Entwined

by La Plante, Lynda

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Not long,” he lied, and sat on the edge of her bed.

  “Where’s Hilda?”

  “She’s having a break.”

  “She’s so sweet.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Good, refreshed. Where’s Helen?”

  “I don’t know, maybe shopping.”

  She sat up and shook her head. “We did my hair, Hilda and I. What time is it?”

  She looked at her bedside clock, then threw back the sheet. “We can call Sasha and the boys.”

  He watched her slip her feet into slippers, and then yawn, lifting her arms above her head. “I feel hungry, I am ravenous!”

  Louis hesitated, then told himself not to draw back now, to go through with it. “I’m glad you feel better, and hungry. Dr. Franks will be pleased, too.”

  He saw the catlike reaction as her eyes narrowed. He continued: “Franks is waiting for me to call him, he said that I should contact him as soon as you recovered.”

  “Really?” she said flatly.

  “Yes. So, my dear, shall I call him?”

  She pursed her lips. “Oh, I can’t see him yet. I’m still too weak. Can you get Hilda for me?”

  Louis opened the drapes, forced himself not to back off, not this time. “Shall I tell Dr. Franks perhaps tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Is Anne Marie in?”

  Louis crossed over to her and took her hand. “Come and sit down. I’ll get Hilda and Anne Marie, but first we need to talk.”

  She sat on the dressing table stool, looking up at him.

  “I’m going to call Dr. Franks, right now. What shall I tell him?”

  She hunched her shoulders. “I can’t see him for a while.”

  He sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What does that mean? A day? two days? a week? How long do you expect us all to wait around here? This is the reason…”

  She retorted angrily, interrupting him: “I know why we came, and I have agreed to see him, but not just yet!”

  When Louis suggested they ask Franks to come and see her later in the afternoon, she snapped: “I have to rest.”

  Louis walked to the door, saying he would call him anyway.

  “7 don’t want to see him, I’ve changed my mind. Besides I feel as if I am getting stronger. Without all those pills that wretched woman makes me take, my system is getting cleansed. I am detoxifying; it’s a slow process, I am bound to have some withdrawal symptoms and…”

  “That’s right, keep on with the excuses, but this time I am not taking no for an answer. If you want to stay here a month I’ll arrange it, but you are going to Dr. Franks.”

  “Don’t be so nasty with me, why are you being so nasty?”

  “For God’s sake, I am not being nasty, you are being childish. I’ll call him now.”

  “No.”

  He looked at her, opening the door.

  “I said no.”

  He slammed the door shut—hard. “Vow have no say in the matter, do you understand?”

  “I won’t see him.”

  Louis crossed the room and gripped her arm. “You will see him, do you hear me? You will see him, we agreed, you agreed and you cannot change your mind now.”

  “Why not? It’s my mind.”

  He released her arm. “Right now it is! But for how long? I’ve told you, this is the last time, it’s your last chance.”

  “Don’t you mean yours?”

  He had to control his temper. “We have nothing left, Bekki, you and I both know it. I am doing this for you—not for me, for you.”

  “Liar! You want me certified and dumped.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Bekki, I want to help you. Can’t you understand? That is all I have ever wanted to do—help you.”

  She stared at him, angrily. He kept his voice low, trying to be controlled. “You need help, you know it. If not for me…”

  “Oh shut up! I’ve heard that one too many times.” She mimicked him: “If not for me, do it for yourself.”

  She turned on him. “This is for you, Louis, I am here is this bloody awful country for you, you want to get rid of me, don’t you think I know it? Well, one, I will not give you a divorce; two, I will go to see Dr. Franks when I feel up to going to see him, in my own time when I feel fit and well enough, and I will not be pressured by you, or by that whore Helen, I will not be forced into seeing this crank because you want to get rid of me and run off with that tart.”

  “You mean Helen? For God’s sake, she is your friend, your doctor—and, Bekki, I am not running anywhere, I never have before, and I don’t intend to now.”

  “But you are leaving me?…Aren’t you? You’ve decided, haven’t you?”

  She plucked a tissue from its container and wiped her face, slowly removing her makeup. She had only dressed and made herself look pretty for him. She murmured under her breath about Helen again.

  “Helen has nothing to do with any decision I make!”

  She smiled. “Ah, you are making a decision all by yourself, are you? Well, that is a change.”

  He refused to be drawn into an argument, and their eyes met in the mirror.

  “No, Bekki, you make the decision this time, it is up to you. If you refuse to see Dr. Franks, then…”

  She held his gaze with a defiant stare. “Then what?”

  “You cannot return to the children.”

  “They are old enough to make their own decision.” She said it with defiance, but he could see her eyes were beginning to flick, to blink rapidly.

  “Sasha is not!”

  Her hands trembled and she began to twist the tissue, but she didn’t look away from him.

  “You can’t do that to me! I love Sasha, she needs me.”

  “You give me no alternative. I’ve told you, this is your last chance.”

  He walked out. Even after he had closed the door, he felt as if her eyes were on him. He poured a brandy, his hands shaking as he lifted the glass. Would she begin throwing things, screaming, was she going to come hurtling out of the bedroom? The brandy hit the back of his throat, warming him. He poured himself some more, and then froze. The telephone extension rang once, he knew she was making a call, and he banged the glass down—breaking the stem. Was she calling Sasha? He hurried to the bedroom, about to fling open the door. He could hear her talking; he pressed his head to the door to listen.

  Vebekka’s palms were sweating, small beads of perspiration glistened on her brow. She gripped the telephone tighter, afraid she would unconsciously put it down.

  “Dr. Franks? This is Baroness Marechal, I…”

  She could hear him breathing, then ask how she was, and she had to swallow once, twice before she could reply. “I am very much better…”

  “Good, I am glad to hear it.”

  The sweating made her feel weak, her whole body shook. Her hair was wringing wet.

  “Hello? Baroness?…Hello?”

  Dr. Franks could hardly hear her, but he knew she was still on the line. “Are you experiencing any adverse effects? Any withdrawal symptoms? Baroness?”

  “Sweating, I am sweating.”

  She gasped, and had to reach for the dressing table top to steady herself; she felt as if she were going to faint.

  “That is only to be expected. You must drink, can you hear me? You must drink as much water as possible, keep drinking. Would you like me to come and see you?”

  “No!”

  Franks couldn’t hear her. He asked again. “I can be with you in half an hour. Would you like me to come to see you?”

  There was a long pause. He could not tell if she was still on the line or not.

  She whispered. “I would like to come and see you.”

  “Pardon? I can’t hear you?”

  “I want you to help me, I want to come to you.”

  “That is good, I can arrange for you to
have the entire morning. Shall we say nine in the morning?”

  “Thank you.” She replaced the phone carefully; it felt heavy. Her hands clasped tightly together, Vebekka felt nothing but fear.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Louis was elated that Vebekka had called Franks herself. He had not expected her to have the strength. He called down to the desk to ask for Hilda to come to their suite immediately. He then called Anne Marie to check on his wife.

  The baron was banking on Dr. Franks, as if on a miracle cure; it was naive of him, and he knew it. But even if Franks could not help Vebekka, at least the baron could honestly tell himself that he had tried. And then he could, without guilt, have her placed in an institution. He no longer had regrets, it was the only choice he had.

  From the open door to her bedroom, he watched for a brief moment as Anne Marie tended to Vebekka. He could see that her nightgown was sodden, her face dripping with sweat, and she was mumbling incoherently. The baron saw Anne Marie check his wife’s pulse, then take her temperature. He continued to watch as Vebekka struggled a moment, her arms thrashing at her sides, and then she grew listless, still sweating profusely. He turned away as Anne Marie began to remove his wife’s nightgown. Vebekka seemed unaware of the nurse, and when Anne Marie realized the baron was watching she hesitated, the gown half removed.

  Louis bowed his head. “I’ll be in the foyer if you need me.”

  He didn’t go to the foyer, but to the small bar at the rear of the hotel’s reception. There was no mistress for him to run to; instead, he sat hunched in the corner of the bar with a cognac.

  Vebekka seemed grateful when Hilda bustled in and quickly began to help Anne Marie change the bed linen. They placed cold compresses on her brow. Bottles of mineral water were brought up. Hilda encouraged her to drink as much as possible. Vebekka began to shiver, and more blankets were piled on top of the comforter.

  Hilda sat close by the bed, wringing out the cold compress. Vebekka had gone from shivering with cold to sweating with fever. At least she was sleeping deeply now, but Hilda grew more and more concerned. She gestured for Anne Marie to take Vebekka’s pulse. It was rapid, but nothing to be too concerned about. Anne Marie felt the skin on the underside of Vebekka’s wrist. There was a shiny area of skin, whiter than the rest of her skin, and she pointed it out to Hilda.

  “What is that mark on her wrist from?” Hilda asked.

  Anne Marie whispered: “She told me it was a burn, but it looks more like a skin graft.” She continued whispering as she pointed out that it was the same wrist Vebekka had cut the night they had arrived. She smirked, suggesting that perhaps Vebekka had attempted it before. Hilda said nothing, she could see that the fresh wound was already healing, but the white, neat scar tissue was higher up, about four inches from the base of the baroness’s palm.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It was just after four when Vebekka woke, and she reached out for Hilda’s hand, struggled to sit up, drank thirstily from a glass Hilda held, then rested back on the pillows. She looked to the window, asked for it to be opened, she wanted some fresh air. Hilda obliged. “Is this too much?”

  “No, it feels good, has it stopped raining?”

  “Yes, just! But there are dark clouds, I think there could be a storm.”

  Suddenly Vebekka’s body went rigid and blinding colors flashed across her brain. Hilda rushed to her side. “What is it? What is it?”

  The thin hands clenched the sheets, her body seemed caught in a spasm, and Hilda ran out to call for Anne Marie.

  The colors screamed in her head, red…blood red…green…they were coming fast, flashes of brilliant reds, greens, and blues. When Hilda and Anne Marie returned, they saw Vebekka struggling to stand up, she kept repeating “Up!…Up!”

  They could not restrain her; she kept pushing them away. Then, as quickly as the spasm had begun, it stopped. She flopped back onto the pillows, clutching her head as if in agony. Hilda tried to put an ice-cold cloth on her brow but she swiped at her, screamed for her to get away, to stay away from her.

  Hilda stepped back, frightened by the force of that skinny arm. Shocked, she looked to Anne Marie, who was standing back, nowhere near the thrashing figure.

  “Should we call someone?” Hilda asked.

  Anne Marie walked out of the room, warning over her shoulder for Hilda to stay away from the bed. Vebekka was rubbing at her hair, banging her head with her fists.

  “Stop it. Stop it. Make it stop, please God make it stop!”

  The colors hammered, flashed, and she couldn’t get her breath. Panting and gasping, she reached out to Hilda, trying to get hold of her. Anne Marie came back with the straitjacket, unwrapping it from its plastic case. “The doctor should be here now, never mind her husband!”

  Hilda stood by the bed, her arms open wide, protecting Vebekka. “No…no…don’t put that on her, I won’t let you!”

  Anne Marie looked at the bed, and tossed the jacket aside.

  “They shouldn’t have taken her off the sedatives, this has happened before! Well, I am not taking any responsibility, she’ll attack you.”

  Vebekka begged Hilda to get rid of Anne Marie, to make her get out of the room. Anne Marie looked to Hilda, as if to say It is up to you!

  Vebekka wouldn’t let Hilda go. “I’m here, dear, it’s all right. Hilda’s right here with you.”

  Anne Marie stormed out while Hilda stayed with Vebekka, calming her, stroking her hair, saying over and over that she was there, that she wasn’t going to leave her. The thin arms relaxed and Vebekka rested her head against Hilda’s shoulder.

  “Oh God help me, what is it? What happens to me? Hilda, Hilda!”

  Hilda coaxed her to lie back on the pillows, and Vebekka didn’t struggle, she was too exhausted. She whispered, like a frightened child. “It is closer…it is so close, I can’t make it go away.”

  Hilda made soft shushing sounds, as if to a little girl. “What is it? What are you frightened of? Is it something in the room?”

  “I don’t know. Something possesses me, controls me, and I can’t fight it anymore, I’m so tired…so tired.”

  Hilda continued stroking Vebekka’s hair. “What do you think it is? If you tell me, then maybe it won’t be so frightening.”

  Vebekka turned away, curling her knees up, her arms wrapped around herself. How could she answer when she didn’t know? All she knew was that it was closer than it had ever been before.

  Hilda shut the window, drew the drapes, and in the semidarkness returned to the bedside, bending down to try to see Vebekka’s face. She talked softly the whole time, saying she was there, nothing could come into the room, nothing in the room could frighten her. She stood by the bed, waiting, but Vebekka didn’t move. Eventually, Hilda crept out, pulling the door behind her silently.

  Hilda stood in the empty lounge, not knowing what she should do—stay or try to find the baron or Helen Masters. She looked at her watch—it was almost five—she looked to Anne Marie’s closed door, back to the bedroom. The suite was silent, she could hear the clock ticking on the marble mantel, but outside the passing cars tooted, the noise of traffic drawing up outside the hotel was loud and intrusive, and she was afraid the sounds would wake Vebekka.

  Hilda crossed to draw the wooden shutters closed. They were heavy and she moved from one window to the next before she lifted the fine white drapes to look into the street below. Hilda’s hand was on the shutter when she saw a solitary figure. She could not see whether it was a man or woman, because a car drew up and obscured her view. The driver appeared to say something to the dark figure, who bent down, then straightened up, gesturing for the car to drive on. Hilda could tell now that it was a woman, but her hair was drawn back tightly from her face. The collar of her thick overcoat was turned up…but what caught Hilda’s attention was the way the figure seemed to be staring toward the hotel, her head moving very slightly from side to side, as if looking from window to window, floor to floor. A
t any moment now she would face Hilda, and Hilda could catch a better view of her—but just then the doors to the suite were thrown open.

  Helen Masters strode in, and asked brusquely if the baron was with his wife.

  As Hilda turned back to close the shutters, the woman on the pavement below had vanished. “No, Dr. Masters, he is not.”

  At that precise moment the baron walked in. Helen smiled a greeting; the baron seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

  “I called your room, have you been shopping?”

  “No, Louis, you must come with me. I’ve traced a woman, a relative of David Goldberg’s wife. She said she would see us.”

  “Excuse me, Baron…”

  They both turned to Hilda, as if only then realizing she was in the room. When Hilda nervously related the earlier events, the baron slumped into a chair, then turned to Helen.

  “She called Franks herself, this afternoon, said she would see him tomorrow!” Louis opened the bedroom door, went into the darkened room.

  Helen asked if Anne Marie was with Vebekka, but Hilda shook her head. She was twisting her hands anxiously. Helen went to her side.

  “Are you all right, did she frighten you?”

  Hilda whispered to Helen that she would like to speak with her, that she did not mean to say more than she should, but felt Helen should know what Anne Marie’s intentions had been.

  Helen moved her further away from the bedroom, patting Hilda’s shoulder. “It’s all right, you can tell me…I want to know what happened, it’s very important.”

  Briefly, and in a hushed voice, Hilda related to Helen the story of the straitjacket.

  Louis bent down to try to see Vebekka’s face; she appeared to be sleeping. He gave a featherlike touch to her head and then joined Helen. “She’s sleeping.”

  Helen gestured for him to come close, repeated everything Hilda had told her. Louis strode to Anne Marie’s room, knocked and without waiting for an answer, entered and closed the door behind him.

  Anne Marie looked up from her book, flustered, trying to straighten her blouse.

  “I would like you to leave, you can arrange a flight at the reception desk.”

  He opened his wallet, and before Anne Marie had time to reply, he left a thick wad of folded bills on her bed. She snapped her book closed, wanting obviously to discuss the matter, but he walked out. She stared at the money, her lips pursed, then counted it, looked at the closed door and swore under her breath.