There was one problem. But neither Wally nor Miriam thought it would cause any long-term consequences. They were wrong—very wrong.
Olga Waleski, Miriam’s mother, had been in an auto accident almost two years before. Since then she had been confined to a wheelchair. Ted Waleski, Olga’s husband, and father to Miriam and Theresa, managed to take care of his wife reasonably well. He was foreman in a Chrysler plant. He and Olga had worked out a routine that enabled him to take care of things and to help her when he was home. She learned to care for herself when he was at work. Miriam and Theresa wove their way through this situation satisfactorily.
When Miriam and Wally decided to marry, the family rehearsed their new routine, a slight adjustment to the old routine. Miriam’s contributions to the daily chores were divided among the remaining three.
The day of the wedding saw the first stages of a gathering destructive emotional storm. Theresa, the maid of honor, found it difficult to stop crying. She barely weathered the wedding. For the rest of the day she remained mainly within herself. Occasionally, one or another of the guests attempted to console her. None was successful. Even her only sister, Miriam, failed.
But everyone else was having so good a time, Theresa was, by and large, ignored.
Immediately after the reception, the happy couple headed for the Isle of Palms, a barrier island off the coast of South Carolina. Friends who owned a condo a block from the ocean insisted that the newlyweds use the impressive trilevel home for their honeymoon.
It proved idyllic. They had their choice of a swimming pool just across the way or the ocean within easy walking distance. They would have golfed but they couldn’t afford the greens fees. Instead, from their balcony porch, they enjoyed a steady stream of golfers putting on the eleventh green. They laughed when golfer after golfer neglected to putt out, but picked up gimmes from all over the green.
They found a Catholic church on the island for Sunday Mass, as well as several excellent restaurants that were not unduly pricey. But usually they ate in. Miriam was an excellent cook, and she wanted to prove it to Walter over and over again.
That pretty well described their sexual adventures during their Isle of Palms stay: over and over again. Fortunately, the natural family planning method indicated this to be Miriam’s infertile period. In addition, they used spermicide and condoms. They wanted to be absolutely sure the children they would have would not be the result of an accident. During their six months of indoctrination, they had not brought up the morality of birth control, and neither had the priest. Which made things easier for everyone.
Nothing disturbed their two weeks in paradise. But that was due to the forbearance of Miriam’s parents and some of the newlyweds’ friends who knew what was going on.
Two days after Walter and Miriam left for the Isle of Palms, Theresa complained of tingling sensations in her arms and legs. The family doctor was baffled. He had her admitted to the hospital, where a procession of specialists poked and prodded, took X-rays and did scans. None of them could find any clear-cut physical cause as Theresa grew more and more feeble.
The only conclusion the experts agreed upon was that nothing could be done in the hospital for Theresa that could not be achieved in home care. So they sent her home, where she joined her mother in needing a wheelchair and assisted living.
It did not take Ted more than a few days to know that an impossible situation had developed. Having two women in wheelchairs was too great a burden for him to bear and still take care of his job. Olga concluded that she was utterly unable to care for herself and Theresa and still carry out those activities she was able to do to assist her husband.
Somebody else, or some institution, was needed for Theresa.
Institutional care—good institutional care—was well beyond their means. It had to be a person. And everyone seemed to know instinctively who that person would have to be. But nobody wanted to spoil the honeymoon.
However, once Wally and Miriam returned, they were informed of Theresa’s condition. Miriam’s father took her aside and explained in great detail what had been tried to help Theresa, and the failure of every such attempt. Theresa was, in effect, more or less a paraplegic with no known cause. Barring some medical breakthrough—or a miracle—Theresa would have to be assisted in practically all her functions. And no one was available to do that but her sister.
Miriam was devastated. She knew her parents couldn’t do it. There wasn’t the needed money for really good care. And no one could bear Theresa’s being swept out of sight to be subjected to mediocre—or worse—treatment. With great reluctance, Miriam agreed to be the caregiver.
That decision necessarily involved Wally. The task of informing her husband was Miriam’s.
She waited until after dinner on the day of decision. As simply and compassionately as possible she presented Wally with the options. She let him mull them over. Though he knew all the while what the decision would be, he needed time to deny the inevitable.
“Do you have any idea of what this is going to do to our life—our life together?” He slammed his napkin on the table, and stood at the sink with his back toward her.
Miriam was close to tears. “We don’t know that, Wally. It’ll demand sacrifice. But I’ll be the one taking care of Theresa. I’ll try to make sure you don’t get involved.”
“How’re you going to do that?” He would not turn and face her. “You work too, you know. When we decided to be married, we figured both our paychecks would give us the kind of life we wanted—give us some security for the future.”
“We can still have that. Please turn around, Wally. I can’t talk to your back.”
He turned, but refused to look at her. It was not his intention, but he was making this terribly hard on Miriam.
“Look what my father does for my mother … and he holds down a job.”
“He’s a man!”
“I can do it. I’m strong.”
“Turn the tables. Suppose it was your father who was sick. Do you think your mother could do it—hold down an outside job and take care of your father too?”
“Yes. I know she could. I know I could.”
He began pacing through the kitchen. “All right, all right; I’m the one who couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see you taking care of Theresa every day and holding down a full-time job without helping you. I would have to help you.”
Miriam brightened. “Then help me!”
“I don’t want to. I just would have to.”
There was silence.
“Why couldn’t we put her in a home?” Wally stopped pacing and turned to look at Miriam. “If your dad were to kick in something and we stretched our funds, we could get her in some kind of home. She doesn’t need someone with her every minute. She does pretty well in that chair … and she’ll probably improve with time.”
“We’ve been over that, dear. It would kill Mom and Dad if their daughter was locked up in one of those places where all you smell is urine and all you hear is crazy people screaming day and night. And I couldn’t live with that either,” she added.
He smiled ruefully. “We both know how this is going to end up, don’t we? After all is said and done, you’re going to take her in. She’ll be the child we didn’t want right away. Only she’ll be worse than a child. A child would belong to us. Even if the child wasn’t planned, it would be ours—flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone. Theresa will be an intruder—” He held up a hand to forestall Miriam’s interruption. “Yes, she will be … at least as far as I’m concerned. And, even if it takes a while, eventually, she’ll be the same to you. Make no mistake, honey, this is a drastic step. This one decision could ruin our marriage.”
Walter had stated his position. He couldn’t help it; that was exactly how he felt.
That he had left Miriam sobbing was beyond his power to change. Better she cry now than later. Later? Change her mind later and find a different solution to the problem of Theresa? Not much chance of that happening.
> In a few weeks, after much remodeling in the Zabola apartment, Theresa was moved in.
That was a happy day for no one.
The elder Waleskis were saddened to send their daughter from their house. They didn’t feel all that great either about imposing their crippled girl on the newlyweds.
Miriam wished to God that this arrangement didn’t have to be. She could have used a lot more support than she was receiving. Most of all, she wished she could have her husband back.
Wally had retreated into a space of his own. Fun was gone. He tried from time to time to recapture the joy of their early days together. But that was gone—gone beyond the reach of either of them.
Theresa was just miserable.
Time dragged by. By the second anniversary of Theresa’s joining their household, daily life had sunk into a deadly dull routine.
About a year ago, roughly midway into this adventure, Theresa had gotten religion. Of course she was Catholic, born and raised. And, until she’d gotten sick, she’d attended Mass on Sundays and holy days. Which by today’s standards was not bad by any means. But according to the rules of the Catholic Church, this was a minimal effort.
Along the way, Ted Waleski, Theresa’s father, had chanced upon a serviceable used car. He was able to outfit it with hand controls, which meant that a paraplegic could drive it. Ted presented this car to Theresa. Theresa learned to drive it. And Theresa got religion.
With considerable effort she began attending daily Mass. She filled her small room with statues, relics, shrines, and candles.
But the relationship and routine of the three reluctant housemates remained the same. Miriam waited on Theresa—constantly, it seemed. Wally groused, but he helped.
Wally and Miriam had drifted into an unhealthy trap that was rubbing raw their bond. With Theresa, there was never a peaceful moment. Her chair tipped and threw her. She was suddenly too weak to lift herself from the toilet. One day she was in fine fettle and comparatively happy, but she was sure to return to her basic miserable state. She would develop bizarre symptoms that necessitated emergency trips to a near-by hospital—her home away from home.
One evening after dinner and after Theresa retired—for the night or until the hospital run, no one knew for sure—Wally said, “We’ve got to talk about Theresa.”
It was Miriam’s least favorite subject, especially when the discussion involved herself and Wally. But there was no escape. She closed her book and laid it on her lap.
“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, honey. Theresa is faking.”
Miriam sighed. “We’ve been through this any number of times, Wally. You’re going on what the doctor said, aren’t you: that nobody can find a physical cause for her paralysis? But you know he also said that just because they can’t find the cause doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Yeah, I know that, but—”
“Also, there’s the possibility that this is a psychosomatic thing. But the doctor explained that if the cause is in her mind, the physical reaction to it—the paralysis, the pain—is just as great. She’s really in pain, and she’s really paralyzed.”
“Hear me out, Miriam. I went to the library today and looked through some books on psychology. And I read that there’s a cause for psychosomatic illness: It’s called ‘secondary gain.’”
Miriam sat up straighter. This was a new twist in an old argument. “What did the books mean? What is this ‘secondary gain’?”
Wally considered it a victory that she was willing to at least consider an alternative explanation. “The way I get it is, this happens when, sick or not, you start getting something or some things you want. The examples the book gave were something like, say a kid gets hurt, maybe hit by a car. So he’s going to convalesce at home. He gets pretty much what he wants to eat. He gets lots of tender, loving care. He doesn’t have to go to school. So, when he’s completely healed—or healed enough to get off the sick list—he keeps on with all his symptoms so he can keep getting all the goodies. You know what I mean?”
Miriam nodded, though it was obvious she was not fully convinced.
“See,” Wally went on, “it doesn’t matter whether a person is really sick or not. The thing is that the person is getting everything he or she wants. The person is willing to take on all the symptoms of illness or injury so he can get these other—secondary—gains.”
“And you think that’s what’s going on with Theresa?”
“Why not? She hasn’t got any torn tendons or muscles. She hasn’t got any broken bones. Everything inside her is in working shape. It’s just that her legs don’t work.
“Okay, so you and the doctors say it could be in her head. Let’s say—for argument’s sake—that the doctors are right. I say maybe it’s something else on top of that. She’s got us as slaves. She says she needs something, she needs help, and one of us—usually you—comes running.
“And if we don’t run right to her or answer her right away, it’s off to the hospital. Or it’s hyperventilating—thank God for paper bags!
“What I’m saying, Miriam, is, What if it is all in her head? You get married, she’s the spinster sister. You’re happy, she’s depressed. Remember how she spent our wedding day in tears?
“So while we’re on our honeymoon, she starts to get sick—in her head, let’s say. She knows ahead of time how this is going to come out. The only way she can get even is to make us unhappy too. She banks on your parents not being able to take care of her. We are the logical next step.
“We start our marriage with her creating misery. Mind you, this is still all in her head. She finds out that we’ll drop everything whenever she wants something—what the book calls secondary gain.
“What it means, hon, is that if sometime she got enough of being ‘sick’ and wanted to be free of that damn wheelchair, if she wanted to be healthy again, maybe even if she wanted to be normal, she still wouldn’t do it. ‘Cause then there wouldn’t be anyone around to wait on her hand and foot. The secondary gain, honey!”
Wally had finished his presentation and was rather pleased with himself.
They sat in silence for several moments.
“For the sake of argument,” Miriam said finally, “suppose you’re right. Suppose it’s not only in her mind, suppose she’s holding on to her imaginary illness because she needs us and wants us around all the time. What do you suggest we do?”
“I thought it was kind of obvious. We stop dropping everything every time she calls—every time she demands that we do something for her.”
Miriam knew she could not do that to her sister. But she dreaded telling Wally that even if he was correct she could not stop herself from responding when her sister was in need, whatever the cause.
As she pondered, the sound of a crash came from the rear of the house—from Theresa’s room.
“She’s fallen. She can get up if we don’t run to her,” Wally said. “She can do it if we let her. Let her do it on her own, hon. This may be our last chance to save our marriage.” His tone, everything about him was pleading for a stand right here and right now.
Miriam was never more torn. But it took no more than a fraction of a second for her to know what choice she simply had to make.
Tears streaming down her face, she hurried out of the room to go to her sister’s aid.
At that moment, Walter saw the future. It was much the same as the past.
What was he to do? He could not leave Miriam. Miriam would never escape Theresa’s web. He felt as if he had been sentenced to an indeterminate purgatory.
For Miriam’s sake he would try to adjust.
THE PRESENT
Things stayed pretty much that way from that day until today,” Father Weber concluded to his two absorbed listeners. “Well, I should say until yesterday,” he amended, “when Theresa got herself a ‘miracle.’”
“Have you talked to them since yesterday?” Tully asked.
“Early this morning.”
“How’s that?�
� Tully asked. “Far as I knew, none of the media had reached them. Why you?”
Weber seemed undecided on exactly how to answer. “I’m what used to be called ‘their priest.’ For years I was the associate pastor at my parish. Then the pastor asked for a parish way out in the boonies. And the chancery gave it to him. And—mostly because nobody else wanted it—I became pastor by default.
“The upshot is that I’ve been with them ever since they—all three— got together right after Wally and Miriam were married and took Theresa in. They have confided in me—all three—more than in anybody else, including their parents.
“However, since I spoke with them this morning, they will be talking to the media.”
“You gave them permission?” Koesler asked.
“Yeah.” Weber wore a sly smile.
“You really are ‘their priest,’” Koesler said. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to give Theresa her miracle. She probably has enough faith in you to use you as the miraculous instrument.”
“We tend to discourage that kind of thing.”
“Something I don’t understand,” Tully said. “When Zabola said that Theresa was feeding on this secondary gain thing: How does that square with her going after a miracle? I kind of agreed with him on that. But why would she even want to be cured? If she’s cured, she loses all that attention and help at home. She gives up—loses—her secondary gain … no?”
“Good question,” Weber said. “And I don’t have an answer. All I know is that once she heard about Green, she immediately decided to go to St. Joe’s. The Zabolas couldn’t talk her out of it. She can drive now, so she could go on her own.
“But Miriam wouldn’t hear of Theresa’s going alone … not with the crowds and all. Miriam said she’d drive. Then Wally wouldn’t let Miriam go unprotected. So all three went. But your point is well taken, Lieutenant. And I don’t have an answer to that either.”
“Maybe I do,” Koesler said. “Doesn’t this just reinforce the idea that this was all happening in Theresa’s subconscious—the illness and the secondary gain?
“She wanted to be miraculously cured. That’s why she insisted on going to St. Joseph’s. That was her consciousness acting. Consciously, she didn’t want to be ill, to be a paraplegic. If her paralysis was psychosomatic, as the doctors seem to agree, it wasn’t an illness that she welcomed. If there was the secondary gain of being waited on, or in making her married sister as miserable as Theresa was by being unmarried, none of the secondary gains was consciously desired as planned.
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