Note on the characters: W.H.R Rivers was a noted antropologist, psychologist and neurologist; his treatment of shell shocked patients in the First World War, including Siegfried Sassoon, is fictionalised in Pat Barker's Regeneration Trilogy. Rivers died on the 4th June 1922 in great pain following a strangulated hernia which had occurred in his rooms at St. John's College, Cambridge, where he was a Fellow. He was moved to The Evelyn Nursing home where he met his end. For more information on this great man, 'here's one I wrote earlier': http://en. .
Alfred Cort Haddon was an anthropologist most famous for his leadership of the Cambridge University Torres Straits Expedition. He convinced Rivers to partake in the trip and the two became very close friends. On the day that Rivers died, Haddon took a document for him to sign allowing a student a scholarship to the university. At the bottom of this document Haddon wrote that it was Rivers' 'last official act'.
Henry Head was a neurologist and one of Rivers' extremely close friends. The two had worked closely together for many years on the regeneration of nerves and Rivers had formed a lasting friendship with both Head and his wife Ruth. The Heads took care of Rivers' sisters after his death and Henry took on some of the paternal roles that Rivers had played for Sassoon.
The nature of the relationship between W.H.R Rivers and Siegfried Sassoon is open to debate. Rivers was an intensely private man and yet he opened up in his later life under Sassoons' influence. At first, Sassoon saw Rivers as his 'father confessor' but it would appear that these feelings grew into something else, at least on Sassoon's part. I would like to think that in the last years of Rivers' life he found the happiness he deserved in the arms of Sassoon, who would have more than willingly provided it.
Alfred Cort Haddon rushed into the ward later that morning, still clutching the papers he had brought to St. John's for Rivers to sign. From what the porter had said, Rivers' condition had sounded serious and he hadn't had time to return to his own rooms.
When he had been told that his good friend had been moved to a nursing home, the bottom had seemed to drop from his stomach but, as his feet slowed to a walking pace and he caught side of Rivers, it seemed that there had been an overreaction.
Rivers was sat up in bed, apparently straight backed and attentive. From the distance Haddon was standing at it was impossible to see any signs of the illness that was supposedly afflicting the doctor and if it wasn't for the fact he was wearing hospital clothes, Haddon would have forgotten the nature of the situation completely.
It was Henry Head's expression as he approached the bed that brought him sharply back to reality and, as he turned once more to the man on the bed, he had to stifle a gasp "good God man…"
Rivers was not, as he had supposed, sitting. Instead he was propped rather severely up against the back of the bed, liquids being delivered to his failing body through an intravenous drip in his arm. His face was wan to a degree of near-translucency and beads of sweat gathered at the tip of his nose, dripping down closed eyelids and a forehead creased in pain.
Haddon looked to Head in desperate askance but it was all the other man could do to shake his head with an expression of grim acceptance. Haddon thought he must have imagined the presence of unshed tears in Head's cool blue orbs, but when he turned to Rivers and thought that he may never see his eyes open again, tears began to prick in his own.
Something in the quality of the voices or the tension of the air must have crept through to the ever empathetic man on the bed, for his eyes soon fluttered open through sheer force of will. His gaze met Haddon's and he reached out stiffly for his arm; the anthropologist turned his face away for a moment- Rivers was comforting him, even here. Even now.
Squeezing Haddon's hand and pretending not to notice the tremor, Rivers turning his attention to the papers clasped, forgotten, in a vice like grip. "What are those?" he asked. Haddon looked up at the sound, startled by how clear and calm his voice was; a hint of a croak was the only sign that something was amiss. Shocked into acquiescence yet not trusting himself to speak, Haddon held out the forms.
Rivers examined them with an expression of studious compassion, his great discomfort apparently forgotten. He reached up to his breast for the pen that was usually housed there before blushing self-deprecatingly and giving a smile that could have been a grimace. Head produced a pen from his pocket, handing it to Rivers without ceremony; he locked eyes with Haddon for a moment, both men knowing that to Rivers the helplessness of his situation was far worse than the hopelessness.
It seemed both apt and heartbreaking that Rivers should have put his signature forward to allow a young man a scholarship and a future even when he had no hope of one himself; this time there was no mistaking the glistening of Head's eyes as Rivers completed his last, characteristically selfless, formal act.
Concentrating on the lid of Head's pen as if it was the source of some great mystery, both men knew that he was giving them an opportunity to compose themselves- 'damn Rivers' they both thought in synchronicity, entirely without malice but with yet another pang of anguish at the realisation of the exact nature of the loss they were soon to incur.
Looking at him now, one would think that Rivers was just a frail old man meeting his end, as all frail old men tend to do. Certainly that seemed to be the attitude of the nurse who bustled around the room on occasion, looking at Rivers with the clinical compassion of someone for whom death was daily business. Haddon wanted to shake her. "But look here…" he fancied himself saying, before listing Rivers' achievements- all that he had done, all that he could still have done if fate had not dealt this cruellest of cards.
He remained silent, however, and Rivers remained to the nurse just one of many patients. The impersonal nature of death was brought home to them with a jolt when the same nurse appeared once more, took Rivers' wrist into her cool hand, fingers feeling for a pulse before releasing him and looking to the clock, clearly calculating how long he had left, and making a note of it on her chart.
Haddon seethed and Head was just about to protest when his attention was brought back to Rivers. "She'll be wanting the bed" he said dryly with the nonchalant expression of someone expecting a spot of drizzle. His friends gaped and he waved them aside before gritting his teeth, fingers clenched around the sheets and knuckles white as pain washed over him.
Raising a hand to Rivers' forehead, Haddon noticed at once that his fever was up again and chills assailed his body with pain-filled spasms. "Siegfried…" Rivers mumbled into his pillow, as he writhed, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the onslaught. Haddon's eyes snapped up and he made to speak but Head cut him off sadly "no time."
It soon became clear that Head's assessment was correct; they were running very short on time indeed. Rivers had stopped crying out for his lover now and was lying still on the bed. "William…?" Haddon's voice trembled fearfully.
"Hurts…" a whispered voice came from the bed. As Rivers' voice broke, something inside his companions snapped- they had come face to face with the tone of mortality. Both men reached for a hand each simultaneously as Rivers rode out yet another surge of pain. The agony was now too pronounced for Rivers to try to hide it but still, when he opened his eyes once more, they contained the same calm authority that people who knew him took for granted. If he was in any way afraid of what was to come, it didn't show in his countenance.
Talking pained him so they three men remained silent for several moments before Rivers grunted slightly and motioned to the water jug. Head filled a glass, trying to control his shaking hands. Rivers sipped the proffered water with a grimace and licked his cracked lips. He turned to Haddon first "my… my diaries. In my desk. Keep… keep them safe" he smiled gently at Haddon and squeezed his hand. Haddon nodded through tears that couldn't be stopped.
Now Rivers turned to Head "my family…" he swallowed "look after them." Head nodded his assent and Rivers cleared his throat. "And S-Siegfried…" he closed his eyes and tried to compose himself "t-t-t…" a deep, rattling breath "t-tell him I l-l-l…" eyes closed once more and voice barely more than a whisper "tell him I love him."
Tears spilled out from under closed lids as the dying man's companions wiped their own eyes. "I will" Henry Head choked; Rivers managed a weak smile, eyes still closed. He was shivering badly, breathing laboured as his lungs tried to meet a demand that was too great for them.
"C-cold" he stammered, trying to take as much warmth as possible from his feeble blanket. Head put the back of his hand up to the hitherto fevered cheek and was startled by the change; the skin was icy and clammy, having already seemed to have taken on the waxen feel of a corpse's. Haddon looked into Head's haunted eyes and knew at once that they didn't have long.
Rivers' teeth were chattering so badly that he could barely form a word. "H-hold me?" he managed, eyes still closed, this time shielding himself against the fearful waver in his voice and the weakness he considered himself to have shown with his request. 'How foolish they must think me' he thought bitterly and turned his head towards his pillow.
He was surprised when two warm bodies curled around his own and he couldn't hold back his sigh of relief that they didn't despise him. He couldn't bear for them to think badly of him. Not now. Not when he had so little time to prove his worth… He coughed, breathing was painful and he felt light headed. He got the impression that he was being spoken to but it was difficult to hear what was being said. Was it wrong of him to take comfort in the voices?
Haddon stroked his hair and whispered soothing nonsense. Knowing his words would fail, Head remained silent, a hand Rivers knew so well around his wrist charting the weakening of his pulse. They tried everything they could to keep their friend as comfortable as possible but as the end neared and the slightest breath became pure torture, both Haddon and Head found themselves gritting their teeth and cursing the injustice of it all.
Shame heightened the pain further as Rivers lost command of his body and nothing his friends said could lessen the ignominy of a man who had set his life by self-control. It had also been clear when Rivers had been in the clutches of delirium that something long-hidden had been forcing itself to the surface of his mind; now, in the clutches of death, that 'something' was making itself known.
Unconscious of his surroundings, Rivers was whimpering, screaming, begging for release. Every cry made breathing harder, every terrified movement was excruciating and yet nothing could still the progress of these recollected demons. Haddon's nails dug into his palms, drawing blood as he yelled to Henry "for God's sake- do something! Anything!" Yes, anything. Anything to take away the pain. Was it to much to ask that such a man as Rivers at least be allowed a dignified end if he was forced to die so young?!
Head looked around uncertainly for a moment before seeming to come to terms with his internal battle and leaving the room. Haddon kept contact with his flailing friend and waited for Henry to return which he did, a few minutes later, carrying a hypodermic needle. Haddon's eyes widened- "morphine" Head explained simply and injected Rivers in a swift motion.
The thrashing lessened and then stopped altogether; Haddon and Head resumed their positions on the bed as Rivers drew his last breath. They continued to hold him close as the warmth left his body. When he could bear the silence of death no more, Haddon looked up and placed trembling lips onto Rivers forehead- how peaceful he seemed now- "sleep well… my love". He stifled a sob, rose and left, Head still clutching the body of the man whose lifeless heart had shattered so many others.