‘I didn’t have it, I swear. I lost all my things. I didn’t even have one set of clothes to change into. And in the middle of the desert nobody was interested in helping. But why am I telling you all this? What’s the point? In any case, I don’t expect you to understand.’
‘You killed her and nothing can bring her back. She’s gone. What more do you want? Go away! Hurry up and go!’ she screamed with all the strength of her lungs.
The car headlights revealed a satanic smile forming on his face. She saw him bend over to put his hand deep into the soft soil.
‘It’s warm,’ he whispered as if talking to himself. ‘It’s warm and soft like a bed.’
‘You’re insane; sick! How inhuman and insensitive!’
He laughed aloud, grabbed hold of her arm and forced her to stand up on her feet.
‘Don’t you touch me,’ she shouted freeing herself, pushing him back in horror.
He laughed again. Then he became serious.
‘Do me a favour Tasia, please. Leave me. Only for a little while. Go home. I want to be alone to say my last goodbyes to her. Please go.’
He said the last words with such force, she was petrified. She jerked herself back touching a cold, wet tombstone. It gave her the shivers. Turning around she started to run, and felt a presence following her, a ghost, a vapour, a shadow, getting close, almost touching her. In her eagerness to get away she stumbled over bushes, flowerbeds and tombstones until she secured her back against a tall, brick wall. She stopped there to catch her breath and find her bearings. The rain was now falling steadily. She realised she’d taken the wrong turn and had got lost. She eventually figured that if she walked along the wall on her right side, she would ultimately reach the gate.
With newfound courage as the blood returned to her veins she walked swiftly. Somewhere not very far away, a gunshot disturbed the macabre night silence. She was scared; she sped up and reached the exit. Suddenly, an inner jolt made her stop dead in her tracks. Turning around she began to run back towards Olga’s tomb. She arrived, her lungs bursting. A big black mass on the soil was twitching spasmodically. She bent over to investigate but in her rush she slipped and fell forward on the wet soil, her outstretched right hand touching a sticky hot fluid. It was coming from John’s temple.
‘Blood, blood!’ she shouted instinctively.
She looked closer and saw John’s eyes, open and glassy. His face appeared relaxed and smiling. At that very moment his body shook violently and then remained absolutely still.
‘John!’ she screamed desperately. ‘John —’
She got up, her hand sticky and smeared with blood. Then, with as much strength as she could muster she started screaming hysterically.
Where was she? And how long had she been in this odd-looking space full of smoky ghosts and shadows? Was she alive, or was she dead and been transported to an incomprehensible and indefinable world, not following the rules? Look at that table and the chairs dangling in the nebulous air over a crooked ground that appeared to dissolve into nothingness. There was no way she could get up and walk. And those legs attached to her body surely didn’t belong to her. If only she could pinch them and feel the pain, but her hands wouldn’t move. She thought she wanted to move her hand but then she forgot, because her brain was working very slowly. Most of the time she couldn’t keep her eyelids open to follow all these lost souls, all these human shadows roaming incessantly and aimlessly in front of her.
A muttering old lady was walking around with quick and determined steps, touching everything and everybody on her way. And a young man screamed and shouted at the empty wall opposite him. Then, there was this young woman furiously pinching her bruised arms and moving her body back and forth as she laughed uncontrollably.
Where was she? Who was she? She too was a lost soul, with no name, no past, no present, no future. A corpse, having no control over her hands, her feet or her brain. The slimy smudge in the palm of her right hand was proof she had committed an abhorrent crime for which she had to pay. She was condemned to death, a just penalty to release the planet from her loathsome existence, to prevent contaminating the air with her poisonous breath. She was waiting to be taken to the gallows and couldn’t understand why these people prompted her to eat and why they treated her with such kindness and care. They were pretending, of course, or they didn’t as yet know her crime. They didn’t know she was a horrible criminal, an abominable murderess.
Two men in white coats marched close to her, placed their arms under her armpits and lifted her to her feet. They led her to another room and she went without resisting. They put her on a bed, pricked the vein in her left elbow with a needle and injected a fluid that surely would kill her. But then they had done this once before but hadn’t managed to kill her then. They had only made her even more confused and sleepy. Hopefully, this time they would succeed because she couldn’t stand being killed bit by bit.
Now and then someone she knew would sit there opposite her. The name ‘Tomas’ comes to her mind but she doubts if Tomas was his name. Anyway who was Tomas? Her father? Did she ever have a father? Why couldn’t she remember him? The man spoke to her in Greek but she had problems understanding him. Her brain was too slow and by the time she understood one word, she forgot all the others and couldn’t make sense of it. She wanted to talk to him but it was impossible to convert her thoughts to words. And her lips didn’t respond to the brain’s commands. She sat there completely immobile with her eyes glued to the armchair. She’d like to talk to him the next time he comes around — if he comes.
The smells and the noise in the hall had become annoying over the last few days. What was she doing in this macabre place? How long were they going to keep her a prisoner in this surreal world among all these lost souls? There must be something behind that window, some light behind that darkness. There must be something. Something.
With great effort she got up and with unsteady steps went to the window. It was the first time she had taken such an initiative. Outside the window the sky was smiling, blue and clear, and the sun was playing hide and seek in the foliage of very tall trees. A green park with flowerbeds full of colourful flowers and shrubs lay in front of the window. A group of ladies strolled on the lawn. Red and yellow leaves rustled on the branches and fell, dancing playfully, on the ground. What season was it? Spring or autumn?
She felt a strong kick from inside her abdomen. There it was again! It kicked again. Surprised, she brought her hands to her abdomen and let a sound escape her lips. My God, I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant! Like an uncoiled spring, her mind started to wind up and change direction. A scalpel cut through the black curtain dimming off the light.
‘I’m pregnant!’ she exclaimed loudly, thrilled by the leap of a new life inside her.
Coming back to reality brought back the unbearable pain that had been numbed by the severe depression, a compassionate response of nature to intolerable situations. It was a vague, formless pain for everybody and everything: for all the people she’d trusted and who had let her down, for those she felt the fire of love, only to see them disappear forever, for all the dreams and hopes she didn’t dare acknowledge, for all the deprivations, the humiliations, the wars and the injustices. With the pain came the tears too. They began rolling, unstoppable, down her cheeks. Where did all these tears come from? Where did so much fluid come from?
‘Cry. Don’t try to control it. Crying will do you good; it’ll make you feel better,’ the young student nurse reassured her, passing her a handkerchief.
Her gentleness, her caring and understanding made Tasia sob even louder. Once upon a time, someone else had used the same words. Now she could remember. It was Tomas. The gentle and caring friend she had made aboard the ship on her way here. Who knows where that soul could be now? One day she’d try to get in touch with him.
But, she was never going to see Olga again — or John. Death was final and irrevocable. Somehow it was all easy when she was in the depths of depression, not knowi
ng who she was and where she was: she had no recollection of Olga’s death or of John’s tragic suicide. Now she felt extremely guilty, as if she had betrayed both of them, as she had betrayed her family, her marriage, and all the opportunities of creating a better life in this new country.
At some other level she had a vague feeling Olga and John had become an inseparable part of her and her baby. Whenever the dark wings of depression threatened to engulf her, she’d resort to pressing the left side of her abdomen gently. In no time at all a kick inside her from her baby would fill her whole being with joy and love of life.
She loved that baby and couldn’t wait for it to be born. She longed to have the chance to hear its first cry, to hold it in her hands, to caress tenderly its tiny body. She was carrying inside her a new human being, her very own baby. This was something as incredible as the mystery of creation elevating her to the level of the divine creator. For the benefit of this new life she had to get well. She had to find her way out of this dark labyrinth, to stand on her own two feet, be strong, become a winner.
But every time she could see the summit, she would sink again to the threshold of depression and like Sisyphous would start the arduous uphill move once more. The recovery was slow and difficult, despite the fact everybody was telling her how well she was doing and how much she was improving day by day.
Nick was positive every time he visited, and the doctors and nurses were telling her the same thing. She could communicate with them reasonably well now. While she had lived in the hospital environment, she had absorbed the new language like a sponge. Her brief association with Martin had contributed to some extent too, because the only language the two of them could converse in was English.
She couldn’t remember if Martin ever visited her in hospital. Not that she cared. The only positive outcome of this marriage was that the child wouldn’t be illegitimate; it would have a father if only in name. On the other hand if it didn’t have a name what would the difference be? She couldn’t depend on this irresponsible and opportunistic man, this gambler, to accept his responsibilities and support them both. In order to survive and bring up her child she would have to depend on her own two hands, on her own strength. In that respect there wouldn’t be any difference between her and the many other married women in the factory who paid some old woman to look after their children while they were at work.
Inside the walls of the psychiatric hospital, amongst all these scared, confused and harassed souls, Tasia found warmth, caring, understanding and love she hadn’t found outside. It helped her to gradually regain her emotional balance and mental health. The process was accelerated. Soon after she regained contact with reality, she was transferred to an open part of the hospital to attend an experimental therapeutic community program for twelve carefully selected young patients — treatment based on democratic principles without the use of medication. In that setting, all involved — including doctors and nurses — functioned as equals, calling each other by their first names and respecting others’ differing opinions. In this environment Tasia developed a feeling of freedom she had never experienced before, and her confidence and self-esteem soared. She was taught to reflect, to understand the dynamism and the influence of the unconscious in everyday affairs. She learnt to recognise her needs and feelings, to look at things from different angles, to make conscious decisions, to grow up and feel free.
Tasia had found herself locked in a mental hospital, crazed, insane. She knew nobody in that environment, and nobody knew her. But she was never tempted to adopt the sick role, to become dependent or to act in a mindless and irresponsible manner. And while until now she was drifting, allowing people and circumstances to determine the course of her life, she noticed a fundamental change within herself. Inside the walls of the hospital and in association with other ‘mad people’, for the first time in her life Tasia experienced security, and developed confidence in her own abilities and judgements. Here, doctors and nurses, educated professional people, addressed her with total regard and respect. They never forgot to tell her how admirable and how intelligent she was. They also complimented her on her ability to understand and to be able to express herself in a foreign language after such a short time. All these words of encouragement increased her confidence and her self-esteem, to the extent she was ready to face up to anything.
‘May I?’ asked the young nurse bringing her hand close to Tasia’s tummy.
‘Of course! Put it right here. It kicked. Did you feel it?’
The young nurse looked as thrilled as Tasia.
‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘Just to think that a new human being is growing inside here.’
‘Yes, it is amazing. If only I could see what it looks like in there.’
The nurse nodded in agreement.
‘Wait a minute,’ she said after a while. ‘I’ll go and bring my textbook. I’m sure we’ll find something about it in there.’
Tasia looked with surprise and amazement at the sketch of a baby nestling in the womb of a woman and read the English words under it, trying to understand them. Very soon she realised many of these words were Greek, or derived from the Greek: embryo, placenta, artery, epithelium. Curious to see what book she was reading she closed it and looked at the title. It was Anatomy and Physiology, again Greek words. She recognised many other Greek words in the English text. Well, this is an easy way to learn the English language, she thought, and then explained some of the Greek words to the student nurse who had given her the book and was looking at her now with her mouth open.
‘I had no idea all these words were derived from Greek. Well, you know their meaning better that I who has studied them already. Why don’t you study nursing?’
‘How can I do that? What can I do? Where can I start?’ Tasia asked with genuine interest.
‘I’ll introduce you to our Director of Nursing and the Nurse Educator. They’ll give you the right information.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard about you,’ the Director of Nursing told Tasia when she went to see her. ‘The problem we’re faced with is that you’re married and expecting a child. Otherwise you could stay in the nurses’ home, work and attend lectures.’
‘But, I don’t consider myself married any more. My husband, the father of my baby, has not shown the slightest interest in us,’ Tasia confessed.
‘I see. Well, what can I say? First, have your baby and then come and see me. I’m sure we could arrange something for you. There are several married women and mothers of small children working here.’
Tasia was delighted.
‘So, I can hope. Thank you, thank you!’
She was ready to kiss the director’s hands.
‘Oh, don’t thank me. We need people like you. I’ve heard many good things about you and I’m sure you will do well in this profession. Besides, you could help us with people of your own country who don’t speak the language. So, go now. All the best with having the baby and we’ll talk again soon.’
With her morale up, Tasia waited even more eagerly for the arrival of her baby. There was no reason for her to remain in hospital any longer. But there was no way she’d go back to Martin and the factory. Again, Nick found the answer. She was going to stay at a Greek philanthropic institution for the next three months, helping them with some office work till the baby was born,
‘And then we’ll see what we’ll do. But don’t you worry. I’ll be by your side. I’ll help you as much as you’ll allow me,’ Nick promised her.
That’s what a true compassionate human being is all about, Tasia thought. Having human characteristics doesn’t automatically make us human. She felt emotional when she thought of how generous Nick was, offering his time and support to ailing Olga and then to herself. At a time when she was most vulnerable he stood there by her side, not allowing her to disappear in the infinite space of human loneliness. What could she have done without the help and support of Nick? He was there to settle all the unfinished business left by the untimely deaths of John and
Olga. He had collected Olga’s remaining things, cancelled the lease of the room, and was the only one who visited her in the hospital. And now he would come to collect her on Saturday morning and take her to her new abode.
But she couldn’t settle. She wanted to go now this very moment to collect all her things and return to hospital. It would take her only a few hours. She’d take the bus to Richmond and go home. She still had the key in her handbag; she’d fetch her things and return. Nobody need know about it. When Nick came on Saturday morning she’d be waiting for him with all her belongings.
Optimism swelled her chest. She felt as though she had wings. And only when she arrived at the street corner in front of the house, only then, did a dark cloud briefly cover the sun.
She relaxed when she saw the blinds of their room shut. Not that she had any doubts that Martin may be home at that hour.
Nevertheless, she felt an overall weakness as she tiptoed towards the door and placed the key in the lock. The room was pitch-black. She stepped in and turned the light switch on, flooding the room. And there before her she saw Martin and Tzina stark naked in bed, looking at her, startled.
‘I beg your pardon! I beg your pardon,’ she mumbled all embarrassed. ‘I’m very sorry.’
She turned around to leave in a hurry but her feet got tangled up in all the clothes and shoes on the floor. She lost her balance and for a moment she was conscious of dangling in a void.
When she opened up her eyes, Martin and Tzina were gone. She attempted to get up but felt a sharp pain in the back of her head where she found a soft swelling. She surmised she’d hit her head on the frame of the bed and lost her senses. Martin and Tzina thinking she was dead had panicked and taken off. That was fine by her. It was better that way because she’d have all the time she needed to collect her things and go without being accountable to anybody.
The Lace Tablecloth Page 31
