by Martha Long
I turned, heading back to the door, waiting on the corridor outside.
49
* * *
‘Come!’ he said, when we got outside. ‘We will take the path along the trees.’
‘Lovely!’ I giggled, sounding like a schoolgirl. Then in the next breath I was feeling disappointed. No Blondie! Looks like you’ve caught his interest, Martha. After all your running. So, what next? I went blank.
We walked along the paths around the orchard, dipping under the hanging branches of the trees. I used to look longingly out at this place from my room in lock-up. That seems like a century ago, another lifetime. Suddenly I felt a great sense of ease sweep through my body as I looked around at the peaceful garden. The lovely, old, red-brick high walls, with the trees, bushes and shrubs. The whole place pulsed with life. Ghosts from a long-ago era hung in the shadows, giving me a sense of timelessness. A time to be born, a time to live, laugh and cry. Then, when your time is up, a time to die.
I had a feeling of déjà vu. As if I had done this before. I felt very much alive, walking slowly side by side with the monk.
‘My name in religion is Sebastian, but my birth name is Sergei.’
‘Oh!’ I said, looking into his handsome face, staring at his green eyes softening with a smile playing around his red, beautifully shaped full lips.
‘Yes!’ he said, inclining his head towards me, his strong handsome face creasing into a smile. ‘Call me Sergei!’
‘Sergei.’ I rolled it around on my tongue, my heart fluttering with the romance of it all. It is like something out of Anna Karenina, I said to myself, feeling breathless. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. His green eyes, his chosen path – a monk! Religion! So very like someone in another time, another place. So all along, this was the draw for me. He reminds me of someone I would have given up my last breath for. But the similarities stop there. He would be a very poor substitute for Ralph Fitzgerald! The only man on earth I have ever truly loved.
‘We Russians make the best writers,’ he said, gently waving his arms. ‘Our history is one of long suffering. We have something to write about. The West! Bah! The people are sated! Too soft. Their underbellies are made of mush! Life is too easy for these people.’
‘So why are you here?’ I asked.
‘My boss, the general of the order, sent me here from Rome.’
‘Why?’
‘He wishes me to observe. Then a new hospital will be started in a more remote part of the world. We are well established around the world. So now we will go to those parts which are still quite primitive. Yes, it will be good to go there,’ he said, a faraway look in his eyes.
‘So what were you doing in Rome?’
‘I was living there, in the Vatican. That is where we have our headquarters.’
‘How did you get to Rome?’
‘In my country, I was assistant to the provincial. That is the boss of our order in that particular province. When the general of the order was on a world tour, I met him. He thought I would be useful to him. So he took me to Rome with him.’
‘Did you meet the pope?’
‘But of course! Every morning I would see him walking in the gardens.’
‘He’s Polish,’ I said. ‘Do you speak Polish?’
‘Yes, but of course!’
‘How many languages do you speak?’
‘Five – Italian, German, English, Polish and, of course, my native tongue, Russian.’
I was beaming at him, feeling terribly impressed.
‘So now! What do you do when you leave here?’ he asked, giving my heart a nosedive.
‘I don’t know,’ I said half-heartedly. ‘I will probably rent out my house and head off to America. New York. I have nothing to keep me here,’ I said, my voice trailing off.
We walked on, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
‘Why don’t you get married? Have children?’ he suddenly burst out, stopping to look at me.
I stared at him, the thought never really surfacing to my head. ‘I never thought it an option.’
‘You are young, you can still have more children. What age are you? In your thirties? Take a husband! Bah, there is time for you still!’
‘But husbands are not easy to find,’ I laughed. ‘Most Irish men my age are married, separated, gay or ex-priests! I don’t want a man with a wife and children in the background. That’s too much baggage! I have enough problems of my own,’ I said, trying to convince him, but wondering was I really trying to convince myself.
I never really thought about marriage. My heart was never in it. How could it be? I loved only one man, I thought, seeing his face, hearing his voice, then sensing him, even back through all that long ago time. When I closed my eyes, I could feel his arms wrapping around me, drawing me into him as he whispered, ‘I love you, darling!’
Even now, I could feel my heart break at the loss of him. Yes, even after all this time. No, that pain never really eased. I just accepted it.
‘I am still married in Ireland,’ I said quietly, wanting to end the conversation. ‘My ex got a foreign divorce. That’s how he married abroad. But it’s not valid here, because we don’t have divorce.’
‘So it may be wise for you to go abroad,’ he said, looking at me. ‘You must look to the future. If you stay here,’ he said, dropping his mouth and lifting his shoulders, ‘you will have a very limited opportunity.’
‘Yeah, that’s true,’ I said, feeling a bit empty inside. Knowing that made sense. But if I had sense, I wouldn’t have ended up here, I thought.
I looked over, seeing we were nearing the front entrance. People were on the march, all heading down the corridor in the same direction. He stopped, then looked at his watch. ‘It is time for supper. OK?’ he said, giving me a cheery little wave, then wafted off.
Oh, he must be off duty, I thought, seeing him head away from the hospital. Wonder if he will be back this evening? I would enjoy sitting with him and Blondie – it would be good to have a laugh, sit in company. Huh! I sure need it after that conversation. It was a bit too heavy-going for my liking.
‘Too bad! Too bad!’ I muttered, making me way in the door.
I moved in with the crowd, all slowly moseying their way down to the dining room.
I looked at all the new faces, seeing people staring ahead, lost in their own world. The pain deadened on their face after years of finding no way out or no one to share it with. Some people had friends – they managed to poke their heads above the suffocating pain and laugh and smile, and meet each other’s eyes, knowing they wouldn’t be judged because their minds let them down.
I suddenly felt a bit lost. I had moved on, leaving my friends behind. Now I was back to feeling empty. I wanted to be up sitting with Blondie, looking into her face as she waited to hear what the monk and me had got up to. I would tell her about the miserable conversation we had, then roar laughing when her eyes lit up, knowing that’s not what we had in mind at all when we got him to ourselves. Even if I didn’t really know myself what I wanted to do with him.
Yeah! We could share each other’s hopes and expectations. I still desperately need that. I’m not on me feet yet. This pain, this torment, this terrible dark pit I keep falling into over the last few years. Well, it’s not over quite yet. My heart is heavy with the loneliness at the minute. I can’t bear the pain of wandering on my own, having to look for a way to fit in, to be with people who care and matter to you. Or worse, giving up caring. Living in a no-man’s-land between this life and death. I had reached that. Now I am here.
This is what this place is all about. They throw us a lifeline, allowing each of us here to sit out our pain, then wobble up to grope and stagger around, desperately trying to find our way out of the darkness. We can touch each other, bonded by the same pain. We can look into a face and see our own pain mirrored in the haunted eyes of a thousand-year-old young man of twenty. It does that to you. That look, that touch we give each other tells us we are not an outcast. W
e know, we understand, we accept each other.
I walked over to join the queue waiting to be served the evening supper at the counter. It is like an upmarket restaurant. There is even a menu.
‘What would you like?’ the woman behind the counter asked me.
‘I’ll have the steak-and-kidney pie, please.’
‘Vegetables?’ she asked, holding up the ladle.
‘Yes, please.’
I carried my tray down and sat beside a man talking to his friend.
‘It’s hard going!’ the bald-headed friend said, dipping into his mixed grill, dropping a bit of bread into the soft egg yolk.
‘Yeah!’ the man said, looking very pale and worn. He had premature lines carved into his forehead, and his thin sandy hair, coming down in wisps around his ears, needs cutting, I thought, looking at him. He can’t be any more than forty. But his slight frame makes him look very neglected. He could easily be mistaken for sixty. The poor fella hasn’t worn too well.
‘How will I ever get through this?’ the thin man asked, dropping his fork and looking around him, seeing nothing but his inner pain.
His hands were balled into fists, and then he closed his eyes and held his head over the table.
‘One day at a time, Frank! One day at a time. Just take it easy,’ his baldy friend said, putting his arm on the man’s shoulder and leaving it there. ‘But right now, minute by minute, my friend. You will get through this! I promise you. We are all going through this together.’ Then he looked at the man’s plate. ‘Have your bit of grub. It will give you strength.’
The man opened his eyes, staring at his food, then looked at the door, thinking, and his friend watched him carefully.
‘Come on. Let’s go. We’ll go upstairs. This is a bad moment for you.’
They both stared, locking eyes on each other. Then the friend stood up, pushing back his chair, and led the thin man away, taking him firmly by the arm.
‘Alcohol!’ an elderly man with a chubby white face and silver hair said, nodding to me from the next table. ‘They’re up on the top floor,’ he said, pointing to the ceiling. ‘They’re kept separate from the rest. They have their own unit.’ Then he shook his head sadly and concentrated himself on eating his grub.
I took in a deep breath and looked down at my own grub. Poor man. There’s nothing worse than alcohol. It really is hard to beat, and they destroy everyone around them, including themselves.
I wandered out of the dining room, seeing very few people around. I could see in the distance, down towards the end of the long passage, a man here and there, slowly walking backwards and forwards, trying to ease themselves. I spotted a man rushing in and out of an alcove, having a whole conversation with himself. He was completely content, getting lost in his own world. Nothing would bother him now unless someone came along and disturbed him by trying to start a conversation. He can only cope with one person at a time and that’s himself.
I walked past empty rooms, seeing billiard tables looking abandoned and dusty from old age and lack of interest. ‘It’s like a morgue down here,’ I sighed. Everyone must be upstairs on the wards, getting their medication. Then the ones with visitors will be getting ready. Might as well go up and take a lie down on my bed. Nothing else for it. Maybe a bit of rest might give me a lift.
My eyes opened slowly. I looked around the dark room, feeling the cold. I must have fallen asleep. I jumped out of the bed, taking off my clothes, and headed for the bathroom. Right, Martha! A hot bath and a good night’s sleep, that’s what you need.
I walked along the seedy corridor, looking up at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling as faces stared up at me from chairs propped against the wall. Jaysus! This place hasn’t seen the light of day for many a year. The carpet is worn into the floorboards, and the walls are grey. I think they were probably yellow at some time.
I turned a corner and headed in through a door, making for the bathroom. I stopped dead. Ah! Jaysus Christ almighty! The bathroom! What bathroom? I looked around. A great big rust-bucket bath with a dripping cold tap! I looked at the corner and saw a grey-plastic chair to put your things on, but it was swimming with water. Will I go up to the top floor? Nah! It’s too far this hour of the night. Besides, I’m too banjacksed, and anyway, they would only chase me out. Maybe another day.
I bent down, putting in the plug, and switched on the hot tap. Better clean it out first. ‘Jaysus! I’m too tired for this,’ I muttered as I swung into the room next door that passes for the laundry room. One whole washing machine for all the patients. But you have to find it first, with the mound of clothes buried on top. I grabbed a rag, looking for some cleaning stuff. A bottle of Jif! That will do.
I rushed back in, cleaning the bath, and then let the hot tap go full blast. The taps are huge, probably the first ones brought out in Queen Victoria’s time. The water thundered in, steam rising, and the room started to heat up a bit. It was very chilly in here. I dived out of my pyjamas. Ah, fuck! The chair is wet. I stood holding my night things in my hand, wondering what to do with them. I’ll hang them on the back of the chair. I picked up my washbag from the dirty wet floor and put it sitting on the chair, taking out my washcloth and soap, then dived into the bath.
Ah! Oh! It’s fucking hot! I leapt up and down, holding on to the sides, cooking myself alive, then leapt out. My feet are roaring red. I stood looking at them, then switched on the cold tap. That will teach me to wake up! I climbed back in more carefully, then lowered myself down. Ah! That’s better. I better get organised next time I come in here.
‘That was nice,’ I breathed, as I walked along the dim passage. The same faces stared at the same spot on the opposite wall. Jesus! This place would definitely put years on you. We are supposed to be nearly cured down here. But they look like they’ve given up altogether! It’s the shock of losing all that luxury we left behind upstairs.
I opened the door onto my corridor, looking forward to climbing into my bed. I turned into my room, falling over a body stretched from the hall into the room.
Jesus! I screamed with the fright, not seeing where I was walking. I tripped, my head making straight for the wall, and lashed out my arms to save myself. I tumbled over the legs, twisting, and fell backwards, landing on the left side of my bony arse.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I screamed at the big mass of dough, with the two small eyes buried in the middle of what must pass for a face. They stared back at me, alive and shining with malevolence and menace.
I jumped up, putting on my bed light and throwing my things onto the bed, and marched over to sort out whatever was lying on its side. The head propped up on its outstretched arm stared down the hall, watching the door at the end.
‘Who are you?’ I screamed at a woman of about twenty-five, and about twenty-five stone in weight!
She stared at me with her lips puckered up, like a nine-month-old baby does when you take its lollipop. I could hear a heavy breathing noise coming from the little button nose buried in a mound of flesh. Two little holes flared up and down, and the beady little eyes glinted with menace.
I stepped over her, stood and gave a piercing scream down the hall. ‘NURSE! NURSE!!’
The door opened and a harassed-looking nurse stood with her hands on her hips and her foot propping open the door, and shouted down at me, ‘What is it, Martha?’
‘Please remove this person!’ I was bulling with rage at having my privacy invaded.
Now this, coming after losing my lovely room upstairs! My bathroom, my friends, and whatever else I lost. All in the one day! And now fucking this! No way! ‘Get her out of here!’ I screamed.
The nurse came flying down, kicking the door shut first with her right foot, muttering, and let out a roar before she even hit the body. ‘Molly Murphy! If you don’t get up off that floor this minute, I am ringing your mother to come and collect you tonight. You are not going back up to the intensive care ward, and that is that!’
Ah! She doesn’t like
the new suite they offered her. I don’t blame her! I moaned, muttering to meself and sniffing with disgust at me new living quarters.
The nurse stood over the body of Molly and lowered her head. Then, with the hands on her hips and the legs stretched out to balance herself, she threw her head back to the ceiling and gave an unmerciful scream. ‘GET UP! NOWWW!’
I rushed over to my bed, with the noise enough to waken the dead, and dived in, pulling the covers over my head, deciding to ignore the whole thing. I could hear the muffled arguments going on outside the door. I lifted my head. Good! The nurse had closed it. Then I saw a bag on the other bed. They are going to move Molly in with me! No chance! They have their work cut out for them if they think I’m going to let that happen.
The shouting got worse, and I jumped up, throwing the duvet back, and padded over to the door, opening it, and looked down at the mound on the floor. The two little blue eyes flicked over to me. I could see them spitting with venom. They stared at me with a glint of daring.
‘Leave her, Nurse! Let her sleep there for the night. She’s comfortable down there, aren’t you, Molly?’ I said, looking down with a smirk on my face.
The little round hole closed, tightening into a mouth, then it opened, saying, ‘Fuck off, you!’
‘She’s well cushioned, Nurse. Ignore her. She’s just looking for attention, stubborn little bitch! Probably gives her mother hell.’
The mouth opened and a blast of ‘Ahaaaa!’ came screaming out like the banshee. I went in and closed the door. The nurse took off without another word, slamming the end door after her. I dived into bed, taking a big sigh at the sudden quiet. I started to relax, feeling the lovely warmth, and I was now sliding down into a lovely, deep, welcoming sleep. ‘Ahhh! Yes!’ I sighed happily. This will cure all me ills and rejuvenate me when I wake in the morning.
Me heart leapt! Wha’ass that! The door started to vibrate, with Molly drumming her feet against it. I took a leap out of bed, whipping the door open, looking down on Molly.