by Damon Galgut
But he’s also aware that time is short and that she might outplay him yet. In a few days Sjef and Paula will be going home and then only he and Caroline will be left. He doubts that between them they’ll be able to keep her covered, it will mean shifts of twelve hours each, and she can’t be trusted for a moment. She’s out of bed and heading towards the door as soon as anyone’s back is turned. He has spoken to the nurses at the desk and implored them to keep an eye, but they are busy and distracted and also not that interested, what do they care for this rude foreign woman and her overwrought minders.
Most alarming of all, as her physical condition improves she is shunted to more general wards in the hospital. Fewer nurses are in attendance here and the wards are fuller. After three or four days she’s taken to a room where two people are sharing each bed and some patients are lying on the floor. She begins to weep and rave, this is unacceptable, I refuse to stay here, I demand you take me out of this place.
He would like to comply, but it isn’t so simple. She is supposed to pass through levels of medical assessment before she can be officially discharged, this process is not in his hands, and whenever he’s asked about it the answer is always vague. A few days, they say.
We’ll have to see. One doctor has told him that she will have to be psychologically evaluated, a prospect that terrifies him, if she’s certified it may be a very long time before anybody can get her out. But even if he could remove her today, where would he take her. She cannot go back to the village. The flights are all full, he has already checked, he cannot send her home early. The best hope is to try to keep her here until the date of her original departure, which is about five days away by now. How she will be able to travel in this condition still remains to be seen.
But the chances of holding out till that flight home are slim. This is Sjef and Paula’s last day, in the morning they will be gone. He and Caroline are worn to spiritual shreds by now and Anna is at her maddest and most powerful. It is the lowest point they’ve reached since she woke up and at this desperate moment another character enters from the wings, a sly and sidelong fellow in uniform who comes picking his way through the bodies on the floor. We look at him in bemusement.
He is very polite. He’s from the casualty police, he tells us, and he’d like to be of assistance. As we must know, this is a matter for criminal investigation, and when Anna is discharged she will probably be detained. It’s a difficult situation but if we speak to him, and at this point he gives us a piece of paper with his name and number on it, he’s sure that we can come to some agreement.
Of all of us, Anna is the only one happy to see him. Oh thank God, she cries, at last, somebody who understands. All I want is to get out of here.
The seedy little man nods in sympathy. I will help you, he says.
Thank you, thank you.
I thank him too, more demurely, and shake his hand. But when he’s slid away again like an insidious drop of oil, the rest of us look at each other despairingly. Oh bloody hell. What will we do now.
Paula speaks up. Remember that doctor who spoke to Sjef, she says, maybe you should contact him. Sjef isn’t here today, he’s at the room packing up their bags, but I shoot off to a payphone and ring him. Luckily he’s kept the name and number of the doctor concerned and I’m able to call him immediately afterwards. He listens to the story and sighs. That’s bad news, he tells me carefully, it’s what I was worried about. Here’s what you need to do, but you can’t ever use my name or say that you spoke to me.
I won’t.
The police must have been tracking her through the hospital, they know she’s going to be discharged soon. That’s when they’ll grab you, so you must get her out before then. Do it now. Go to the doctor in charge of the ward and tell him you want a DAMA. That stands for discharge against medical advice. He’ll argue and tell you it’s impossible, but you must insist. Then take her out before the doctor can call the police and let them know. The doctor will also be getting a cut, so you must be fast.
But where will I take her. I have nowhere to go.
There is a private hospital in Panjim run by a friend of mine. Go and see him. His name is Dr Ajoy.
He gives me the address of the hospital and I take a taxi over there immediately. It’s a small, clean, quiet place, close to the beach, and Dr Ajoy is helpful. Yes, he says, she can be accommodated. He has drugs to calm her down. I should bring her round now.
In a last co-ordinated burst of activity, we engineer the escape. The taxi driver who has been ferrying us all back and forth between the village and the hospital keeps his car at a side-entrance, waiting. Inside I go to the nurse in charge of the ward and ask to see the doctor on duty. He’s not there, she tells me.
Where is he. He’s supposed to be here, isn’t he.
He’s at a meeting.
Well, we’re taking my friend, so I need to see the doctor.
You can’t take her. She has to be discharged.
I am taking her. We’ve got her on a flight to South Africa and we have to leave for Bombay right now.
No, that’s not possible. You heard what the policeman said, there’s an investigation. You can’t take her.
I want a DAMA, I say with false confidence, and I must have it right now.
You will have to wait for the doctor.
I’m not waiting. To show how serious I am, I signal to the others to get Anna out of bed. Give me the form to sign or I’ll take her anyway.
Furious and steely-eyed, the nurse brings the form. I show Anna where to sign and then we hustle her through the crowded corridors to the side-entrance and the waiting taxi. At every moment I expect the venal hand of the police to close around us, and as we swing out of the hospital gates the sense of freedom is enormous. When they make the movie, I say, I want Tom Cruise to play me.
Faye Dunaway for me, Caroline says.
Even Anna joins in. Julia Roberts, she says, and we’re all laughing. But the levity doesn’t last long. In minutes it dawns on Anna that we’re not going back to our hotel, and she starts to moan and protest. I want to go back to the beach, she cries, I want to finish my holiday. You have no right to do this. When I tell her the police will come looking for her there, she falls temporarily silent, but then she starts up again. Just give me my money-belt, give it to me. You can’t have it. Give it to me and drop me at the side of the road. Fortunately she’s wedged in at the back between Caroline and Paula, or she might make a break for it. Do you see what they’re doing, she yells at the taxi driver, they’re kidnapping me, they’re criminals, they’re thieves.
This taxi driver, whose name is Rex, has seen a thing or two over the last week to astonish him. He’s come up to the hospital ward a few times and witnessed Anna in action, but she’s setting new standards today. When we get to the clinic I ask Rex to come in with us, just in case we need an extra hand. When she sees the room where she’ll be sleeping and hears that a nurse will be in the spare bed to keep watch, she goes berserk. I demand to leave right now, she shrieks, and makes a break for the door. I stand in her way and grab hold of her wrists and for half a minute we grapple silently together in a pantomimic frieze for the benefit of the open-mouthed Rex. I am, in this moment, physically afraid of her. She has power far beyond her muscular strength, there’s a lunatic gleam in her eye. But she finally relents and slumps and then, once I let go, lashes out in a screaming fit, punching the walls and kicking the door, before collapsing in a howling heap on the bed.
All through the drive back to the village, Rex relives that moment. Pow, he says to himself, crash. He makes kicking, punching movements and shakes his head in wonder. It’s safe to say he’s never witnessed anything like it. A year or two later, out of the blue, he will send an e-mail to me in South Africa. In part it reads, how is your work going on. I hope that you may sell lots of books. I’m fine and do good business. I always remember your good words, your words are a great knowledge to me. In future if you publish a book you should write about that girl,
who wished to die.
She is heavily sedated now and much calmer than she was in the government hospital. But this doesn’t stop the endless stream of abuse, the accusations of failure and neglect, as well as the demands for various items. There is a telephone in the clinic where patients can make calls on credit and she rings him obsessively at the hotel, numerous times each day, with an inventory of requirements for his next visit. She wants her shoes, her money, her rucksack. He isn’t willing to hand any of these over, for fear of what it might lead to, but what he can bring he does. There is never a thank you, only a litany of charges against him, which he hears out wearily. You’re stealing my things, I’ll have you arrested. You’re so cruel and selfish. I hate you, I’ll never speak to you again.
For the first time there are paid hospital attendants to watch over her and this means that he doesn’t have to be there every day. He’s happy to keep some distance between them. So he checks in for an hour each afternoon, then heads back to the room, but there’s not much chance for rest. Instead there are frantic preparations for Anna’s return. In consultation with her partner and family back home, it’s been decided that she will be accompanied by Dr Ajoy and the other friendly doctor from the hospital who helped orchestrate her escape. Arranging tickets and visas at short notice for them is a devilishly complicated business, involving faxes to the South African embassy and the airline, with all sorts of supporting documentation, some of which must come from home. But it’s all finally resolved and the evening arrives when he can bring her rucksack to the hospital, along with her passport and ticket, and say goodbye.
After everything that’s gone before, the moment is somehow small and empty. Her attention is not on him, but on her luggage, which she must instantly unpack and check and re-order. You see, he tells her ruefully, everything’s there, nothing’s been stolen. The different bags of clothes with their little labels are a sad reminder of where the journey began.
She comes outside to say goodbye. She’s wearing the shoes she’s been demanding for so long and appears almost serene. The high tide of madness has receded, leaving behind this translucent husk of a woman who nearly resembles his old friend. But not quite. There is a chilly reserve between them, which covers over a gulf so huge that it can perhaps never be bridged. Nevertheless, he finds it in himself to embrace her. Goodbye, he says. Take care of yourself.
You too. Enjoy the rest of your trip.
Or some such words. Whatever they say, it is in breezy phrases like these, phrases without content, or perhaps too much. Then he is driving away from her, with Rex at the wheel, looking back one last time at the solitary, lost figure in the twilight.
It’s only now that the full force of what’s happened begins to hit him. Until this point he has been constantly in action, at the receiving end of calamity, with no chance for reflection. It’s like a hurricane has blown through his life, flattening every structure, and in the aftermath the silence and vacancy are immense.
There is nothing to do, but his body struggles to accept it. He is constantly on edge, constantly prepared for crisis. He sleeps badly and lightly, and wakes long before dawn. The days are empty and he doesn’t know how to fill them. Gradually he moves out of his head and starts to see what’s around him. He notices his own face again, how much weight he’s lost, the fixed stare of his eyes.
Mostly he sits around, talking to Caroline, or goes for stumbling walks on the beach. His body slows and eventually accepts the aimlessness, but inside, deep down, it’s like an engine with a missing part, forever turning over, screaming in the same high gear.
News comes to him from South Africa. Anna is safely home. Then she’s booked into the clinic. A great many of her friends can’t or don’t want to see her, they’re too horrified by what she’s done. At first she has tried to dismiss her stunt in India as a small upset in an otherwise wonderful holiday, but eventually acknowledges the full extent of the disaster. She’s in constant touch with Jean but it’s not clear where that liaison is heading.
Most of this information reaches him through Anna’s girlfriend, with whom I have long tearful conversations almost every day. She continues to see Anna regularly at the hospital, even though they’ve agreed to separate and see what the future brings. She’s in need of comfort, which I’m scarcely able to offer, and she extends comfort of her own. Sometimes she asks advice. On this score I don’t hold back, let go of her, I say, she’s going to kill herself one day. I know it’s true, she’s like a bomb that might go off at any moment and I want the space around her cleared.
All of this, the confusion and frenzy around Anna, is now on the other side of the world. He is not responsible, not accountable, any more. But of course in another way he will always be responsible for what happened and that knowledge is burned into him like a brand. At least she didn’t die. He imagines what would have followed if she had and how the rest of his life would be different.
Among other things, he talks over this subject with Caroline in the weeks that follow. She is the only other player left from the drama they’ve just been through and they cling to each other for consolation. They keep each other company in a bickering, dependent way, almost like family. She has now become his friend, though he didn’t seek her out by choice. On an arbitrary morning their lives were pushed together and fused by fate. She could have walked away when she heard me shouting, or kept her distance like the others did, and perhaps by now she wishes that she had. But instead she came up the stairs and into the room and since then she’s taken up station in a corner of his life.
But this makes for a fraught and uneasy alliance, he feels he owes her a debt and at the same time resents that obligation, he wants to leave this whole experience behind, to erase every trace of it, but she’s there every day to remind him. And she’s carrying her own pain and loss, which have become grafted onto Anna and by extension onto him. She’s in a bad state like him, not sleeping well, given to bouts of weeping. But she also seems to feel, though she doesn’t say it aloud, that he’s in some way a solution to her troubles, and he shrinks from that silent expectation. He has failed Anna, he will fail her too.
But his time here is drawing to a close. In just a month or two it will be unpleasantly hot, already a lot of local businesses are shutting down. He is leaving soon, meeting another friend in Bombay and travelling north, to the mountains. Caroline has tried to persuade him to stay, why don’t you meet your friend, she says, and come back here. No, I tell her, I have to move on. In response she books her own ticket home for a day before his departure. This date is coming closer, and he needs it, the leave-taking, as a climax and conclusion.
On one of those last evenings, when they’re eating dinner together, she says to him, what happened to me in Morocco, the accident we had there. You know, where I lost my husband.
Yes.
I haven’t told the story yet. I’ve told some of it, just the basic facts. But the whole story, what actually happened, I’ve never told to anybody.
Yes, he says, and he can feel what’s coming. It makes him sick to the heart, he wants to run, but he stays where he is.
I would like to tell the story just once, she says now. I want somebody to hear it, then I might be able to leave it and walk away. Do you know what I mean.
He nods, he knows exactly what she means. Whatever the story is, he knows it will be terrible and he dreads taking it on. But after what she’s gone through on his behalf, how can he refuse.
They put it off till a couple of days before her departure. At her request they go down to the beach one evening. The sun is beginning to sink into the water, the clouds are full of colour. They find a place away from other people, close to a little stream and a clump of palm trees, and sit on a log. I don’t know how to start, she says, I’ve written some of it down and I thought I might read it to you. But when she takes out her sheaf of papers it all feels wrong, too wooden and formal. Just tell me, I say, just tell me what happened.
Almost as soon as s
he begins to speak, she’s quaking and trembling. It happened thirty years ago, but it’s as if she’s living it again in this moment, and it becomes like that for him too. Her story travels into him, his skin is very thin, there’s no barrier between him and the world, he takes it all in. And even afterwards when he wants to get rid of it he can’t do it, in the weeks that follow as he tries to leave Goa and the village behind the things that he lived through there will recur in an almost cellular way, haunting him, and Caroline’s story is part of it, joined somehow to Anna, all of it One Thing. Yet what can you do with a story like this. There’s no theme, no moral to be learned, except for the knowledge that lightning can strike from a clear sky one morning and take away everything you’ve built, everything you’ve counted on, leaving wreckage and no meaning behind. It can happen to anyone, it can happen to you.
His onward journey is like an endless running away. He meets his friend in Bombay and they travel northward together. Orchha, Khajuraho. By now it’s full summer and the heat on the plains is like a furnace, so they head up into the mountains, to Dharamsala, where they languish for a few weeks.
In all of this he tries to behave like an ordinary traveller, marvelling at what’s around him. But he hardly ever manages to lose himself, mostly he is stuck in one place in the past. The physical world feels substanceless, like a drab dream from which he will wake up into a dirty hospital ward.
He hears from Anna a couple of times. The first e-mail reaches him a few weeks after he’s left Goa. Full of misspellings and strange sentence constructions, it’s a note of apology for what she’s done. She says that she’s left the clinic and is staying with her family in a nearby town. She doesn’t tell him more about the state of her life, though he continues to hear a little from her girlfriend. He knows, for example, that she can’t make up her mind about what she wants, whether to stay involved with a woman or to keep her connection with Jean. Jean is going to come to South Africa, then he isn’t, then he is. Meanwhile, once she’s spent this time with her family, Anna will be moving out of the house she shared with her partner and into a flat on her own.