Waking Anastasia

by Timothy Reynolds

  Jerry accepted the offered hand. “Jerry Powell, and Ana . . .” He stumbled over “Romanova”, and decided on a compromise. “Ana Romanski.” He kicked himself, mentally. If he was trying to protect Ana, then Romanski was a pretty stupid choice.

  The band slipped into “Pinetop’s Boogie Woogie” and the dance floor was once again populated. Ana gently pulled Jerry away and led him off the dance floor, Gervaise and his date close behind. Once they were clear of the dancers, Ana turned to Danielle, all smiles. “You were magnificent!”

  Danielle beamed at the praise from the young woman who was obviously the centre of speculation and attention at the ball. “You flatter me, Ana. You were simply divine. You are a natural.” She extended her own hand to Ana, which was accepted gently, and the two women exchanged a two-cheek European kiss.

  Gervaise cocked his head slightly and squinted in the low light. “Jerry Powell? The new man at CKVB, ‘The Best Folk ’n’ Oldies on the West Coast’?”

  “How the h—” He caught himself. There was no need to be rude. “How did you know that? I’ve only been here a week.”

  “I’m an avid reader of the Victoria Times Colonist and your station posted an announcement in the business section, welcoming you to town. We live in Vancouver now, but I taught at the university here for a few years and still have a few investments on the island. Congratulations on the new position, and welcome to the West Coast.”

  “Thanks, Professor.” Something wasn’t right about this guy, Jerry thought. His reason for knowing whom Jerry was seemed too pat, too slick. And he barely looked Jerry in the eyes when he spoke. “Now, if you’ll please excuse us, my new boss at CKVB is waiting for us.”

  Gervaise made a small bow. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Enjoy the remainder of the evening, and Happy New Year. Perhaps we shall meet again on the dance floor.” He smoothly guided Danielle away and to a table on the other side of the ballroom.

  “That was strange.” Jerry shook his head and held his arm out for Ana. She linked her arm through his.

  “It most certainly was. I do believe I have met him before, Jerry.”

  “Here in town?” They strolled to their table in the corner.

  “No, I do not believe so. Before.”

  He looked down at her and she was as confused as he was. “How is that possible?”

  “I am certain that I have no idea. As you said, it is very strange.”

  Manny pulled a chair out for Jerry. “Sit, lad. Those were some bloody serious dance moves up there. Didn’t know you could do that.”

  “I wasn’t sure I could do it myself, to be honest. Like Ana said, she’s a great teacher.”

  Tom shrugged. “Lee-Anne keeps trying to get me to learn that stuff, but I’m a klutz. The look I saw on her face when Ana went spinning past, though, makes me think I should at least give it a try. For her.” He sipped his beer and glanced adoringly over at Lee-Anne. “She’s a handful, but believe it or not, that shawl was her idea, not mine. She even went shopping for a new dress this morning, saying that she had ‘nothing with class’ for tonight, but she came home empty-handed, which is a first. I guess the pickings were slim this close to the party.”

  Manny nodded subtly at Jerry. “She looks lovely as always, Tom, and I’m sure Carmella would be happy to introduce her to her dressmaker over in Port Angeles. The girls could make a weekend of it. I give Lee-Anne a clothing allowance for work, so it probably won’t be nearly as painful a weekend for you as it will for me. But, they’re our women, so what else can we do?”

  Tom tried to adjust his pre-tied bow tie that seemed to be choking him. He finally unclipped it and started adjusting the slider in back. “Sure. I’d do anything to make Lee-Anne happy. Anything except wear a stupid tie every day.”

  Jerry laughed. “A regular tie isn’t so bad because we can loosen them a bit when they start to choke us, but these bowties look like crap when they’re loose and turn us blue when they’re too tight.”

  “Lee-Anne says a tie makes my head look big and like I have more hair than I do, whatever that means. I think the damned things are just an excuse for women to put a leash on us.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Amen to that!”

  “You got that right.”

  “Quiet, lads, they’re coming back. Don’t want Carmella thinking that I talk about her when she’s gone like she talks about me when I’m not in the bloody room.” He stood as the ladies arrived and pulled out Carmella’s chair for her. The other three men scrambled to follow his lead.

  The women all slipped into their seats and sipped their drinks while making small talk around the table. Ana picked up the glass in front of her and although she raised it to her lips, Jerry could see that she wasn’t actually drinking. She smiled at him and he smiled back, with all his heart. She positively glowed in all the ways a living girl should. There was a sparkle in her eyes, a slight flush on her cheeks, and when she placed her hand on his own, he could feel the warmth of her touch, even through her thin gloves. He couldn’t remember having been happier in his life. If this was love, he was pretty sure he could get used to it.

  A delicate touch landed on his free hand and Carmella gave him a maternal pat. “Ana tells me you two haven’t taken the tour, yet.”

  “The tour?”

  “Of the Empress. The Grand Old Dame of Victoria. There’s no actual tour at this hour, but I’m sure they’ll let us go for a wander.” She pulled her hand back as Ana squeezed the one she held.

  “Yes, please, Jerry. We can all go. I am certain that they would not mind.”

  Carmella looked around the table. “Or we could all get up on the dance floor. Shuck, jive, shimmy . . .” The men were up and out of their chairs in a flash, including Jerry.

  “A tour sounds great.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Yup, a perfect break.”

  “Fresh air. Need some fresh air.”

  The women laughed and stood up, and the men shut up. Carmella and Manny led the way toward the main doors of the Crystal Ballroom, with Jerry and Ana taking up the rear. Jerry took a few long seconds to catch his breath.

  “Are you well, my Sweet?”

  “Of course, Shvibzik. Just stood up too fast, I guess. Come on, let’s catch up. I’m sure Manny and Carmella have a library’s-worth of trivia about this place.”

  “You are certain? We can relax here. I am sure they would not mind.”

  “Nonsense. My vision’s a little fuzzy, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. You can be my beautiful guide dog.” They started off after their friends.

  “Your dog?”

  “Guide dog. Like a blind man.”

  “Oh, of course. Sobaka-povodyr. Our cook’s uncle made use of such a dog. We were not allowed to play with Ivan—the dog—but he was brilliant to watch at work, guiding his master around. In that way, I will gladly be your guide dog. On one condition.”

  “A condition? I’ll bet Ivan didn’t insist on conditions.”

  “Only that he be loved. All I am asking is that you agree to tell the doctor about your eyesight. I am worried.”

  “It’s no big deal. Just stress, I’m sure.”

  “It is most certainly a big deal, Mister Jeremy Powell, because I love you and I worry.”

  “Thank you, my Sweet Shvibzik. And I—”

  Jerry didn’t finish the declaration. He didn’t see who turned out the lights, nor did he see the floor rushing up at him. He most certainly didn’t hear Ana’s scream for Manny, and he had no idea that half-a-dozen phones were dialling 9-1-1 while someone put a folded jacket under his head to make him comfortable.

  Chapter Seventeen

  @TheTaoOfJerr: “Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.”

  ~Jean Paul

  JERRY FELT SLENDER warm fingers loosely laced in his own, the first sensation he was aware of. He’d been at a party somewhere, recently. There’d been music, and a beautiful woman in green beside him. She looked like a princess, but obvi
ously wasn’t. Or at least he didn’t think so. He heard a soft, slow beeping of machinery, with a metronome’s beat. His eyes registered pale light and he opened them cautiously. He was in a hospital bed, again, surrounded by a curtain, looking up at a ceiling of hole-filled acoustic tiles. The person holding his hand stood and leaned over him, strange, smoky tears rolling off her cheeks and vanishing.

  She was here. The princess was here, with him. She wasn’t a dream after all. “Hi there. Howyoudoin’?” She kissed him firmly on the mouth—hard enough to express her feelings, but not so hard that he felt smothered, trapped and crushed down on the hospital bed. He kissed her back, because he was sure he was supposed to. When his mental fog cleared, he was sure he’d even remember her name.

  “You are awake, my Sweet.” Without letting go of his hand, she reached across him with her free one and pushed a button. “Someone should be here, soon.”

  “Thanks.” He looked around for the bed controls and found them. The intravenous feed in his arm restricted his movement, but the controls were close at hand so he picked them up and squinted at them. He couldn’t read any of the symbols. He thought they were arrows but he wasn’t sure. He took a chance and pressed the up-arrow-looking button on the top right. With a whine and whirr, the top of the bed tilted and lifted him into a sitting position, just as a smiling Filipina nurse stepped through the curtain.

  “You’re awake, Mr. Powell? I’ll page Dr. Kelly. Ana, will you be here for a few more minutes? I know you said you had to get home soon.” She looked at the beauty holding Jerry’s hand. Ana was her name. That’s right, he thought. Ana the ghost. Ghost? Was he on drugs? He reflected on it, memories drifting and sliding in and around his awareness. No, he finally concluded, she really was a ghost.

  “Of course. I still have some time before I have to leave.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly, Jerry.” She slipped back through the curtain and the squeak of her rubber-soled hospital shoes on the polished floor followed her out.

  “You have to leave, Ana?”

  “Not exactly. I have to get back to the book to rest. I have been here for . . . a long time. I keep fading in and out and afraid that someone will catch me.”

  “Where are we? When are we?”

  “Royal Jubilee Hospital. It is the evening of January 3rd. Visiting hours were finished an hour ago, but they let me stay a little longer.”

  “What happened?”

  “You collapsed.”

  “In a ballroom?” It sounded familiar.

  “At the Empress Hotel. Three evenings ago.”

  “I’ve been out for three days?”

  “The doctors had to do something about the swelling. They kept you unconscious a little longer, until they could do the surgery.”

  “Surgery?” He looked down at his body, counting his limbs. They were all present and accounted for.

  “A craniotomy, Jerry.” The answer came not from Ana, but from the tubby doctor who stepped through the curtain, medical file in hand. He placed the file in the holder on the foot of the bed and took his stethoscope from around his neck. “Hello, Ana. Jerry, we ran those tests we discussed last week—the CT scan and the MRI—and found a large mass. We need to do more tests but the pressure was building and we had to make a little hole and relieve some of the pressure. We also took a biopsy while we were in there and should have the results by tomorrow morning. I put a rush on them and the lab is going as fast as they can.” He pulled up a chair and consulted his clipboard.

  “Are there any changes to those things we discussed last visit, Jerry? Memory, vision, confusion, sense of smell, tremors, fatigue . . . ?”

  “I was afraid you were going to ask that. Yeah, pretty much a little of everything except tremors.” The doctor started taking notes. “I’ve forgotten names I shouldn’t, I get tired really easily, and my eyes are giving me trouble, especially the right eye.”

  The neurologist took a shiny metallic blue penlight from his jacket pocket and got up out of the chair. “Can you focus off in the distance, please. Maybe at the fire sprinkler in the ceiling over there.”

  Jerry did what he was asked, and the doctor clicked the penlight on then swung it back and forth across each of Jerry’s eyes twice.

  “Thank you.”

  “So how did I do? Did you find that contact I’m missing?”

  “You wear contacts, Jerry?” He consulted the clipboard, concerned.

  “No. Sorry. Bad joke. You looked a little worried so I tried to make funny.”

  “Sorry. Yes, I’m worried. Your right pupil is dilated.” He checked the second page of the report. “Yes, here it is. It was noted by the EMS team. It doesn’t really surprise me, unfortunately. Having already performed the CT and MRI, I have a very good idea what we’re looking at here, Jerry.”

  Jerry squeezed Ana’s hand tighter. He was scared like he’d never been in his life, yet he felt selfish, too, what with Ana actually being dead already. Whatever the doctor was about to tell him, there was probably some slim hope for him, but there was none for Ana. The woman he had come to love was beyond help.

  THEY GAVE JERRY a little something for the pain and a big something to fend off infection from the surgery, so he spent the next three days sleeping a lot, texting back and forth with Manny about ideas he had for the station, and listening to Ana read poetry from her book. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Manny through text or even in person while lying on his back in the hospital bed how severe the situation was, so he asked the big Aussie to call an emergency staff meeting on Saturday afternoon. He was released from the hospital on schedule Saturday morning with more meds and a handful of hospital shower caps to protect the stitches from the closed-up craniotomy until they healed. After he got cleaned up and into fresh clothes, Jerry arrived at the station an hour early to brief Manny before speaking to the entire staff.

  It had been an emotional meeting with tears on both sides, but the two men pulled themselves together in time. Manny now stood quietly against one wall of the station’s modest conference room, his long arms folded across his chest and his damp, red-rimmed eyes only partially hidden behind his glasses. His staff were arranged around the room, sitting where there were chairs, standing where they had to. The engineer on duty had put on a pre-recorded thirty-minute mix of music and seasonal humour to allow the station to run on auto-pilot while everyone attended the meeting. Rolf reached up and turned off the speaker on the wall. The faces around the table were a mix of glum and confused. Stories of Jerry’s collapse at the Empress had spread quickly, but few were sure what it might mean.

  Jerry stood at the head of the long, oval conference table, the book clutched in his hands and a NIKE baseball cap covering his partially shaved skull and the bandage. “So. Manny and I have just had a long chat and I wanted to tell you all in person that he’ll be posting my job on Monday.” Gasps and whispered one-word exclamations from around the room made him pause. He took a deep breath, knowing what was coming had to be said, but not finding it any easier than it had been when he’d told Manny in private.

  “It’s not because I don’t love the job, the station, and all of you. It’s not because Manny had a change of heart and decided I wasn’t what he was looking for in a Station Manager. I am being replaced simply because Manny and you all need someone you can rely on to be here for the long run, and that’s not me.” He thought he’d better address some of the rumours bouncing around. “No other station has made me a better offer, and I’m not running back to Ontario to some abandoned mystery family with a dog and three-point-two kids. It’s called a neoplasm. Anaplastic astrocytoma. Specifically, glioblastoma multiforme or GBM, to all the specialists and textbook publishers. Brain cancer. Advanced and aggressive. Grade 4, for those of you who understand this stuff. Probably inoperable, but brains smarter than mine are currently debating that. Radiation, yes; chemo is something called Temodar to start with, but because it’s in my head and there’s this blood-brain barrier thing that oft
en prevents the drugs from reaching the cancer, they may have to go with implanted wafers of some sort. I’ll be seeing the oncologist on Monday.

  “Apparently they found it way too late. It wasn’t nitrates in my luncheon meats, or stress, or poor posture, or any of the dozens of ideas we batted around. Unlike Ahnold, it is a toomah.” He forced a smile, took a long slow breath, and washed it down with a sip from the glass of water on the table in front of him. Tears were already flowing around the room and he was barely holding on, himself.

  “How long? Untreated, if I get six more months, I’ll be the luckiest man on earth. Three, tops; more likely six to eight weeks, untreated. But I’m not giving up, because there have been great advances in treatment and they’re trying to fast-track me into this clinical study they’re doing here in Victoria; but the reality is that even if I beat the odds, Manny needs someone he can rely on and I’m going to be a mess for a while. We’ve made a compromise. He’s going to offer my replacement only a one-year contract, with a healthy dose of prayer and support for my recovery in that time.”

  He took another sip and in that short break, Lee-Anne bolted from the room. Jerry looked up at Mika and nearly cracked when he saw the tears pouring silently down her cheeks as she stared at the table in front of her. Small sobs shook her slender frame. She looked up and he nodded at her. She nodded back and smiled weakly, then stood and quietly left. Manny snorted into a handful of damp tissues but said nothing. Jerry looked around the room, at the faces feeling his pain with him.

  “That’s all for now, I guess. We’ll talk more, once the shock has worn off both you and me. I’m going to head back to my office for a bit, so if you could give me a half-hour or so before you swing by, I’d appreciate it. Who knew a tumour could be so exhausting?” He tried to smile and only managed to deflect a tear rolling down toward his chin.

  The remaining staff stood and filed out in silence. Most looked his way, lost for words. He understood, and smiled with hope he didn’t really feel. Eventually he was alone in the room. As if drinking from his glass could give others his cancer, he picked up the tumbler and wandered to his office. He could hear sniffles and tears and at least one person sobbing loudly behind a closed office door. It sounded like it came from the direction of Lee-Anne’s office, but he didn’t have the energy right then and there to confirm it. He’d find a time when they could sit down, after the first round of tears dried up.