ve just got to,” Elena said in a high, lean voice. “You’ve just got to, right now!”
    â€œWell now, Elena, you’ve, uh, you’ve … listen, I, uh, maybe some juice would be good for him.”
    â€œ No! ” Elena shouted. I heard her feet scurrying across the living room floor and then the hard, almost brutal slam of the front door. The unseasonable warmth of the day before had given way, as it often does in New England, to a frigid morning, and as I glanced out the window I saw a few snowflakes drift down and imagined that this would certainly be the last snowfall I would ever see. Then I felt the darkness sweep down upon me and I was asleep.
    When I woke up, Dr. Houston was standing over me. Elena had stationed herself directly beside him, shivering in a thick red cloth coat, her hair wet and stringy from the melted snow.
    Dr. Houston watched me for a moment, then sat down on the bed and took my temperature. It was a