Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House

by Martha Long

  I was huffy. ‘You took your time! It’s freezing cold sitting here, you know!’

  ‘Oh, please. I am sorry, my friend, the captain, we got talking. Ohhh, do not spoil your face! Show me a happy one!’ he laughed, holding up the bottles to admire them. ‘Look! This will warm you. Eighty per cent proof! Almost pure vodka! Better than the rubbish they sell you here!’ he said happily, looking down to admire them.

  ‘Right! Where to now?’

  ‘OK. Now we go to see my friend. Wait! Here, I have the address.’ He reached into a black-leather wallet, pulling out his notebook and handing it to me.

  I glanced at the address. Mount Street. We set off, heading up the quays, and I said, ‘What is your Russian friend doing in Ireland?’

  ‘He is stranded here. My friend is an engineer and was commissioned by an Irish businessman to complete a job for him. He took people from other countries, but now he refuses to pay. The others have managed to get their money, but Boris has yet to receive his. It is a lot of money. But they do not pay him one penny. I have been helping him, bringing him food and giving him money. What he needs, I will get it for him,’ he said, lifting his shoulders, holding his hands out.

  I looked at him, seeing the concern on his face, and I felt myself warm to him. This started to cheer me up. By the time we got there, I was almost back to my earlier great humour.

  ‘That is the house there,’ he said, pointing to a black door.

  I parked on the other side of the road. Sergei immediately jumped out, heading around to open my door. ‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, beaming at him giving me a little bow.

  ‘No need!’ he said. ‘We Russians treat all women with respect.’

  He waited while I stopped to light up a cigarette then followed him across the road. He rang the doorbell and the door was whipped open in a flash.

  ‘Boris!’ Sergei boomed at a tall Russian with a black beard and incredible sky-blue eyes. He grabbed Sergei in a bear’s hug. The two of them slapped each other, looking like they wanted to beat each other to death, babbling in their own tongue. Then the bear stood back, speaking in Russian and looking down at me with his eyes twinkling. ‘Who is your friend?’ – I assume that is what he is asking.

  ‘This is . . .’ Sergei said, thinking, ‘ . . . my driver,’ he grinned at me. ‘Martha! Please, I would like you to meet my good friend Boris!’ Then he bowed at me, waving his hand. ‘Boris!’ he rumbled. ‘My friend, Martha!’ Sergei said, then walked past the Russian.

  Boris stopped in front of me, stood up straight with his knees together and bowed to me from the waist. He took my hand in his huge paw and said, ‘Martha! I am honoured to meet you.’ Then he kissed my hand, holding it like it was delicate china and I was royalty, and swept his arm behind him, standing aside to let me walk in.

  I minced in on my high heels, taking care not to slip on the hall rug, and tried to look regal, getting carried away with the notion I must look royal or something, to get that kind of treatment from Boris. I walked into a sitting room with a dining table in the centre. It was covered with a green heavy tablecloth and set for dinner. I looked around at the fire roaring in the fireplace, and a long round couch in the alcove under the bay window. A lovely warm pink glow came from a ship’s lantern sitting on a side table by an alcove, with two deep-cushioned armchairs each side of the fire. Sergei brandished the vodka, laughing and speaking in Russian as Boris came thundering into the room, saying something in booming Russian.

  They both examined the bottles, eyeing the proof content. ‘Would you like some vodka, Martha?’ Boris said in his deep rumbling voice.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I was about to rumble back, getting carried away with the whole thing. ‘Ahem!’ I coughed. ‘No, thank you!’ and a bloody squeak came out. I was nervous. I glanced over at Sergei, who was shouting at Boris to open the bottle and laughing and pointing at the kitchen. Boris flew out, saying we would eat soon. Then suddenly Sergei turned in my direction, saying, ‘Come! Make yourself comfortable. Please. Let me take your coat.’

  ‘It’s a jacket, Sergei, fur!’ I said as he took it off me, then held it up, giving it a puzzled then disgusted look.

  ‘Hmm! Fur, no! This is something a rodent would grow on its back,’ he said, hanging the jacket on the back of the chair, wiping his hands to get the hair off, then dismissing me fur with a wave of his hand.

  I exploded with the insult. ‘Excuse me! I’ll have you know that is pure fox fur!’ I shouted, going over to lift my jacket and give it a rub, then shaking it to get the fur standing again.

  ‘Bah! Come to Russia. You will buy real fur! And a hat, and, what do you say in English, for your hands?’

  ‘Gloves?’ I said.

  He waved his fingers, dropping his mouth. ‘No matter. You will see, then, real fur!’ He wagged his finger, dismissing me with a wave of his hands by slapping them together.

  ‘What part of Russia are you from, Sergei?’

  ‘Moscow. Now! We must attend to more serious matters.’

  ‘Like what?’ I said, wondering what he was talking about.

  ‘Eat! Drink! Sing! Dance!’ he laughed, grabbing my hand and spinning me around, then flying me back to him in a bear’s hug!

  ‘Oh!’ I said, getting wrapped in his chest then lifted off me feet to be carried over the room and landed sitting on the sofa.

  Then he bent down, kissed his finger and landed it on me lips, saying, ‘Behave! No fighting! I will go to see what we eat,’ then he vanished out the door, leaving me in a fog, wondering what just happened.

  Jaysus, yeah! Romance! Anna Karenina! Gawd! That was lovely, I thought, trying to get my breath, then reached down to me bag for another smoke.

  Boris came barrelling in, brandishing three glasses. Sergei ambled in behind carrying a bottle. Then they were on the bottle like greased lightning. ‘Na zdorovje!’ or something like that they said, as they toasted each other. They smacked their lips, Boris still holding the bottle at arm’s length, admiring it as Sergei watched him from his chair at the dining table. He enjoyed seeing Boris feasting his eyes on the bottle of strong vodka. Then they threw back their heads, emptied their glasses, then it was another round and more toasting each other’s health. I took a tiny sip outa mine, feeling it burning its way down me neck, setting fire to me belly. Jaysus! That’s dynamite! I thought, putting the glass down beside me on the little wine table.

  Then Boris rushed out and came flying back in again carrying two big soup plates held with dish towels, and landed them down on the table. ‘Eat, Martha!’ he said, pointing to the soup and rushing over to guide me to the table. ‘I have a special drink for you. Maybe when you have finished your dinner, hmm?’ he said, raising his huge bushy eyebrows.

  ‘What is it, Boris?’

  ‘Ah, it is excellent!’ He gave me the thumb and forefinger, kissing them together! ‘Da! You will like it!’

  ‘I don’t drink much, Boris, and certainly not strong vodka. I’m not used to this stuff,’ I said, holding up me glass.

  ‘Not to worry! This is baby’s milk,’ he boomed, flying out again.

  My head shot to Sergei, saying, ‘We shouldn’t really be eating the poor man’s grub.’ I whispered, looking at him with his head dipping in and out of the chicken stew, then wiping his hands on the teacloth.

  ‘Eat up! It is delicious. It is impossible to refuse Russian hospitality,’ he spluttered, brandishing half a chicken in his hand.

  Boris was back, carrying his own dinner in one hand and a basket of bread in the other. Drinks were splashed into glasses, held and clinked together. ‘Na zdorovje!’ they boomed.

  I examined my dinner. Potatoes, chicken, carrots and onions, and other stuff, with peas and all sorts of herbs. I sipped, breaking a bit of bread, and munched on a piece of chicken. ‘Delicious, Boris!’ I said. ‘You are a wonderful cook.’

  ‘It gives me immense pleasure, Martha, to see you eat and enjoy!’

  God! He really is a gentleman, I thought, seeing the p
air of them lapping up the stew, pausing only to take a drink and wipe their hands on the tablecloth. Then they started to roar at each other in Russian. Arguing and waving their hands. If I didn’t know better, I would think they were going to kill each other. Then they stopped talking, letting the conversation die away, and just sat quietly, staring at the table, with the two of them lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Sergei whipped his head around and stared, giving a big sigh, and smiled at me, saying, ‘Now we will have some dancing! Boris and I will show you some Russian dancing. Boris!’ he commanded, flinging out his hand, saying something in Russian.

  Boris leapt up, and the two of them started to pull away the dining table. ‘Excuse me, please, Martha!’ Boris asked me with the civility of a gentleman, while Sergei carried on attempting to lift the heavy table himself. He whipped it around, hitting me in the hip without noticing.

  ‘Fuck!’ I muttered, rubbing my side, then glared at Sergei, waiting to see if he would notice and apologise.

  ‘What?’ he said, whipping his head to stare, seeing me rub my side.

  Suddenly I was whipped through the air and settled on me sofa again. ‘Please! Do not stand in the way,’ he said, sounding annoyed.

  ‘Fuck off!’ I muttered.

  He stopped and stared at me under his eyebrows. ‘No! Do not speak to me like that, please,’ he said, shaking his finger at me. Then he went back to hauling the heavy table, with the two of them pushing it against the wall.

  ‘Hup!’ The two of them bounced their arses on the floor, Boris slapping his arse and kicking out his legs. Sergei bounced around, his long golden hair shimmering with the light caught from the rays of the fire. God, he is a handsome brute, I thought, staring at his fine physique and incredibly handsome face, crowned with a head of massive golden hair. Looks don’t usually attract me. I prefer the more caring type, calm and steady, with great depth – that’s what attracts me. Someone, now, with the nature of Boris. He is mature and civilised, very genteel. Sergei is a bit of a dark horse. He’s hard to read.

  They stood up, more vodka was poured, then the bottle was nearly empty. I was thinking of moving myself off back to the hospital. No point in going to the house now. I would need to light the fire, and it’s far too late for that. I get tired easily because I’m still underweight. I’m only six stone. Yeah! I have got to get the health back. I’ll eat as much as I can, and get lots of fresh air and do plenty of walking. Jaysus! When is he ever thinking of moving? I’m bored outa me skull. They keep talking in their own tongue. Fuck! I’m feeling banjacksed.

  Then they started to hum a tune; I recognised it. I started to hum, then sing, joining in very quietly, staring into the fire. ‘Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end. We’d sing and dance, for ever and a day . . .’ My voice started to trail off on hearing the Russians joining in in their own language. Then my voice picked up again, singing along as they sang in Russian. We smiled at each other as the song came to an end. Then they said it was a Polish song, and very old.

  ‘Would you like a drink, Martha?’ Boris asked, leaning towards me with the most almighty gentle blue eyes. I looked at him, seeing a nobility in his bearing. Gawd! He truly is a gentle giant, I thought, never having met the like or size of him in me whole life before.

  ‘No, I won’t, thanks, Boris.’

  ‘Come! Take a drink, you need to relax!’ Sergei said.

  ‘But I have one,’ I said, holding up my nearly full glass. ‘No, thanks, Boris. It’s too late. Besides, I have to drive back.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ bellowed Boris. ‘That settles it! You will sleep in my guest room, and Sergei can camp in with me.’

  ‘No! Honestly.’

  Boris shot out of the room, coming back in just as fast with a glass filled with creamy white stuff that looked like Bailey’s Cream.

  ‘What is in it?’ I asked, taking it from him and examining it.

  ‘Drink it,’ Boris said, quietly. ‘It is good, they give it to babies.’

  I tasted it, taking a little sip. It tasted good!

  ‘No, no! You must drink it down. No sip!’ complained Boris. ‘Drink!’

  I drank it down. ‘Finished!’ I slurped, leaning over to put the glass down on the table beside me, then suddenly the top of my head blew off!

  I slumped over the side of the armchair. I was paralysed! I have never been drunk in all my years. But now I was incapable of moving. My arms and legs felt like jelly; I didn’t have a skeleton. The room flew around, and I was aware of them watching me with interest, looking astonished. Jesus! What happened? My head is swinging around by itself.

  Sergei said, ‘Jesu!’, or something in Russian, then he came towards me. I could see him moving to bend down and pick me up.

  ‘Tut, tut! You should not drink. It is not good for you,’ he moaned, carrying me off in his arms.

  ‘Put her in the bedroom,’ Boris said. ‘She can sleep it off.’

  I woke up, lifting my head from the pillow, wondering where I was. Then it came back to me, as I looked, seeing the strange room through the early-morning grey light trying to creep in through the window. I stretched, feeling hot and damp. Fuck! I ended up sleeping in all me good clothes. Ohh, me head. I lifted it gently, hanging over the edge of the bed. Where’s me shoes and coat? Fuck! I’m never again having anything to do with them fucking Russians. Mad bastards! Them and their drink.

  Oh, I’m so thirsty! I need a drink. I threw back the bedclothes and staggered out the door, wondering which way was the kitchen. In here! I groped in, hearing the snoring. The pair of them were hanging out each side of the bed. I squinted, trying to see properly. I feel like throwing a bucket of cold water over them. Swines! Them and their ‘baby’s milk’!

  I tried a door further down the hall, finding the kitchen. Me head swam, trying to settle me eyes on a glass. That will do. I rinsed the vodka glass, guzzling down nearly six glasses of water. Ahh! That’s better. Now to find me stuff, and get the hell outa here!

  52

  * * *

  I brushed my teeth and headed down to take the lift up to the top floor.

  ‘Hi! How are you?’ beamed Esther, a big smile plastered on her face at the sight of me.

  ‘Hi, Nurse! Did ye miss me?’

  ‘Oh, the place hasn’t been the same since you left. It’s like a morgue!’ she said, twisting her face, looking grief-stricken.

  I bounced over, giving her a slap on the arm. ‘Bloody liar! You couldn’t wait to get rid of me!’

  ‘True! Oh, very true!’ she laughed. ‘But you’re looking well,’ Esther said, smiling. ‘You are certainly not the same girl we had to keep under lock and key.’

  ‘Ahh, I wasn’t that bad!’

  ‘Not half! You drove us all mad!’ she screeched. ‘Now look at you! But you still need to put on a lot more weight.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, looking down at my matchstick legs.

  Right! I’m off. I wandered down the ward looking for Blondie.

  ‘Where’s Blondie?’ I asked two women sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall. They shifted their eyes to show they heard me, then their faces dropped even longer, and they went back to now staring at a spot on the carpet. Hmm. I walked on, looking in the dining room. Nope. Not a sign of her. Two girls were finishing the cleaning up, chatting away companionably. Then I heard one say, ‘Do ye know tha Russian monk?’

  ‘Yeah. Oh, yeah! I think he’s just gorgeous!’

  ‘Yeah, well, I thought so too. But do ye know wha? He really annoyed me, he did! The other day he was passin me when I was workin outside. I was fixin the plates on the trolley, an he asked me how I was. Right?’ She stopped to make sure the other one was giving her all her full attention.

  The other one folded her arms, shook herself, stared, fixing her eyes, and said, impatient to hear the rest of the story, ‘Yeah, right! Go on! I’m listenin. I’m all ears. Now go on an tell me!’

  ‘Well!’ your woman continued, taking in a big mouthful of spit an
d swallowing it. ‘I started to tell him all about meself. Ye know, how long I’m workin here, an all tha. Thinkin it was great he stopped te talk te me. An do ye know wha?’ she asked, her mouth hanging open and her eyes bulging. ‘In the middle of wha I was tellin him, ye know, he just walked off! Walked off! I couldn’t believe it! I stood waitin for him te come back, watchin him, but he just kept goin. Right in the middle of me conversation! No!’ she slapped the table with her cloth, rubbing the hell out of it and shaking her head, ‘I never liked him after tha!’

  ‘Really?’ said the other one, her eyes staring into the distance, trying to picture this. Then she said, ‘Yeah, it’s a pity. I thought he was lovely.’

  Hmm! Good old Sergei! He can be very cold, all right. Maybe he thinks he can dine out on his looks. Or maybe it’s a cultural thing. Russians have different ways from us, I thought. Who cares? He’s part of this place. I’ll be leaving it all behind very soon. Maybe I’ll tell that doctor I’m ready to go home. Yeah! Time to get back to normal living. Right! Now to find Blondie. I haven’t seen her for a while. Wonder what she’s up to?

  I wandered over to Blondie’s room, putting my head in the door, seeing her lying very still with her head facing out the window. Something’s not right, I thought, as I walked over quietly. She stared out the window, with her face looking like marble.

  ‘Hi, Blondie! What’s up with you?’

  Her head turned slowly, looking at me with dead, lifeless eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Why are you lying there?’ I breathed, looking in shock at her matted hair. She wore no make-up and her skin had turned the colour of ash.

  ‘I’m not bothered,’ she whispered hoarsely, sounding like all the life had gone out of her. Then she turned her head back to stare at the window.

  ‘Blondie!’ I gasped, not able to take in how this could have happened to her. ‘Are you not well?’

  She nodded her head slightly, giving a blink, showing she couldn’t care less.