Witness to Myself

by Seymour Shubin

  He had joined a firm where he wouldn’t have to do any litigation; he had no taste for trials. For a while he did tax law, then began specializing in estate work, which would one day lead to a different career for him. He had a social life, though he rarely went with any girl more than twice, maybe three times. He had a few good friends, guys, all of whom, from their conversations, assumed he was the lover they professed to be. And though he often thought of going to a psychiatrist, once to the point of even making an appointment, that road was closed: He could never reveal what haunted him.

  Then one day he got sick.

  He was taking his twice-a-week run, a five miler, and was into the second mile when he felt a hollowness and an aching in his chest. He stopped and bent over, his hands on his knees, but it wouldn’t pass. When he straightened up he felt a little better and he started walking back. But it turned out that he needed a gall-bladder operation.

  And though he argued against it and even went for a second opinion, he had to have general anesthesia.

  He remembered thinking, as he was being wheeled into the operating room, that he might wake up to police staring down at him.

  “Which little girl? Where was this? When?”

  But he woke to a recovery room nurse’s smiling face. “Come on now. It’s all over. Come on.”

  He was in the hospital four days longer than expected because he developed a fever. And it was on the second morning that he met Anna — ANNA PRESIAC, LPN, her nametag read. She was about five-four, slender and nicely built, with pulled-back blond hair and pale skin. She looked to be about twenty-three. One of the first things he noticed about her as she came into the room was her smile; it was so warm. And so were her eyes. And so, as it turned out, was everything about her.

  “You look so much better than yesterday,” she greeted him.

  “Oh? Did I see you yesterday?”

  “No, but I saw you. You were asleep.”

  All the nurses he had were kind but there was something special about Anna, even in her touch when she squeezed his wrist with a smile while attending him. Her presence seemed to bring a glow to the room — certainly it brightened him. She would often look in even when he didn’t ring for a nurse.

  “You look grouchy,” she said one time.

  “Me? Grouchy? Are you sure you have the right patient?”

  She laughed. “Yes, I have the right patient. You were frowning down to here.” And she made a face.

  “Oh, then I must have a very pretty smile.”

  She considered this. “Oh. Well, thank you.”

  He looked forward to seeing her again, but another nurse replaced her that afternoon. Nor did she show up the next day. He asked one of the nurses where she was.

  “Oh, her? She left. She quit.”

  “Quit?” He felt a jolt of dismay. “Just like that?”

  “As far as I know.”

  He looked at the nurse. Then it just came out of him: “Do you know if she’s married?”

  “She isn’t, no.” Then she looked at him rather strangely, with a slight shake of her head in warning. “Ooo, no, no. This isn’t the first place she’s quit. I’ll deny it if you repeat it, but that girl,” and she waved her hand in front of her face, “is a bit of a nutcase. Wifty.”

  Chapter Eight

  He couldn’t shake Anna from his mind. He’d never dated anyone as pretty — as beautiful. And it wasn’t just her looks that pulled at him, but her great warmth and a sense she projected that nothing human could disturb her. He had heard all the stories about guys falling in love with their nurses, and now after his first stay in a hospital he knew why. And yet he didn’t want to believe that this was anything ordinary.

  He tried dialing Information for the city and suburbs but there was no listing for her name. He then tried locating her through the Internet but here, too, he came up with nothing. And then, though he was certain it would be useless, he did what he should have done right away, he called the hospital’s nursing office.

  “Anna Presiac?” a woman repeated. “I’m sorry, she doesn’t work here any more.”

  “I understand that. I’m an old friend of hers” — he didn’t want to say “former patient” — “and I’m trying to locate her. I was wondering if there’s any way you could help me.”

  “I’m sorry, we don’t give out any phone numbers or addresses for employees or former employees.”

  “I appreciate that. But what if I give you my phone number, could someone get in touch with her and ask her to call me?”

  “I’m sorry, we’re all quite busy.”

  “Just one call to her? That’s all I ask.”

  “Look, I don’t even know if she’s still at the address we have for her.” Then, after a long pause and with obvious reluctance, “What’s your name and phone number?”

  When he didn’t hear from Anna in the next two days he was sure they hadn’t even passed on his number. On the third day, however, he came home and one of the messages on his answering machine was, “This is Anna Presiac. You tried to reach me. Who are you?” And that was it. She didn’t leave a phone number where he could call her.

  He thought of what that nurse had said of her — a nutcase, wifty. And he assumed that he’d now heard the last of her. But it was about a week later that he answered the phone to hear: “Mr. Benning? Alan Benning?”

  He knew instantly who it was. “That’s right. Hi.”

  “This is Anna Presiac,” she went on. “You asked me to call you. Forgive me but I can’t place the name. Who are you?”

  “I was one of your patients. Gall-bladder surgery. But it’s no wonder you don’t remember me. You were my nurse only for a day — actually maybe two. You said I was asleep the first time you saw me.”

  She paused to think. Then, with a new brightness to her voice, “Oh yes. Yes. I think I remember.”

  “The guy with the two noses.”

  She laughed. “Oh now I definitely remember. How are you?”

  “Good. Very good.” He felt so lighthearted all at once. “I want you to know I was very disappointed to hear that you left.”

  “Oh that was something I just had to do. But it’s nice to hear. I should have said goodbye but I didn’t want to cause any fuss.”

  “I know I would have refused all food and drink.”

  She laughed again. “That would have been very noble of you.”

  “Really? Did you ever eat that food?”

  “Oh it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “No, it was almost okay. Look, am I terribly nosy if I ask if you have another job?”

  “You’re not nosy at all. The answer is that I didn’t when I left but I do now.”

  “Well, I want to wish you good luck. You’re an absolutely marvelous nurse, which I’m sure adds up to an absolutely marvelous person.”

  “Well, thank you.” He felt she was smiling. “And how about yourself? You feel okay? Any problems afterward?”

  “None.” And then it just came out, a burst of silliness: “Well, except I miss my gall bladder.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I don’t know where that came from. I just feel good.”

  “Well, that’s nothing to apologize for. That’s marvelous.”

  “Look,” he said, “I guess you’re wondering why I got in touch. Or maybe you have a perfectly good idea. Anyway, it’s definitely not about hospital food. I’m wondering if I could see you.”

  There was silence, though he was sure she wasn’t surprised. “I don’t know. I really don’t date patients.”

  “I’m not a patient anymore, remember?”

  She laughed. Then, “I’m going to be blunt. Are you married?”

  “Just to my work.”

  “Seriously, are you?” It was so obvious she’d been hit on by married guys.

  “No. Seriously.”

  “Well...” She paused, thinking. “I can’t tonight but how about meeting me tomorrow for a cup of coffee? There�
��s a little cafe down the corner from my place called Lonergan’s, they serve good coffee, tea, even little sandwiches.”

  Lonergan’s was a small place, with bare wooden tables and chairs, and paintings and drawings by local artists on the walls. There was an oaken counter on one side of the air-conditioned room with urns behind it. He got there about ten minutes before she did. It was an exceptionally warm night for early spring, and she was wearing a white sleeveless blouse, jeans and sandals. He had on an polo shirt, tan slacks and moccasins.

  They ordered two lattés, then began probing into each other’s background. She told him she’d been born and raised in a small town, Tamaqua, in the anthracite coal region of the state.

  “I’ll bet,” she said, “you don’t even know what anthracite is.”

  “You’d lose. Hard coal.”

  “Which means what?”

  “It’s the kind when you throw it at someone, it hurts.”

  She laughed. “You are something. They say it burns a lot cleaner. Anyway, it was a big thing at one time. My grandfather and great-grandfather used to work the mines. But that day’s long gone. My dad has a garage, which I mention,” she smiled, “because you should see me in it. I love working on cars.”

  “You mean, you not only fix people, you fix cars, too?”

  “Yep. And I love getting greasy.”

  “You amaze me. Are there any brothers or sisters in the picture?”

  “Just a sister. Younger. And she’s a real brat. And if you think I’m kidding, I’m not.”

  “Can I ask you something about nursing? Did you ever think of becoming an RN?”

  “Yeah, but it would have taken longer and I wanted to get away and I needed to work as soon as possible. LPNs do many of the same things anyway.”

  “This is none of my business and you don’t have to tell me, but why did you quit?”

  “Oh, I just didn’t like the way certain things were being done. I can put up with a lot, but when it affects patient care, no.” She left it at that, then said with a big smile, “Did I tell you I got a new job? It’s at a nursing home. A very nice one.”

  He looked at her and didn’t say anything except, “Congratulations.” Nothing about what he was thinking: How could that attract you? How could you bear it day after day? But it was not only with wonder but a deep feeling of admiration.

  They stayed there until about eleven, then he walked with her down the block to the large graystone house, one of a row of identical houses, where she had an apartment. They went up the high front steps, where she unlocked the outer door and then turned to him and hugged him. He kissed her on the lips and she kissed back, but then straightened up. Her body language said: You’re not to go inside this building.

  He said, “I’ll call you, okay?”

  She nodded. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”

  “Promise?”

  She laughed and leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips.

  He was to remember, when things changed a little later, how good he’d felt as he drove to a convenience store near his apartment to pick up milk for the morning. The parking lot was surprisingly crowded for this hour and he stood parked, his left flasher on, waiting for a car near the front doors to back out. But then as it did, another car came fast down the drive and started pulling into the spot. The driver, a man in a sleeveless shirt, couldn’t make it with one turn, though, and had to back out. Alan — like a stupid ass — jumped out of his car.

  “Hey! You saw me waiting. You saw I was going to pull in.”

  The driver didn’t even look at him.

  “Why the hell don’t you learn how to drive?” Even that stupid, stupid remark. But it was enough to bring the driver out of his car, a fellow about Alan’s height and age but much heavier, his face on fire.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man demanded.

  “I was waiting here! You saw me waiting!”

  “Well, go fuck yourself and wait.”

  “Oh go to hell.”

  He started to walk away from Alan, then turned and strode back, and after more shouting back and forth they were swinging at each other. A couple of minutes later, as they both stood there out of breath but with their fists still clenched, a police car pulled in, siren whining, in response to somebody’s phone call.

  The cop didn’t take either of them in but several days later Alan got notice that he was to appear in Municipal Court: The other fellow was accusing him of attacking him. He was cleared, but in a sense it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had lost his temper in such a stupid way.

  And it heightened the fear he’d had ever since the crime, that violence was a part of him.

  Chapter Nine

  He called Anna the day after the case was dismissed, early on a Saturday morning. It was several weeks since he’d seen her. Although he had been thinking about her, he’d been preoccupied with concern about going to court, and with work — and also with the strong feeling that he should not get too involved with anyone. But as he picked up the phone to call it was with anxiety that she might turn him down.

  “Look,” he apologized, “I’m sorry to be calling you this early” — it was about ten-thirty — “but I thought you might go out if you weren’t working and I was hoping I could see you this evening.”

  “Oh, that sounds fine.” No hesitancy or pretense because he hadn’t called sooner.

  “Great. What do you say about.” he was going to say “six.” But he was looking toward the window, at the bright sun against it, and he said, “I’m just wondering. It looks like such a beautiful day I wonder if I could take you out for the day.”

  “Really? That sounds nice. I’d love it.”

  He picked her up about noon. She was wearing white slacks, a pink blouse and a baseball cap, and was holding, along with a light sweater over her arm, sunglasses.

  “Take your pick,” he said. “Out to Bucks County? Amish country? Peru? Or none of the above.”

  “Oh Peru, of course.”

  “Then I’ll have to fill up the tank first.”

  They both laughed, and then she said, “I have an idea. Are your dates allowed to have ideas?”

  “Not really. What?”

  “How about a nice ride to Jersey? A beach?”

  He felt a slight sagging around his heart. He hadn’t been to any seashore since that summer; had avoided them as though all of the Atlantic Ocean and its beaches were part of that nightmare.

  He said, “If you’d like. Sure.”

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “I mean it. Let’s go someplace else. Bucks County — New Hope — great.”

  “No. I want the shore. Do you have a preference?”

  “Well, have you ever been to Long Beach Island?”

  “Yes. Once. Long ago.” That had been when he was ten and they’d stayed at a motel for a few days. It was about sixty miles from the city.

  “I was only there once myself and I loved it. It’s so quiet compared to Atlantic City, Wildwood...”

  He took the Benjamin Franklin Bridge over to New Jersey — Camden — and out past the city and finally to a two-lane road through country and woodland and then to another two-lane road that would lead to the island some thirty miles away.

  Anna had started her new job the previous week and, incredibly to him, was finding not only the satisfaction she’d hoped to find working with the sick and crippled aged, but something more — actual joy.

  “It’s hard to explain if someone doesn’t feel it. These people, even the ones with Alzheimer’s, have so much history to tell, if you just listen to them, have patience with them.”

  “You’re remarkable, do you know that?”

  “No, I’m not. Don’t say that.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep it to myself.”

  She looked at him and smiled and then reached over and squeezed his hand on the wheel.

  They were approachi
ng a causeway now that led over the bay to the island. And at the first sight of it, he felt a quick tightening in his chest and a rush of horrendous memories. This was so much like the approach to Sea Belle that it was as if Mrs. Devlin, dead now some five years, would be waiting for him there; and everything else that had followed seemed to be waiting there too.

  The bay at that time had been alive with boats. Only two or three were out on its vastness now.

  The road off the causeway ended at a traffic circle; they could go right or left on the street that cut through the narrow island. He turned left, having the vague memory that right was much busier.

  Many of the shops still hadn’t opened for the summer, and there were only a few cars on the street and just a handful of people on the sidewalks. He opened a window; the air seemed so clean, held the smell of the ocean. He could feel his tension easing away. Huge houses, many of them mansions, had replaced what he remembered as cottages here. But somehow, despite that, there was still a feeling to the place of vast sandy emptiness.

  He parked near the end of the island, in view of the lighthouse there. Anna immediately took off her sandals and started to open her door, then seemed surprised that he was still sitting there.

  “Don’t you want to go out on the beach?”

  “Yes. Sure.” But he almost had to force himself to take off his Docksiders.

  She was waiting for him in front of the car, her hand out to him. They walked hand in hand along a narrow path to the beach, and then far out on the wide beach toward the ocean. There was no other person around. In the distance an empty lifeguard stand lay on its back, like a gigantic insect.