The Wooden Chair

by Rayne E. Golay

  The doctor handed her a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

  She took a few sips and placed the tumbler on the small table next to her chair. When she resumed talking her voice burned like fire in her throat. “What hurt me the most—still does—are the things she didn’t do. Mira never looks straight at me; she makes every effort to avoid eye contact. She looks past me, to the left or right or above me, as if by avoiding seeing me she doesn’t have to acknowledge me. And I can’t remember her ever calling me Leini. She always says either ‘you’ or ‘the miss.’ Sometimes ‘girl.’”

  Leini blinked to scatter the images. “Mira would enter a room pretending she didn’t see me. Even if I spoke to her or somebody drew attention to me, she continued to ignore me.” Leini shut her eyes against the memories. Gawd, how I wish this was over. I’m going to shatter into atoms from this pain.

  “What’s going on, Leini? Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

  “I hurt. Here.” She placed a hand flat on her chest, between her breasts, just above the bulge of her swollen abdomen. “I’m afraid. Talking about this makes it so real. And it’s not over, everything is still going on. It’s as if I were unreal. I can’t hide from this. I can’t pretend it never happened. I’ve only spoken to Bill about these things.”

  Leini sighed. “Whether she had reason or not, Mira found cause to get angry at me. Then she’d play the deaf-mute…she wouldn’t talk to me other than through other people, Papi or Samy or Tatta, our live-in help.” The tears trickling down her cheeks were cold, and a chill froze her to the core. Groping, she found a box of tissues on the table, pulled a thick wad and cried with heavy sobs.

  “Are you all right to carry on?” the doctor asked. “If you want, we could stop now, continue from here next time.”

  “No!” she almost shouted. “No! I want to say it all now, finish it.”

  “That’s good. You’re my last patient for the day…take all the time you want.”

  When she could, she continued. “This mutism was the worst punishment—without any provocation, for reasons I never understood, Mira stopped talking to me. She didn’t respond when I talked to her. I felt so guilty, so totally at fault. I never understood what I’d done wrong to bring on this silent scorn.”

  “You’re doing great. Is there more?”

  “Yes, there is. She treated me like a non-person. When she wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t call me by name, not talk to me, it was as if I didn’t exist, as if I became invisible. It surprised me that other people didn’t walk through me, because I was without substance.”

  “You haven’t lived with Mira for a while. How do you feel about her behavior now?”

  “The same as before. I only need to be with her for a day at the most, and the sensation of shrinking and vanishing returns. Even talking to her on the phone has that effect on me. Mira did a lot of painful, hurtful things. This is the worst because it went on during all my growing up years. It still goes on. It was…it’s cruel, it’s relentless.”

  “What would you need to protect yourself against this behavior? What would help you to stop feeling you’re insignificant and nonexistent?”

  With a sharp movement of her head she stared at the doctor as he leaned arms against thighs, head tilted toward her.

  “Don’t ask me—if I knew, I wouldn’t be here. You tell me. What’s in your box of tricks that you can give me so I can better protect myself against her?”

  “What did you used to do?”

  She shrugged. Typical of a psychiatrist. Always answer a question with a question.

  “When I still lived at home, I tried to avoid being alone with her—I stayed out of her way as much as possible. I really didn’t have a shield.”

  “Care to tell me about the nightmares?”

  “Usually I’m in a room crowded with people. Most of the time they’re my family, sometimes friends. People don’t see me. When I talk to them, they can’t hear me. Nobody looks at me. They pass by me so close they touch me, but don’t acknowledge my presence. I start vanishing. When I no longer can see my own shadow I know I don’t exist.

  “Papi’s always loved me. It’s helped. Bill’s love makes me secure. Grandpa’s and Grandma Britta’s generous affection and acceptance of me helped me survive, I’m sure. Karl is a constant and positive presence. Still, I have these nightmares; they leave me exhausted, give me headaches. After one of the dreams I’m upset and tearful.”

  The doctor wrote something in his notebook. Appreciating the moment’s respite from the emotional turmoil, Leini rubbed eyes hot from all the crying.

  “Did you always call her Mira?”

  She glanced at him, surprised he should ask now after several sessions when he’d not asked before.

  “I used to say ‘Mamma.” One day when I was a little girl, I decided she wasn’t like a mother. Since then I’ve called her Mira.”

  “How did you feel calling her by name, not Mamma?”

  “Huh? How did I feel?” Her hand flew to her hair to twine a lock around her finger.

  “By calling her Mira you distanced yourself from Mamma. Did it help you lose some of your fear of her? Did you become more detached?”

  For a long moment, she thought, running different scenes against closed eyelids. In the end she shook her head. “No, Doctor. Mamma or Mira, she still had all the power to control and hurt me.

  The doctor glanced at his watch. “It’s been close to two hours. You must be drained. I suggest we stop here. How do you feel?”

  “As if I’ve been run over by a steamroller.”

  “That’s normal. You’ve made great progress today. You’re courageous and strong, qualities that will help you heal. Unfortunately, I don’t have a specific ‘tool’ to give you to miraculously change the past or Mira’s attitude. We’ll talk more about all this, maybe do some role playing if you agree.”

  Sighing, she stood from the warm bosom of the chair. “During my studies, I did some role playing. I didn’t like it, always got confused as to who was who in the different roles.”

  “We’ll give it a try, see how it goes. If you’re not comfortable with it, talking about it helps a lot.”

  He walked her to the reception. Opening the front door, he briefly shook her hand.

  In the street she stood irresolute as she tried to remember where she’d parked her car. Disoriented, she looked to her left, then to her right.

  I don’t know where my car is. I don’t know where I am. I’m not only invisible, I’m lost, too.

  Chapter 34

  Geneva, Early Spring 1961

  Much to Leini’s delight, she was offered to start maternity leave earlier than she’d expected and treasured every moment she could focus entirely on the child she was carrying.

  Mira kept her word. She arrived a week before the baby’s due date. When she told Leini over the phone about her visit, Leini didn’t know what to say to prevent her from coming. Whenever she thought of Mira staying with them, her stomach cramped, the world turned blurry from tears. I hope and pray the baby won’t go overtime or Mira will sprout roots here.

  Leini expressed her concern to Bill. “I’m scared to have Mira stay with us.” A sigh of regret escaped her. “It’s been so fantastic to be on my own during the day. I’ve enjoyed going shopping with Vickie. She’s been a great help, taking me to the right places for baby stuff.”

  Bill caressed her cheek as she lay on the couch, head in his lap, stomach protruding as if she’d swallowed a watermelon whole. “You’ve done a great job with the baby’s room. It’s like walking into the sun.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I enjoy the peace and quiet at home.” She caressed circles on her belly with both hands. “And I love being with the baby. Things are going to change when Mira arrives. Brrr.” She shuddered, half in jest, but more in earnest.

  “Let’s hope everything will work out well. Mira likes to keep busy. From what you’ve told me, she’s a great organizer. If you give her
things to do maybe she’ll leave you alone.”

  Don’t I wish! “Before she arrives I have to clean the guest room and bath. Maybe I’ll plant some pansies in a box on her window sill. And the kitchen drawers need sorting and…”

  “Leini, you’re not going to clean the flat from floor to ceiling because Mira comes to visit. You need to take it easy, be good to yourself.”

  She took a deep breath, letting air escape slowly. “You don’t understand, darling…”

  “I understand better than you think. By polishing and cleaning, by having everything shiny, you hope to win Mira’s approval.” When she didn’t answer and the silence grew, he asked, “Isn’t it so, sweetie?”

  She pressed her lips to the palm of his hands. “Yes, you’re right, but I can’t help it. I must do it, so she won’t find anything to criticize.” A sigh escaped her. “If everything is perfect, if she finds nothing to criticize, maybe—just maybe—she’ll approve of me, even like me a little.”

  “I’d like to tell you not to bother, but I guess you have to do it. Don’t get your hopes up, so you won’t be crushed if she disappoints you. I don’t want you to tire yourself. Why don’t you ask the cleaning lady to come a few extra hours to help you?”

  “Good idea. I’ll do it.” Relief rushed through her that she didn’t have to tackle the cleaning on her own. She was tired these days and not as agile. The big tummy got in the way every time she moved, or so it seemed. Her feet were swollen, and she ambled like a fat duck. There’s nothing graceful or attractive about the late stages of pregnancy.

  * * *

  Together, Leini and Bill drove to the airport to meet Mira. Sighting her through the window while she stood by the carousel waiting for her luggage, Leini marveled that so much power was packed in Mira’s small frame. Dr. Morgenthaler was right; she let Mira dominate her. With the doctor’s help, Leini hoped to learn to set limits so Mira would lose the power she now held over her.

  While Bill put the car in the garage, she showed Mira her room. “We’ve tried to think of everything, but if you need anything, please let me know.”

  Mira hadn’t seen their home yet, what little there was to see in Bill’s bachelor apartment. After Mira was settled and changed into house slippers, Leini took her on a tour.

  “The apartment isn’t big,” Leini said. “It’s adequate for now.”

  Mira made approving noises deep in her throat about the living room. “It has the right orientation without letting in too much sun to fade the furniture.”

  In their bedroom, Mira stood by the foot of their double bed. Next to her, Leini glanced at her, wondering what was wrong. Mira’s mouth worked spasmodically and she shook from a visible shudder. Her body language expressed loathing and disapproval. Leini remembered that anything to do with sex was dirty in Mira’s books.

  What does she imagine? That we only make love in this bed? Leini wanted to tell her they also slept there. To keep the fragile peace, Leini chose to keep her mouth shut.

  Leading the way through the connecting door to the next, Leini stopped with her hand on the handle.

  “This is the baby’s room. It’s spacious and convenient next to ours.” She opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Mira to enter first. “I’ve painted it myself.”

  Crossing the floor to the window, Mira inspected the glass door leading to a small balcony. “Is it safe to keep a baby here? I mean anybody could force the French doors and come in.”

  Frustrated, Leini’s shoulders sagged. At the same time, she bit her forefinger hard to suppress the burst of laughter tickling her throat. “The lock system is secure. I’m sure there’s no risk of anybody entering.” She grinned. “You may have noticed we live on the eleventh floor.”

  “Well,” said Mira. “The room’s bright all right. You always liked yellow.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Sure, I like yellow.

  * * *

  Groaning and huffing, Leini rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom on bare feet.

  Groping for her slippers was too much of an effort and they were far too small anyway. I’m about as nimble as a hippopotamus. In the bathroom she drank a goblet of water in a few thirsty gulps. She raised her eyes to the sky in gratitude the baby was due any day now—her nerves were fraying, patience wearing thin.

  Sitting on the toilet, she was surprised. The quantity of water, which continued flowing in a steady stream, alarmed her. She didn’t feel any pain, but her belly suddenly grew hard under her hands. Unable to get off the toilet seat for the stream of water, she stretched and fumbled until she managed to open the door a crack.

  “Bill!” she shouted. And listened. Not a sound. “Bill!” Louder this time. She thought she heard a faint sound, like a groan and the rustling of sheets. He’d better wake up or our child’s going be born in this toilet bowl. Not likely, she thought, remembering all the horror stories she’d heard of women having their first baby after innumerable hours in labor. And she didn’t have any contractions yet. Unless the hardening of her belly meant something and she didn’t understand.

  “Bill! Wake up. Hurry, I need you!”

  Bill almost yanked the door off its hinges and stood on the threshold in short pajama bottoms, hair disheveled, dark stubble like a shadow on the lower part of his face.

  “Leini, what’s the matter? You scared me half to death. Why aren’t you in bed?”

  Over his shoulder Leini saw Mira, hair kept in place under a pink lacy night bonnet, face yellowish without makeup.

  “It’s the baby. It’s on its way. We have to go to the hospital.”

  “What? Now?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s only a quarter to six.”

  She wanted to scream to get some action. The water was just a trickle now, but her stomach kept getting hard, maybe more often than before, although she felt no pain.

  “Why don’t you tell our baby it’s too early in the morning? My water’s broken, so we’ll go right now, Bill. We’d better hurry.”

  Mira handed Leini a folded towel. “This should keep you dry until you get to the hospital.”

  Leini glanced at her, surprised and grateful. “Thanks for thinking of it. It’s still early—why don’t you go back to bed?”

  Mira nodded. “Yes, I will after you’ve left.”

  With Bill’s help Leini was able to put on a pair of socks. She stuck her feet in the only pair of shoes big enough to fit her and pulled a coat over her nightgown.

  She pointing at the bag she’d packed the week before. “Don’t forget the suitcase.”

  “Good luck,” Mira said before the door closed behind them. “Please call me, Bill…”

  * * *

  “Push, Leini. Now! Push!”

  Leini dug her nails into Bill’s hand. She panted and pushed and panted. Taking a deep breath, blocking the air, she pushed with everything she had, a sensation as if she was being ripped in two.

  The squeal of a newborn baby’s cry—persistent, strident, strong—reached her. Tears mingled with sweat on her face.

  “It’s a girl. Congratulations, Leini, Bill.”

  Their daughter was born six minutes past eight in the morning.

  The nurse placed the squirming, naked, little life on Leini’s breast. She looked at her. My daughter! Oh gawd, my daughter! First she only stared at the wee mewling baby, almost weightless on her breast. Then she reached a trembling finger to touch her cheek and the shock of jet-black hair. Later, she would be unable to describe her emotions in those first moments of meeting this little life she’d carried within her for nine months. The event was so enormous it took her breath away. She tingled all over. An overpowering urge filled her to enfold her tiny daughter in her arms, hide her from the world so she would be safe. Leini raised her face to gaze at Bill leaning over her.

  She smiled into his eyes. “Hi, papa.”

  “What?”

  “Look at her, Bill—your daughter.”

  “Yes.” Very slowly he turned his head to gaze at
the baby. He squeezed Leini’s hand so hard she cried out from pain. Tears trickled along his cheeks.

  “Leini.” His voice broke. “She’s…she’s everything.” A mere whisper as he laid his head next to Leini’s on the pillow, his cheek against hers.

  She nodded. “Our Hannele.”

  Hannele slept, long dense lashes fanning against her cheeks. Her black hair was shiny and curled on a perfectly rounded head. Leini touched a closed fist. A surge of love swept over her as the tiny hand wrapped around her finger and held on. Thank you, God. She is so perfect. And she couldn’t quite grasp she’d been able to produce something so complete, so whole.

  Hannele jerked and opened huge blueberry-blue eyes. Moving the bundle closer to her face, Leini inhaled the unfamiliar odor of her daughter. Closing her eyes, she inhaled some more to familiarize herself with Hannele.

  Later in the day, in her room, sunny with a corner of blue sky peeking through the window, the smile on her face wouldn’t go away. Finishing the last of her fruit salad, she glanced at the door as it opened a crack.

  “Bill, darling.” She opened her arms for him, happiness dancing inside like a spring brook.

  He placed a voluminous bunch of flowers on the cover on her legs and wrapped her in his arms, holding her to him.

  “I’m still speechless. On my way here, I kept rehearsing what I was going to say to you. Now it’s all gone; my head is empty.” His tone was quiet, no more than a whisper. His Adam’s apple worked up and down. “Thank you, Leini.”

  Rubbing her cheek against his, she said. “Thank you. We made her together, you know.”

  “How is she?”

  She pointed at the bassinet next to her own bed. “She’s gorgeous. Gets prettier by the minute.”

  He leaned over the baby, hands on knees, staring at his daughter for a long time.