The Wooden Chair

by Rayne E. Golay

  “Leini’s been sick,” Grandpa said, his voice tense. He stuck a finger inside his shirt collar, moving it back and forth.

  “It’s to be expected after anesthesia.”

  “Isn’t the retching and moving her head dangerous for the eye? I mean, the stitches could tear?”

  “Of course it’s preferable if Leini is still, but some movement and vomiting can’t be avoided at first.” The doctor leaned over her, speaking softly, but Leini didn’t respond. He checked her pulse, peered at her face. “So far, so good. For now, she’ll sleep most of the time.”

  At the door he turned. “This room is very small. I’d prefer Leini has one visitor at a time. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  A few minutes after the doctor left, Grandma Britta returned with a stout, middle-aged woman in tow. “Robert, meet Irma, Leini’s night nurse.” Nodding her head in Grandpa’s direction, she added, “You already know my husband, Benjamin Bauman.”

  Irma was taller than average, her walk marred by a limp, like a deep curtsy. She gave Grandpa a firm handshake. “Nice to see you again, sir.”

  “Take good care of our girl,” he said, scanning the confined space. “The doctor said only one visitor at a time. Leini needs peace and quiet.” Leaning over her sleeping form in the bed, he gazed at her for a moment, then, with his overcoat draped over his arm, he walked to the door. “I’m leaving. You, too, Britta, come along.”

  Grandma Britta touched her cheek to Papi’s. “Look after her, Robert.” She threw Leini a kiss and followed Grandpa.

  * * *

  Leini slept intermittently, partly from the anesthesia, partly from the tranquillizer the doctor prescribed. Every precaution had been taken to keep her calm and quiet during the crucial time until scar tissue formed. When awake, she was nauseous, but the vomiting grew less frequent.

  From time to time Leini was aware of people: nurses, Papi, Mira. Her mother’s cloying perfume mingled with stale cigarette smoke made Leini nauseous again. A big woman with a warm voice who spoke Finnish with a sing-song dialect helped her when she was ill. Early on the third morning she awoke, less foggy. Out of habit, she reached for her glasses, then remembered she no longer needed them.

  Fat sandbags against each side of Leini head kept her from turning. The squishy sound of footsteps on the linoleum approached the bed.

  “Ah, little Leini’s awake. And how are you this morning?”

  Above her was a broad face, steel-gray hair pulled into a bun.

  “Thirsty.” Her throat burned, voice raspy in her ears. “Who are you?” She wondered if it was polite to ask.

  “I’m Irma, your night nurse.” A generous smile crinkled the woman’s close-set, muddy brown eyes. “Here, let me free your hands.” She removed the stays from Leini’s wrists, gently massaging them to stimulate the blood flow.

  “There. Isn’t it better?”

  Leini rubbed hands together. “Much better, thanks.”

  “Would you like me to get you some silver tea?”

  Leini wasn’t sure. The thought of milk in warm water with honey made her stomach churn, but she no longer needed to throw up, so maybe it would be all right.

  “Yes, but not too hot or sweet.”

  When Irma returned with it, Leini drank half a mug of the warm liquid through a straw. After a sponge bath, Irma helped her into a clean nightgown. Exhausted, Leini soon fell asleep again.

  A couple of days later, a harsh exchange of words woke her. She recognized Mira’s intense, slightly hoarse voice and Grandpa’s deep baritone. They were arguing. Although they tried to speak in low tones, she caught words and whole sentences.

  Mira spoke fast. “These past nights, Leini’s slept peacefully. Irma said so, and the stitches are undisturbed. Instead of paying an expensive private nurse to babysit her, Leini can continue getting a mild tranquillizer so she won’t toss and turn.” The words tumbled in a torrent, urgent and forceful, as always when Mira was determined to get her way.

  Although Grandpa’s voice was muted, Leini heard every word. “Money shouldn’t be a consideration for you, as I’m paying for Irma. Unless you have a hidden agenda? Huh? If so, I want to know what you’re plotting.” Grandpa sounded angry. His voice held none of the gentleness Leini was used to when he spoke to her.

  “What hidden agenda? I swear I have no agenda, hidden or otherwise! Leini’s a big girl, she’ll be all right on her own. I don’t like to spoil her with special treatment, particularly as she won’t have private nursing at home.”

  “Mira!” The word was like a pistol shot. “Leini is three days out of surgery. She has a history of nightmares and sleepwalking, and I’m yet to understand why a girl only nine years old should be so disturbed as to have sleep problems. After the next few nights, the scarring will have started so she can no longer harm her eye. She’ll be able to be on her own. For now, Irma stays, I say.”

  “Too late, Grandpa. I already told her not to return tonight.”

  In the ensuing silence, Leini could only guess at what went on. From her position on her back, unable to move her head, she imagined Grandpa and Mira glaring at each other.

  “You’re overstepping boundaries, Mira. You had no business firing Irma. I hired her and I’m going to call her back.”

  “If you do that, you’ll not open my doors again. I’ll personally make sure you won’t see Leini.”

  A heavy silence ensued. Leini had no way of knowing what went on, but Mira’s last words frightened her.

  Please, Grandpa, don’t ask Irma to come back. I couldn’t stand it if I didn’t get to see you.

  Grandpa’s his voice was muffled. “I hate to admit it, but you win. I won’t let you keep Leini from me, but mark my saying this—if anything happens to her because she’s unattended at night, I’ll hold you personally responsible. You’ll have her misfortune on your conscience.”

  Leini heard smacking sounds. She guessed Grandpa was hitting the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. She’d seen him do so on the few occasions he’d been upset in Leini’s presence.

  “Grandpa, you forget she’s my daughter. I have something to say in matters concerning her.”

  “You, Mira, seem to forget Leini’s my only granddaughter. My money pays for the private room and the nurse. You…you’re in no way a fit mother to this child. You do precious little to care for her.”

  “How dare you, old man.” Like a wildcat, Mira spat the words.

  Leini had enough. Covering ears with hands, she shouted, “Stop it! I don’t want to hear another word.” They’re talking about me again as if I don’t exist.

  Before Grandpa could react, Mira was by the bed, taking Leini’s hands. “Little girl, I’m sorry we disturbed you. We were just talking.”

  “No, you were not. You’re angry at Grandpa, and now he’s all upset. Go away, Mira. Go be angry somewhere else.”

  All she wanted was for Grandpa and Mira to stop arguing.

  * * *

  Leini spent the fourth night alone. The door to the corridor was left ajar. The nurse on call checked her often. She came by one last time minutes before the end of her duty. Leini lay turned on her right side when she should have been on her back. The nurse crept around the bed to get a glimpse at Leini’s face.

  She froze.

  Leini had burrowed the right side of her face in the sheet. The bridge holding the stitches was detached from her cheek. It rested at an angle on the sheet by her head.

  The side of her face rested in a pool of blood.

  As quickly as she could, the nurse put in a call for Doctor Kallio before she rushed Leini to the operating room. The doctor arrived only minutes later. The anesthesiologist put the mask on her face, and Doctor Kallio performed the operation again—only three days after the first one.

  Leini returned to her room in the afternoon. The doctor met with her family in her small room. He took them in, one after the other. Papi leaned forearms on knees, face pale, deep worry lines between his brows. Grandma Britta ke
pt dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. Grandpa was deep red in the face, a white ring around his lips. Mira stared into space, refusing eye contact.

  “The news isn’t good, I’m sorry to say,” the doctor said.

  Papi kept squeezing his hands. “What went wrong?”

  “It seems pretty obvious. Leini turned in her sleep and disturbed the bridge. She must have rubbed the side of her face against the sheet. Maybe the eye itched. Maybe she experienced some discomfort. The bridge moved, the stitches ruptured, tearing the fresh scar tissue. Without stitches, the muscles no longer could hold the eye straight—it turned into her head.” The doctor passed a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging.

  “Will she be all right, doctor?” Grandma Britta asked, her voice thick.

  Doctor Kallio cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice was low and hesitant. “I’m afraid not.” He paused. “The optic nerve is damaged.”

  “What?” The question erupted from Grandpa. “How is it possible?”

  “So early after surgery, the scarring had just started…” The doctor hunched his shoulders, palms turned up in a gesture of helplessness.

  Explanation or not, the result was there.

  Leini was blind in her right eye.

  * * *

  During the week in the hospital following the second operation, Leini refused to see anyone. Mira came, but a nurse prevented her from entering on Leini’s request as she blamed Mira for the accident. When Papi arrived, she seemed oblivious of his presence. Leini wouldn’t talk or look at him. She showed the same stoic silence for Grandpa and Grandma Britta.

  During one of his frequent visits, Grandpa pulled up a chair and sat facing her. “You have my firm promise that I’ll read and investigate and do everything in my power to find a solution for your eye.” His voice was low and firm. “Money is no objection. Somewhere, there has to be an ophthalmologist or faith healer—somebody, anybody—who’ll have a solution for you. I’ll find this person. Together we’ll travel. The world over, if necessary. I’m going to find help. Trust me, Leini.”

  Eyes closed, she nodded, more for his benefit than because she believed him.

  Leini didn’t allow any of her friends to visit. Virpi told her Paula and Berit were at the clinic, wanting to spend a few minutes with her.

  Leini shook her head. “I’m not up to it.”

  Virpi plugged in the phone that had been disconnected while Leini recuperated. “A gentleman wants to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anybody.” But when Virpi told her it was Karl on the line, she took the receiver. “Karl?”

  “Yes, my sweet. Papi tells me you don’t accept visitors. Does that include me, too?”

  Hesitant, she closed her eyes, missing him. “For now, it does.”

  “Okay. But once you’re home, I’ll come to see you even if I have to beat down the door. Remember, I love you, Leini.”

  With both hands she set the receiver in the cradle. Face buried in the pillow, she cried until, exhausted, she fell asleep.

  Systematically, she cut herself off from everybody. She held them all responsible for her plight, individually and collectively. She was a one-eyed monster, and it was their fault. When she balked at the operation, Mira pushed and threatened, used emotional blackmail and manipulated until she wore Leini down. The others stood by, maybe unaware of Mira’s role in bending Leini’s will, but in her mind they were silent partners, nonetheless. And so they were all to blame for her loss of sight.

  The eye was ugly. It kept escaping to the outer corner and was never in sync with the other. For the rest of her life she would carry the visible mark of Mira’s shrewd manipulation and everyone else’s betrayal. Leini punished them in the only way she knew; she refused to see them or talk to them. And in the process she punished herself as well, because she missed them so.

  Doctor Kallio tried to break through Leini’s protective shield while she was still in the hospital. Like everybody else, he was met with an impenetrable wall of mute indifference. On her last day in the hospital, he came to bid her good-bye.

  “I want you to know, Leini, I did the best I could. This is the result of a stupid, mindless accident that never should have happened.” He took her hand, and she let him hold it. “Believe me, I really wanted this to succeed. I wanted for you to leave with two good eyes.”

  Restless, Leini stirred in the armchair. She glanced at him, then averted her eyes, but not before he perceived the faintest smile.

  “I know, Doctor,” she said. “I wanted it, too. God had other plans, is all.”

  Chapter 17

  Helsinki, 1947-1950

  When she left the shelter and security of her hospital room, Leini was ill-prepared to face the pitfalls of seeing with one eye. Now her world was flat, one-dimensional. Having no depth perception, Papi’s firm grip on her arm prevented her from falling down the short flight of stairs from the elevator to street level.

  In the car on their way home, she was confused by sounds coming at her from the right, blind to their source unless she turned her head. The stench of gasoline in the car made her nauseous, reminiscent of ether, a disgusting odor that lingered. By the time they reached their building, she was tired, she was close to tears, and her head ached.

  Mira met them in the entry hall. She brought her face close to Leini’s, examining her with a blatant stare, her curiosity undisguised.

  “Hmm,” she said without welcome or greeting. “No better or worse than it was in the hospital. You don’t look too bad. Sure, your right eye hides in the outer corner, but it’s nothing a little cosmetic surgery can’t cure. At least you’re rid of those horrid glasses.” She turned and preceded Leini into the living room. “I want you to go to your room, unpack and put away your clothes. Dinner’s in half an hour, so hurry and wash up.”

  Sad and discouraged at Mira’s lack of warmth, Leini felt sick. Without a word, Leini stoically carried the bag to her suite.

  Dinner was a disaster. Leini’s distorted sight caused one mishap after the other. She miscalculated the edge of the plate, spilling chicken broth. While she poured water, she missed the glass, drenching Mira’s snow white table cloth. As she speared a piece of steak, the tines of the fork slipped on the plate with a screeching sound to send the meat flying. Disgusted, she threw her fork onto the plate, scattering green peas about. Frustrated and exhausted, she broke into tears.

  True to character, Mira threw a tantrum, unspeakable words spewing from her mouth. Papi’s efforts to placate her were drowned by her loud voice. Samy leaned against the back of his chair, his rosebud of a mouth pulled into a smirk. Like an enthusiast watching a boxing match, his black eyes sparkled and danced. Without sound, Leini cried, plump tears rolling from her eyes.

  Glasses and silverware jumped and jiggled as Papi’s fist landed on the table with a crash that startled Leini, sloshing the water in her glass. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his face was red, a pulse throbbing at his throat.

  “Enough, Mira! Stop your tirade right this minute. You should be ashamed of yourself, throwing a tantrum because my poor daughter suffers from impaired vision. Show her some consideration, for heaven’s sake. She’s only come home an hour after an awful experience in the hospital.” He stood, leaned fisted hands on each side of his plate.

  Mira’s eyes were narrow slits. “She needs to learn some discipline. Just because she’s…”

  “She has a lot of adjustments to do. Right now she needs support more than she needs a lesson in table manners.”

  Leini kept staring at a point at the far end of the room, wishing she could vanish, guilt heavy on her shoulders that Papi was upset because of her.

  “There you go again, taking Leini’s side against me.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, but I warn you, go easy on Leini. After all, she’s only a child.”

  Not daring to look at either parent, Leini kept staring into her food, but heard Mira snort.

  Before leaving the dini
ng room, Papi planted a kiss on top of Leini’s head.

  Mira rested elbows on the table, face hidden in her hands.

  After the disastrous first dinner, Leini avoided spending time with the rest of the family. She timed her comings and goings so as to avoid them all. She took her meals in her rooms, except when friends or relatives came for dinner. If her own friends visited, which they frequently did, she saw them in her rooms. The sign on the door drew a clear line:

  “KNOCK FIRST—ENTER ONLY IF INVITED”

  Leini was learning to protect herself from further hurt.

  * * *

  Because Leini refused to let Mira accompany her, Grandma Britta took her to Doctor Kallio for her post-operative check-up.

  “The adjustment to seeing with only one eye gives you a hard time, but it will get better. You’re still young, and you’ll adapt to the handicap. Your left eye will begin to compensate. With time you’ll get used to judging distances correctly. You’ll learn to calculate depth, and your peripheral vision will improve.”

  Doubtful, Leini gazed at him. “How long will it take? Before I can see ‘normally,’ I mean?”

  Taking her hand in his, Doctor Kallio smiled. “I wish I had a timeframe to give you. To tell you the truth, we don’t have much experience with your kind of handicap. Try to be patient.” Letting go of Leini’s hand, he turned to Grandma Britta. “If possible, let Leini stay away from school for a while. She should have time to adjust without too much strain on her good eye.”

  They all decided Leini would return to school only the following fall. To help her keep abreast with the school program, her classmates—Paula foremost among them—took turns bringing her homework, and Papi hired a tutor to work with her, so she stayed current with her class.

  A few days before Christmas, true to form, Tatta barged into Leini’s room without knocking. Leini lay on her stomach on the bed, lost in the world of Little Women.

  “Hurry, girl. Go wash your hands, comb your hair. Mr. Ziegler’s here to see you.”