The Iron Lady (The secret story of James barry)

By Juan Carlos Arjona Ollero

This historical novel talks about Margaret Ann Bulkley, most famously known as James Barry, a doctor who served the British flag and for it sacrificed herself to become a man and be able to follow her dreams in pursuit of an education which was in fact forbidden to her gender.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Juan Carlos Arjona Ollero
• Release date: May 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781547528301

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Going to the river and stumble barefoot and injured, with a wooden casserole on the back, was indisputable evidence that her father would have loved her more had she been a man. She was a small handed girl and skinny legs which she used to climb the hills making sores on the tips of her fingers and toes. She thought, no, she didn’t think, she knew her father didn’t love her enough. She noticed during breakfast, the biggest portion was for him. At lunch, the leftovers were her heritage. Her father threw a huge burp that honoured and granted permission of swallowing the leftovers before the pigs in the pen could choke on theirs.

That is how the day started, no games, no cuddling from a mother to make her braids. Something tormented him, and it wasn’t precisely seeing his daughter dishevelled through the hills. He believed her wild, savage, an incorrigible tree climber and making her wear a pretty dress seemed to be a waste of fabric.

At the river, she used the water as a mirror to see her messy hair between knots, she used to take water on hair nail bitten hands to clean some of the dirt on her face. Several times she tried to imagine she was a lady, but she didn’t have the dresses to elaborate such hallucination. None was to walk down the hill, but to go to the church to ask for special favours to God to help her father for getting into trouble. In fact, she found women clothing hostile for movement. Once she had a suit that lasted until midday, she remembered the beating her deceased grandmother gave her for staining it.

She placed her feet in the water and a hand that came out of the river made her scream, slip from the rock where she was standing and fall until being completely immersed. The cold waters hit her and numbed her at the contact. She was drowning. At the struggle of getting afloat, she saw above it an older lad who smiled naughtily. She tried to swim back to the surface as fast as she could before her lungs collapsed, but the journey towards the light and the oxygen became a combination of seconds of agony along with her desperate strokes. When she could take her head out of the water, the breath of air was interrupted by the cough and the rage. The boy loitered at her feet as if she was a real fish. The girl inhaled oxygen while the wooden basin drifted away. Her father was going to kill her.

-  Who the devils do you think you are to feel acquainted enough to toy with me? - The girl splashed the water willing to give a well-earned beating to the stranger.

The boy got to the surface between laughter and elusive movements before the sudden blows of the little girl.

-  How difficult it is to make new friends! Why do I have this strange magic of making enemies?-. The boy held her hands to avoid her tiny fists.

-  You do not know me and a friend does not play to kill- she replied coughing without losing coordination to dig her nails on his back.

-  But you are so small to be so surly! If you were my little sister, you wouldn’t go to the river alone. Where are your parents? You are surely still being nursed by your mother- The lad dragged her to the shore with no difficulty at all and sat her on a stone. – Stay there, I am fetching your casserole. – The girl hugged herself with her two little arms to survive the cold and regretted having lost a sock while squeezing her hair with annoyance.

-  If I get sick you will be to blame! - The girl shouted whilst struggling to remove the fabrics of her rags to dry hastily.

The young lad returned her casserole filled with water and promised her to take it on his shoulder under the condition of becoming friends, at least for that evening.

-  There is no one to talk to around this lands. We are not the same age, I don’t ask for much, just to talk a little. However, girl’s games are not in my knowledge...

-  Nor in mine... I don’t have time for that. My game is fulfilling my father’s orders and never to be scolded again. I have already reduced the punishments to three times a week. I used to be chastised the seven days, I feel quite content with my achievements  and even when I may appear to be seven in your eyes, I  am twelve years old and judging by your lack of teeth I am older than you, even though you seem taller.

He placed the pot on the crag and came out of the water with interest. He observed that the little girl’s soles were bleeding, despite the evident callus that disfigured her.

-  You need to wear shoes! - He exclaimed while taking leaves and vines to fashion her a pair. His gesture was majestic and the girl became astounded with the skill of his hands to make something so comfortable and sturdy out of nothing. Her smile changed her visage and even shook his hand as a satisfied client would.

-  You have earned a friend. These are the first shoes that fit without breaking my toes and causing ingrown nails. You must be the son of a shoemaker.

-  No. My father fishes and sows. I make shoes from branches because I have been barefoot several times. If something does not exist, one must make it up. I just made a friend out of you, all of it in my mind and look, we already are.

The girl beheld her green shoes with fascination, the vines at the soles were detailed with such dexterity her mouth remained agape from astonishment.

-  I want to sell shoes at the market. One day women may be as men and own big shops and lots of clients- the girl caressed the branches to contemplate the marvel of feeling protected on her new steps.

-  Why do you reckon men and women are different? He asked throwing a pebble to the water.

-  We smell better! We know how to bathe and do so more often.

-  Then, I am a fag for I bathe every day at this same hour and I know how to extract scents from fruits. My armpits started to smell only a few weeks ago and I created a mixture of grated fruits with stones and plantain that eliminates the stench. And was it a stench!

The girl couldn’t help but feel curious and called him with the finger to see if it was true he didn’t smell so fatally. The boy came proudly out of the water and raised his arm for her to personally discover the genius of his creativity. Brazenly the girl sniffed and confirmed the presence of the plantain. Who was the genius before her and, and that far from drowning her, had restored the air around her?

-  My name is Margaret, and you?

-  Edward. Although you can call me urchin... I hate my name!

-  As I hate mine. If I were a boy my father would treat me better. - The girl stood up with her leafen shoes and felt as if she could be free to walk at last. Despite her injuries, the agility of her steps makes her feel recovered and happy.-Thank you for giving me this gift. - She whispered ecstatic.

-  It wasn’t me, but the plants and trees. There is no better gift than giving someone the faculty of seeing that everything around us is available.

-  Who taught you to think that way? - Margaret hops a little in order to explore the comfort of her shoes. Her suit weighed on her and didn’t skimp on improvising a trouser and tangle it up around her legs.

-  That fashion may become popular someday. – With one hand, Edward helps her new friend ascend, while carrying the potful of water with the other. On that warm evening, they both changed their destinies forever.

CHAPTER 2

The paths were witness of the struggle and games of the children. They gathered each day to play hide and seek and eat wild fruits and even set traps to touch the birds. A powerful friendship defined their course. Margaret obeyed from afar her father’s whistle, and when he planned to return later, he whistled twice to announce his closeness while she continued her games with her only and closest friend.

At times they would roll on the mud, wrestled against each other until they were left exhausted and fell asleep floating in the river. Before falling down the waterfalls they awoke in haste to swim against the current and save themselves. Every day they toyed with the river’s limits, until they lost all their fear to the water. To know the wind and signs to survive was obvious during their time together.

The girl reached home completely spent. Under the covers, the game with fire and the tolerance to resist it was something that fascinated her. She observed her bruises to then make annotations on parchment with a feather she stole from a bird at the hills. How many days a scratch would take to scar?. The pinkish mark on her skin and the green suppuration from other fresh wounds she clustered on her knee drew her attention. She, herself became her very own secret laboratory.

Taking a cloth and a basin with water, she cleaned with care the new hits which she reviewed with pride. She dried her hands on the covers to draw the shape and they resembled maps of the world. On the raw flesh of her right leg was England. On the left, the dry peel of her dead skin assimilated the shape of the African continent. She outlined the contour on the paper and smiled. Her father stood at the door of her room to give her his blessing and make sure she would not leave the candle lit.

- It is commendable how well you have behaved this week. – He made the sign of the cross with his hand in the air.

Margaret hid her parchments under the sheets and begins her prayers out loud.

- I do what I can, father. – She replied with the smile of a complimented girl, blowing out the candle as she recites the pleas as a parrot would. He father disappeared into the hall. Margaret counted his steps and gave into slumber before finishing her payers to God.

The cold morning drew with it an ill omen. Margaret was no longer the girl of yore who played with Edward in the prairie, her period made her stand up by force in utter dislike. It was due time, her fifteen years of age were the limit zone of her belated puberty. She got rid of the sheets as if they were the evidence of a crime. Recomposed the chamber and swiftly washed the stains on the mattress. She