Confinement

by Gabriella Murray

  "What a joke," I murmured.

  "What's the joke?"

  "It's only a joke!" I called out, wide awake now. "We're all together forever. No one ever dies at all."

  * * * * *

  After lunch that afternoon, Greta stopped by my bed to talk to me.

  "Are you all right?" She sat on a white, iron chair.

  "In heaven," I answered.

  "No, I mean it."

  "I'm telling the truth."

  "You had quite a breakthrough today in your coma."

  I did not reply, just glared at her.

  "It's a lovely, breezy day," she changed the subject wisely. "More people are getting ready to go outside this afternoon than since I have been here."

  "Good for them."

  "It's good you allowed the coma, Charlotte. What's over is over."

  "Wrong. Nothing is ever over."

  "Not so."Greta said that as if she knew the ways of the Lord.

  "Dorothea will never die," I countered.

  "What do you mean Dorothea? Who's Dorothea?"

  I gaped at her blindly. Didn't she know?

  "In your coma you called out for Duffino, not Dorothea."

  "Oh."

  "Who's Dorothea?"

  "Never mind."

  "The mind plays funny tricks on us, doesn't it? Especially in Insulin."

  Neither of us said another word about it. "Are you happy here?" I asked Greta.

  She looked at me, startled.

  "A little. But I'm a long way from

  home."

  Home. The word ripped through me like a searing fire. "Home,"

  I echoed, filled with sudden, yellow agony. "Where is your home?"

  "California."

  That shocked me. Imagine being able to answer such a loaded question with just one simple word like that?

  She ran her hand through her curly blonde hair. "I left California when I was sixteen and haven't been back in a long time."

  Sixteen. The same age as Duffino when she committed her murder. "You would like Duffino," I said suddenly.

  "I've met her already," Greta replied.

  Already met Duffino? My Duffino? My heart started pounding.

  "When did you meet her? How come? Is she well?" I knew I should not press, but I couldn't stop the surge of questions.

  "I met her because I specifically asked to. You were so concerned with her, I was curious."

  I dug my nails into my palms until I felt my skin would tear.

  "I didn't call for her. I called for Dorothea. Sister Dorothea, who died years ago, way before her time."

  "You never mentioned Dorothea. Please be calm. If this upsets you so much, I can't go on talking to you."

  I took my nails out. "Go on!" I commanded.

  "I told Duffino that I was your nurse in Insulin. I told

  her how often you asked for her. She started to cry."

  "Duffino cried?" Now my heart was rocking under my ribs.

  "Your face is very red, Charlotte. I'd better stop."

  "Don't stop," I was pleading. I leaned back and tried to be good.

  "I'm sure Duffino misses you," Greta went on. "I'm sure she'd like to see you up again soon."

  "How do you know?"

  "She points to your things often. She's doing nicely. But she needs you, too."

  I breathed in swiftly. Lies, all lies.

  "Get well, Charlotte. Go see how well she's doing. Dr. Whitney has granted Duffino and Dr. Ethan a pass to leave Bingham for the week-end and go into town."

  "What?"

  "It's been the talk of the hospital. The papers ran two stories about it."

  "What kind of stories?"

  Greta held up a paper that was in her lap.

  "Headline: Due to her progress, and as part of the unusual treatment, Duffino has been granted a pass to leave Bingham and go into town with her doctor for one day. It is hoped this will help her on her road back to recovery.

  Greta repeated it word for word. I wondered why she committed it to memory.

  "Duffino and Dr. Ethan seem happy together," Greta went on. "She sits besides him and smiles."

  I detected distress in Greta's tone.

  "A package came in the mail for her today."

  "From who?" Something told me it must have been from home.

  "Get well, Charlotte." Greta was staring at me oddly.

  "I don't want to," I made two little fists.

  "If not for yourself, then for Duffino."

  Both of us became very quiet.

  "Do you think Duffino loves Dr. Ethan?"

  "How can she love anybody? First she must become well. Come up from Insulin, Charlotte. Help Duffino become well."

  My mouth was thick and dry. I didn't feel like speaking anymore, but I couldn't let it go.

  "You think Dr. Ethan's in love with Duffino?"

  Pain flickered quickly across Greta's face. Her lips pursed tightly.

  "Nonsense. It's a therapeutic outing, that's all."

  Immediately I saw what Greta was feeling. Poor Greta had fallen for Dr. Ethan!

  "It's strange here at Bingham," Greta continued. "Unusually lonely. The other hospitals I were at were not like this. I can easily see why you would imagine that Dr. Ethan loves Duffino. But believe me, it's not like that."

  I felt like laughing.

  "How could he love her anyway?" Greta and I looked at each other swiftly, "Duffino is a very sick young girl."

  "Sick or not, he loves her," I whispered. "Greta, beware."

  She got up and smoothed out her ruffled skirt.

  "Impossible. This is a completely professional hospital. To think that a doctor here would allow himself such indiscretion is ridiculous!"

  "It's not an indiscretion to care for somebody," I said quietly. "What else makes us well?"

  "This hospital," Greta spoke sharply, "is on the cutting edge. They would never permit such behavior. I have only the highest respect for Dr. Colin Ethan."

  "Have all the respect you want. But do you think that means he can't love Duffino?" I was just on the verge of giving her my speech, telling her to run for the mountains before she got caught in the web of desire that gripped us all.

  "A doctor is trained to use discretion." She wanted the last word in the discussion.

  "You think there's something wrong with us inmates?" I couldn't let her have it, "that we're fundamentally different from you?"

  "No, I do not."

  "Yes, you do. Otherwise you wouldn't talk about Duffino in such a nasty tone of voice."

  "What tone of voice?"

  "Angry and whining at the same time."

  "You're imagining it, Charlotte. There's no tone of voice. I'm always kind." She faltered. "Dr. Ethan is a particularly sensitive physician. He'd never impose on a patient like that."

  "Impose?"

  "He'd never commit a miscarriage of justice!"

  "Where's the miscarriage of justice? What else can heal us

  but love?" But by then my lips were tired of talking, were trembling, almost. "You think it's your precious Insulin therapy, these rotten needles that make us well?"

  By now Greta had enough of me. "I've got to be going," she quipped.

  "No you don't."

  "Yes I do."

  Run away all you like, I wanted to tell her, Dr. Ethan loves

  Duffino anyhow. He'll never love you either, Greta. Ever. You care too much for him. You're soft in the knees, loose in the gut. That's how it works. You'll drive him away.

  I managed not to say a word, though. I held myself silent, very silent. I did not want to hurt Greta. Who knew what she would do to me then?

  Just as she was leaving the room she turned and spoke definitively, "Whatever you think about Duffino and Dr. Ethan, it is only a part of your dream!"

  Despite myself my head hung low. Very low. Almost like sister Dorothea at prayer, asking for penance for the whole world.

  "Come on, it's nothing to feel ashamed of." Greta stepped
back closer to me. Despite her irritation, she wouldn't leave me alone in my shame. "Get well, Charlotte," she whispered hoarsely, "Duffino needs you, too."

  At that moment I realized I had to pull myself up out of Insulin, get well, go upstairs and see what was really going on. After all, without me, what would happen to Duffino? She could spin in dreams, dissolve in fantasies. . . her stay at Bingham might never end.

  Right then I decided to do what I had to. I would obey the rules, be released from Insulin. I would take fresh showers and

  put on a smile. I would go upstairs and praise the Insulin treatments. Then, as soon as I was sure Duffino was all right, I'd make my get away, fast.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I returned upstairs greatly quieted, drained and exhausted. Greta accompanied me on the trip back. She stood beside me as the elevator lifted us slowly.

  Sub-basement 3, Sub-basement 2. . . We were leaving the dungeon, where inmates were stuck on all different levels.

  "I'm proud of you Charlotte," Greta whispered to me, as the

  elevator crept up, floor by floor.

  I brushed that away. "It's not about proud or not proud. It's not about praise or blame."

  "You say the strangest things sometimes," Greta looked at me from the corner of her eye as I watched the light on the elevator buttons flicker: first floor. The door slid open. We were there.

  We stepped out at the main floor. The harsh, sudden light hurt my eyes and I squinted. Greta touched my elbow lightly, and I started to wonder again about Duffino. Did she know I was returning, that I'd be there today?

  "It's so bright here," I said.

  "I know," Greta answered.

  So bright. The cold light cut right through every cell of my body. I was changed by the comas too, whether I liked it or not. I felt it. It was hard to walk as well with my new body. It felt like exhaustion, repentance and waste had all had their way with me again.

  "Let's go to the dayroom first," Greta suggested. "You'll get used to things slowly."

  The transition upstairs could be difficult. The nurse you were assigned to down in Insulin always spent the first few days back at your side. It was barely eleven o'clock in the morning and I walked beside Greta shakily. Needless to say, I longed to see Duffino.

  "Will Duffino be here?" I asked Greta.

  "She left with Dr. Ethan this morning," Greta said.

  "Today?"

  "She'll be back after dinner."

  She left without seeing me first. She probably didn't know I would be returning. My heart started to quiver.

  "You don't like Duffino, do you?" I said to Greta.

  "No, I don't," Greta answered matter-of-factly.

  They were rivals for Ethan.

  "Why not?" I asked Greta.

  "She's only involved with herself." She replied as she led me on, step by step, to the dayroom.

  What an odd comment. I never thought of Duffino that way. I never heard anyone say such a thing either. Besides, which one of us loonies could really care about another? As soon as we did, our jig was up.

  Greta pushed the doors to the dayroom open. Once she started, I could see she enjoyed talking about Duffino.

  "I find her dishonest," Greta continued. "I don't understand her and I never will. I don't want to either. And her crime -

  ruthless."

  I stopped Greta at once. "Be careful. She hasn't yet been found guilty! She just didn't defend herself at her trial. The entire public is waiting for her to speak!"

  I stopped and stared at Greta.

  "Is it your job to defend Duffino?" she asked softly.

  "Maybe it is," I replied.

  "Why?"

  "Who else will do it, if not me?"

  We stopped walking together in the cold, bare hall. Greta's body shook slightly.

  "How about defending yourself?" She asked, point blank, like a little pistol going off in the night.

  Her words cut into my heart, which started thumping like an injured bird.

  "I never had a public trial," I said, in what was left of my voice.

  "What?" Greta's eyes opened in amazement. "Why?"

  "I came here straight from the convent. My fate was decided by the priests. Open and closed matter."

  She shook her head. "I don't understand."

  "Neither do I, Greta," I said. "Neither do I. Not at all.

  But as I've said a hundred times, I believe in perfect justice

  anyway. The outworking of guilt have become my obsession!"

  "Charlotte, stop!"

  "I can't. It seems to me that ultimately, the punishment we receive always fits the crime. Even if we don't understand the terrible harm we've done, somewhere, to someone, at some time."

  "Charlotte, if you keep talking this way, you'll be sent

  back down."

  I did not care. This was too important.

  "Listen to me," it was almost hard breathing, the words came riding so swiftly over the backs of one another. "It's evident to me, Greta, that punishment ends the moment it must. Not a second before. The wages of crime leave their trails behind them, with consequences on their own. The murder they think I committed at the convent was not a murder, but an act of mercy. I am suffering here for another crime, one I'm not aware of, in another place and time." I licked my lips quickly as I spoke. They were parched and dry. It didn't matter. "Of course no one realizes such subtle matters, but the Great One sees exactly everything we have done. It is he who dictates the length of our confinement. I am not waiting for a public trial. I will be out of here sooner."

  Greta gasped.

  "I tell you because I know you do not believe me. Not a single word I say."

  "You sound completely crazy."

  "Wrong. I am completely sane. That is the tragedy of Charlotte."

  Greta liked me. I felt it. She put her soft hand on my arm.

  "Charlotte, dear, don't speak this way any longer. Be silent, be docile."

  We both smiled.

  "Be peaceful, Charlotte. I will try to investigate why you never had a public trial."

  "Don't do it," I breathed harshly. "They'll kick you out in a minute flat."

  She couldn't believe it. "Ridiculous."

  "Greta, I'm warning. Don't."

  "I will."

  "Do what you want then," I said, "but whatever happens, don't blame me."

  "I do not blame you for anything," she responded matter- of- factly.

  We got to the dayroom and stood at the door. Greta pulled it open. "Come on, Charlotte, walk in, sit down."

  She motioned in a light-hearted manner to the couches, where people were scattered. I clipped my heels together, and like a little soldier, walked right through the doors.

  The dayroom was yellow, so filled with sunlight that for a moment I was devastated by it. I longed to be back down in Insulin. I longed for the quiet, dark comas I'd grown to enjoy.

  "Come on, Charlotte. One step after another."

  It was good having Greta beside me as I walked. Although there were some inmates sitting around, the dayroom seemed empty. Duffino was not there.

  "Sit down." Greta led me to a soft couch. It was hard to sit

  on it.

  "What happened to me in Insulin, Greta?"

  "You stopped fighting a little," she answered promptly. "You went into good comas. We were very pleased. You spoke a great deal about Duffino though, and also someone named Miguel."

  Oh no.

  "Who is he, exactly?"

  I said nothing.

  "But you're calmer now, anyway. They wrote on your charts you're accessible. Dr. Whitney is pleased."

  Accessible. The word stung my belly. I felt shaky inside.

  Greta took a cigarette and lit it up. No one was allowed to smoke in the dayroom. She took a quick puff and then stamped it out with her foot.

  The door opened and Freddy came in. He stopped short when he saw me and gave a little cry. "Charlotte! My bride! You've returned to me!"

&
nbsp; I felt nauseous. "Go away, Freddy."

  He rushed over to me anyway. "What's the matter with Charlotte, my bride?" he cried out.

  Greta quickly intervened. "Charlotte is tired, Freddy. She's been through a difficult time."

  "A difficult time?" He looked like he was about to cry.

  "It's all right." Greta stroked his arm lightly. "There's nothing wrong with a difficult time. We all have to have it once in awhile."

  I got up from the sofa and passed like a shadow to the far door. Greta followed close behind.

  "I want to go to bed now, Greta."

  She understood.

  Together we walked to my room, and parted at the door.

  I walked in. Nobody was there. I suddenly felt extremely tired and curled up on my old bed. I couldn't sleep though. I kept thinking about Duffino and Dr. Ethan, wandering out there on the streets. What was happening? Was she having a good time? My mouth still felt dry and I was slightly hungry. There seemed to be cobwebs around me everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, creeping up through my toes. This was not unusual when you first got back from Insulin. How I longed to see Duffino again.

  I got up from my bed slowly, and went to the white porcelain basin to sprinkle cold water across my face. My life stared at me in the drops of cold water.

  If I listened carefully, I could hear the rustle of people walking outside, up and down the hall. I thought for a moment about Miriam Stony who didn't terrify me anymore at all.

  I shut off the faucets, left the room, and walked through the hallways, heading towards the main lounge. The sounds grew louder, jostling me. It was too much commotion for now, but I pushed through it.

  I got to the main lounge and pushed open the big doors. It was still full of people, sitting on the sofas, walking around, ruffling through magazines on the tables. My eyes circled the room, hunting for Duffino. The first one I saw was Dr. Farbin;

  he and Greta were sitting on the sofa, close together. He caught my eye right away, and got up instantly to welcome me back.

  "Charlotte dear," he actually tried to give me a hug. I didn't like it, and recoiled.

  "I'm glad to see you back with us," he said crisply.

  I'm not back with you, I wanted to say, but kept silent. I would sleep a few days, get strong, and then get the hell out. I'd

  been planning details for long enough. The guards were still posted in the same spots.