by Dilloway, PT
He leaned Sarah’s body against his so that her head rested on his shoulder. He freed her hair from its ponytail and as he stroked it, the strands became silky and blonde once again. “What happened to you?” he asked. How had she come to live in that messy house, surrounded by her own filth? “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you.”
As with Sheila, he drained away the fat from her stomach to leave it firm once again. The lines disappeared from her face, transforming her back into the woman from the beach. She whimpered once, but her eyes didn’t open. He continued to stroke her hair as he contemplated what to do.
All three times he’d left her, he’d come back to find her mired in an even worse nightmare. There had to be some way to keep the bad dreams from resurfacing. As he looked around the tranquil green plain, the answer came to him.
He could fashion a new life for her here, on this verdant little island, far away from killer ocean waves, storms, or fires. Here, nothing would threaten her. This would be a paradise for her, a Garden of Eden where she could live at peace for as long as it took for her to emerge from the coma.
First, he decided he needed to build her a new house. One not similar to the fiery wreck he’d rescued her from or her childhood home. The more he thought about it, though, the more he realized the difficulty of this project. What did he know about designing a house? He had lived with his parents in the same house until being taken to Washington Juvenile.
He sighed and imagined a simple, square cottage. He put a bed in one corner, and then added a bathroom and kitchen. The more he added, the more he realized he needed. She would need a table and chair for eating and another chair to sit on when she wanted to relax. What about books, television, and radio? He thought about his room at Midway House and added a record player to one corner along with all his classical records. At least it was a start. He would have to come back and add more later.
With the cottage built, he worked on creating more of a landscape for outside her window. He raised the land on the western horizon to construct snow-capped mountains. He planted rows of trees to the east. Along the edges of the cottage, he installed rose bushes and a bed of daisies. As he stood by the front door of the house, he surveyed his new world and smiled. Here was a place where she could be content.
He took her inside and laid her on the bed. She looked so beautiful lying there, but something was wrong. Of course, she was still dressed in that awful T-shirt and sweatpants. He changed those into a flannel nightgown, and then added a nightstand and alarm clock next to her bed. Outside, he lowered the sun on the eastern horizon.
Now that he’d completed all the preparations, he went inside the cottage to wait for her to wake up and see her new home. When she didn’t open her eyes after twenty minutes, he rang the alarm clock, watching with anticipation as she sat up.
She ran a hand through her hair and then patted her stomach. “Oh man, what a dream,” she said. She rolled out of bed and then froze. Max held his breath, waiting for her reaction. After a moment, she rubbed her eyes and then went into the bathroom. She looked into the mirror and smiled. “What a nightmare.”
He went outside as she used the toilet and showered. Through the cottage wall, he heard Sarah humming a tune. After a minute of thinking, he remembered the song. “The Long and Winding Road” by the Beatles. Mom liked to play Beatles albums while she painted. “Their lyrics are so creative,” she said. “And Paul’s voice, it’s like an angel’s.”
He remembered those days after he lost his sight when he sat in her studio, listening to the music and the sound of the brush and smelling the oil-based paint she used. Throughout the process she described the painting to him. “This is a flock of Canada geese flying over the cove in autumn,” she said and he tried to imagine the birds and the water reflecting the colors of the setting sun.
“I’ll never be able to paint, will I, Mom?” he asked one day as she painted.
“Of course you can, honey.” She put a brush in his hand and led him over to a canvas. “If you see what you want in your mind, your hands will know what to do.”
He tried to paint the harbor from McAlbee Point, where he and his friend Rodney Jackson used to ride bikes after school. But he couldn’t see the image in his mind and after a moment of scribbling on the canvas, he threw down the brush in disgust. He stormed back to his bedroom and never visited her studio after that day.
He looked over the landscape and a smile came to his face. Sarah’s mind was his canvas now. He could paint a whole new world for her. A perfect world. Mom would be proud.
When Sarah finished showering, he went back inside and replaced some of his father’s classical records with his mother’s Beatles albums. He didn’t know what became of them after his parents died; they probably went to some neighbor in the estate sale. What had happened to his mother’s paintings? Funny that he’d never thought about them until now. Before Sarah emerged from the bedroom, he put up Mom’s painting of Gull Island Harbor at sunrise in the living room.
Sarah came out of the bedroom and spent the rest of the day cooking, cleaning, gardening, and listening to records as if she’d lived in the cottage for years. Maybe this will work, he thought. From experience he knew the unconscious mind embraced whatever it saw as reality, which had doomed his parents and Alberto Conte, but might save Sarah.
When she went to bed that evening, he stayed in the bedroom long enough to make sure she fell asleep. After he heard her breathing softly, he drifted out of the world he’d created and back to the dark, empty canvas of the real world.
“Are you all right?” the nurse asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You look tired.”
“How long was I in there?”
“Three hours. Did she respond at all?”
“No.”
“Maybe next time. I’d better go in there and get her cleaned up and turned over. I would have done it earlier but I didn’t want to disturb you two.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. My name is Henrietta by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you going to be around here much longer? I get off in an hour. Maybe we could get some coffee or something.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you, but I have to get home.”
“Sure, I’ll take a rain check. See you around.” Max waved in her general direction and then left the hospital. On the bus back to Midway House, he thought about Henrietta’s offer, the lie he’d told Dr. Perry about Sarah, and his vision of Sarah in the morning. How long could he wait for her to wake up? And when she did, would she even want to see him?
He sighed as he stood up to get off the bus. He and Sarah might just have an imaginary world right now, but it was enough.
Chapter 7
Pastor Robbins met him at the bus stop. “Mr. Caldwell, it’s good to meet you,” Pastor Robbins said and shook Max’s hand. A stale, musky odor like mildew surrounded the pastor. His palm felt hard and grimy against Max’s. “Please forgive the mess when we get inside. We’re repairing the boiler in the basement.”
“Maybe I should come back tomorrow.”
“Nonsense. I was just about to take a break for lunch anyway.” The pastor hooked an arm around Max’s and led him towards the church. With anyone else he would have shook away the assistance and insisted he could find his own way, but he couldn’t rebuke a clergyman. “Dr. Perry tells me you play the piano. How long have you been playing?”
“My dad started teaching me when I was three.”
“Your father was quite a teacher, so I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“You knew my father?”
“He was my teacher when I was a child. Must have been thirty years ago. Before I received the call, my mother thought I was going to be a concert pianist. She never could see that I wasn’t very good. Not your father’s fault, of course. God gave me these stubby fingers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. He gives us all
a talent and it’s up to us to find out what it is. My talent is in preaching the word, not tickling the ivories.” The pastor’s laugh came in machine-gun bursts. He steered Max through a doorway and then through another door until they came to sit on a hard bench. When Max felt the hymnals in front of him, he knew they were in the church. “Perhaps you’ll find your own talent here, Mr. Caldwell.”
“I don’t know any hymns.”
“It shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. In the meantime, no one is expecting you to master it right away. Since Mrs. Caulkins left, we’ve been using taped music.” Pastor Robbins chuckled. “Last Sunday for the early service the tape recorder got stuck on fast forward. We tried to sing “Onward Christian Soldiers”, but the parishioners couldn’t keep up. When I tried to stop the tape, the machine ate it and we had to go without music for the late service. Whatever you do will be an improvement.”
“I guess.”
“I have all our hymns on cassette and I’ve ordered a special hymnal in Braille.”
“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. You’re doing me a favor. Do you know how hard it is to find a church pianist? Especially one who will work for the little money we can afford to pay?” Pastor Robbins put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “The Lord has sent you, Mr. Caldwell.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Not a religious man?”
“No.”
“I think you’ll find that He works in all our lives, whether we see Him or not. His hand is in everything we think, say, and do. He created us and He will be there to greet us when we perish from this earth.” The pastor’s voice rose as he spoke, until it filled the church.
“How do you know what God’s plan is for you?” Max asked.
Pastor Robbins lowered his voice back to a conversational level as he said, “It’s often difficult to know. All we can do is look into our hearts. If we listen close enough, we’ll hear His voice speaking to us, steering us down the right path.” The pastor gave Max’s shoulder a squeeze. “Dr. Perry told me all about what happened to you. It’s such a tragedy to lose your parents like that. I want you to know, He is there, in your heart, waiting for you. You only need to listen and believe.”
“Thanks. I’ll try.” Clergymen, Max saw, were not so different from doctors. They used the same tactics, but with a different message. Whereas the doctors believed in the psyche and the subconscious, the clergy believed in a higher power dictating what everyone did. He wondered how Dr. Perry could believe in both psychology and religion.
“Come on, I’ll show you our piano and then the chapel and banquet hall. Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Mrs. Douglass is making chicken and dumplings. You should try some. They’re super.”
Pastor Robbins led Max over to the piano. He sat down on the bench and then ran his hand along the instrument’s surface. An upright model, just like the one Dad had kept in the house. He felt his father’s hand on his as he’d done for their first lesson after Max went blind. “Everything is in the same place,” his father said.
Max stabbed at a few keys, but couldn’t find the right ones. He slapped the keyboard in disgust and began to cry. Dad took his hands, placing them gently on the keys. “Don’t think about where the keys are. Let your fingers remember. They know where to go.”
Max took a deep breath, trying not to think about the keys. He heard “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” each note rising up in his mind. He tapped out the tune, at first hesitantly, but then with greater confidence. When he finished, Dad hugged him; he couldn’t remember the last time he and his father had embraced. “I’m so proud of you,” Dad said.
“You’re a natural,” Max heard Pastor Robbins say. Only then did he realize that he’d played the same tune in the church. “It’s like that piano was made for you.”
“It’s like riding a bike,” Max said, recalling Dr. Perry’s joke from their first session.
“I bet. We use that same piano in the chapel for our Wednesday night service. Don’t worry about moving it. Our janitor, Leo, will take care of it.” Pastor Robbins clapped Max on the shoulder again. “Let’s go into the banquet hall and see how the chicken and dumplings are coming. I’m starved.”
The pastor led Max back down the aisle and around a curving hallway to another room. Pastor Robbins pulled out a chair and asked Max to sit down. Max ran his hand over the smooth Formica surface of the table and the cold legs of the metal folding chair. He smelled a familiar scent: the mixture of rose, sandalwood, and freshly-mown grass he’d first detected in Dr. Perry’s office. Then he heard her say, “You two look like you’re getting on pretty well.”
“Oh yes. I just showed Max the piano and he took to it like a duck to water.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“We were just about to have some lunch. Care to join us, Doctor?” the pastor asked.
“Sounds good. I never turn down a free meal.”
“In that case I’ll be right back with lunch for three.”
The folding chair next to Max groaned and then he felt Dr. Perry’s knee against his. “How’s everything going so far?” she asked.
“It’s fine.”
“How do you like Pastor Robbins?”
“He’s all right.”
“You should listen to his sermons on Sunday. They’re beautiful. Well, I guess you’ll get a chance soon enough.” Her chair creaked and her knee backed away from his. “So, any new developments between you and Sarah?”
“I saw her again yesterday. Helped move some things around her house.”
“That’s wonderful. Do you think it’s serious?”
“I don’t know.” He thought for a moment and then added, “I hope so.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Just remember, though, you should take things slowly. I know you have a lot of time to make up for, but you don’t want to rush into a situation you’re not ready for.”
He thought about Sarah and the world he’d constructed for her. No, he wasn’t rushing into anything there. He was helping to ease her pain. For now he had quelled her bad dreams and made her happy, but what about in the future? He thought of his pathetic first attempt to design a house for her. She deserved more than some tiny shack with the bare essentials. He needed to provide her with the luxury of a queen. Then she could be happy forever.
“There is something I’m worried about,” he said.
“Oh? What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that I’ve never really dated before. There’s so much I don’t know. Not just about women, but about everything.”
She patted his arm. “I understand. A lot’s changed in twenty years.”
He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. What he wanted to ask next went against everything he had learned about doctors from Washington Juvenile and Gull Island Psych, but what choice did he have? He didn’t know anyone else he could talk to about these matters.
“I want to buy her a gift. Maybe a dress. Could you help me pick something out? I don’t want to ask a salesperson. They’ll talk me into something expensive.”
“Of course I can, Max. That’s a wonderful idea to help your treatment. After we get done here, we can go to some stores and find something nice for Sarah.”
“Thank you, Dr. Perry.”
“Lindsey.”
“Right, Lindsey. Thank you.”
Pastor Robbins returned and set a plate in front of Max. He poked at a lump of dough with his fork and then took a cautious bite. He tasted chicken broth and butter in the biscuit. When he dug beneath the dough, he found a layer of meat and vegetables in some kind of sauce. “It’s best when you can get dumpling, chicken, and veggies all at once,” the pastor said. “The Holy Trinity.” He laughed at his own joke, as did Lindsey, but Max didn’t understand. He scooped up another mouthful to mask his ignorance.
“These are better than the ones my grandma used to make,” Lindsey said. “Of cour
se anything is better than my cooking. Max, maybe you could have Mrs. Douglass give you some lessons. Nothing a woman likes more than a man who can cook.”
“Indeed,” Pastor Robbins said. “On our first date, I invited Mrs. Robbins over for some homemade spaghetti. I knew she was the one when she didn’t wince even once.”
Max joined in the laughter, but he didn’t have to worry about cooking for Sarah. She didn’t know he existed. To her, he was no more real than the god Pastor Robbins believed in.
No matter, he told himself. As long as she was happy and safe, nothing else mattered. He ate another mouthful of chicken and dumplings and then smiled. She would be happy, safe, and loved, whether she knew it or not.
Chapter 8
“Watch your head,” Lindsey said as Max climbed into the cab of her truck. “Dr. Lee told me you like to listen to classical. How do you feel about Tchaikovsky? It’s either ‘Swan Lake’ or the soundtrack to Titanic.”
“What?”
“It’s a movie that came out a few years ago. Never mind. You ever think about replacing some of your old records with CDs? They’re a little more durable. Not to mention it’s pretty hard to find turntables these days.”
“What’s a CD?”
“A compact disc. You have been out of it for a while.”
“I guess.”
“I’m sorry, Max, I’m not snapping at you. It’s just a little hard to believe.” The first strains of “Swan Lake” came through speakers all around Max. He leaned back against the leather seat in surprise.
“This is a nice truck,” he said. “Do psychiatrists need to carry a lot of things around?”
“This isn’t a truck per se. It’s called a sport utility vehicle. An SUV. I guess you could say it’s like having all the comforts of a van with the ruggedness of a truck.” When she started the engine, he heard a beeping sound. “The seatbelt is next to the door, near the roof. You need any help?”