The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life at Rose Red by Ellen Rimbauer Page B
Authors: Ellen Rimbauer
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memories, so vivid and so clear,
afforded him the opportunity to believe that I too had witnessed
his depraved acts. Am I to believe he simply invents these things
he puts me through when in bed with him? He learned them, of
course, and we both know it, and we also know that I am not that
teacher.
And so the little games we play continue. Acting out husband
and wife. Reviewing our grand house plans as if none’s-theworry.
Me, beginning to communicate with Sukeena and enjoying
her company so very much. He, taking off on his safaris for
days at a time and returning with guilt on his face and a fallen
impala under his arm. Me, with my visions. He, with his dreams.
And my womanhood the secret that holds the balance for both of
us. When my monthly issue does come, he shrinks into the bottle
and depression for days, only to return to try again, sometimes
tenderly, sometimes desperately. I am the key to his future happiness,
and he, in turn, is the key to mine. I am beginning to learn
the ways of marriage.
49
15 may 1908—kenya, africa
I have not made entries in this personal chronicle for nearly a
month—three weeks and ?ve days, to be exact. I do so now, only
weakly, unable to hold this pen for long, I am afraid. I have been
unconscious for some of this time and delirious for the rest,
stricken with what our recently departed fellow travelers believed
was malaria. I have lost no fewer than ?fteen pounds—my rib cage
protrudes front and back like some of the native women in our
employ. I have suffered from fever for days at a time, a complete
loss of appetite, sweats and tremors. Only through the tender
care of Sukeena and her bitter teas and remedies she has fed me,
and my own endless prayers for recovery, have I survived. For
these four weeks I have never left the con?nes of my tent, quarantined
from all but the natives. Even John has avoided contact,
standing outside at the far end of my tent and talking to me
through a small triangle of light caused by a turned-up tent ?ap.
It is this isolation that has worn on me, driven me at times to the
very edge of my sanity. Only my rough conversations with
Sukeena, an awkward combination of words and gestures, have
maintained my link to this world. In my delirium I have traveled
to unthinkable places, at times believing it so real, only to have
Sukeena pull me back. I do believe that no less than three times I
was within a breath or two of death, hovering in a netherworld
where at once I felt both refreshed and fearful. This delicate contact
with what I perceive of as the other side has left me far less
apprehensive of my own demise, and yet with mixed opinion as to
whether I was in Heaven, or Hell, or Purgatory. What I know, and
know for certain, is that God saved my life, but that the Devil may
have bargained for my soul. The exact conversations escape me
now (though they were extremely clear at the time), but I know
for certain I made promises that perhaps I should not have made.
Sukeena, who has served me as both nursemaid and witch doc-
50
tor, as sister and friend, has known the truth all along, that my
fevers and in?rmity resulted neither from the water nor from the
jungle insects that do infest this godless place. Instead my illness
was contracted by contact with my husband, for I am plagued by
an unmentionable disease carried by men and suffered by
women. The remedy for my af?iction is most unpleasant, though
as I understand it, is far less worse than it is, or will be, for John,
who has no doubt undergone, and will continue to undergo, a
series of injections to an area of the male body that is also
unmentionable.
This, in turn, explains John’s sweats of nearly six weeks ago, a
lingering illness that put him of foul mood, unable to walk, and
accounted for his sending for certain medications, of which I was
unaware until Sukeena recently informed me. His recovery, however,
appears to have gone much more
afforded him the opportunity to believe that I too had witnessed
his depraved acts. Am I to believe he simply invents these things
he puts me through when in bed with him? He learned them, of
course, and we both know it, and we also know that I am not that
teacher.
And so the little games we play continue. Acting out husband
and wife. Reviewing our grand house plans as if none’s-theworry.
Me, beginning to communicate with Sukeena and enjoying
her company so very much. He, taking off on his safaris for
days at a time and returning with guilt on his face and a fallen
impala under his arm. Me, with my visions. He, with his dreams.
And my womanhood the secret that holds the balance for both of
us. When my monthly issue does come, he shrinks into the bottle
and depression for days, only to return to try again, sometimes
tenderly, sometimes desperately. I am the key to his future happiness,
and he, in turn, is the key to mine. I am beginning to learn
the ways of marriage.
49
15 may 1908—kenya, africa
I have not made entries in this personal chronicle for nearly a
month—three weeks and ?ve days, to be exact. I do so now, only
weakly, unable to hold this pen for long, I am afraid. I have been
unconscious for some of this time and delirious for the rest,
stricken with what our recently departed fellow travelers believed
was malaria. I have lost no fewer than ?fteen pounds—my rib cage
protrudes front and back like some of the native women in our
employ. I have suffered from fever for days at a time, a complete
loss of appetite, sweats and tremors. Only through the tender
care of Sukeena and her bitter teas and remedies she has fed me,
and my own endless prayers for recovery, have I survived. For
these four weeks I have never left the con?nes of my tent, quarantined
from all but the natives. Even John has avoided contact,
standing outside at the far end of my tent and talking to me
through a small triangle of light caused by a turned-up tent ?ap.
It is this isolation that has worn on me, driven me at times to the
very edge of my sanity. Only my rough conversations with
Sukeena, an awkward combination of words and gestures, have
maintained my link to this world. In my delirium I have traveled
to unthinkable places, at times believing it so real, only to have
Sukeena pull me back. I do believe that no less than three times I
was within a breath or two of death, hovering in a netherworld
where at once I felt both refreshed and fearful. This delicate contact
with what I perceive of as the other side has left me far less
apprehensive of my own demise, and yet with mixed opinion as to
whether I was in Heaven, or Hell, or Purgatory. What I know, and
know for certain, is that God saved my life, but that the Devil may
have bargained for my soul. The exact conversations escape me
now (though they were extremely clear at the time), but I know
for certain I made promises that perhaps I should not have made.
Sukeena, who has served me as both nursemaid and witch doc-
50
tor, as sister and friend, has known the truth all along, that my
fevers and in?rmity resulted neither from the water nor from the
jungle insects that do infest this godless place. Instead my illness
was contracted by contact with my husband, for I am plagued by
an unmentionable disease carried by men and suffered by
women. The remedy for my af?iction is most unpleasant, though
as I understand it, is far less worse than it is, or will be, for John,
who has no doubt undergone, and will continue to undergo, a
series of injections to an area of the male body that is also
unmentionable.
This, in turn, explains John’s sweats of nearly six weeks ago, a
lingering illness that put him of foul mood, unable to walk, and
accounted for his sending for certain medications, of which I was
unaware until Sukeena recently informed me. His recovery, however,
appears to have gone much more
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