Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold

by Regina Doman

  At some point, she fell into a sort of paralysis of the imagination, her thoughts slowing down into silence. Then at once she was awake again, and realized that somehow she had slept. So that was what it was like, sleeping without a body. Quite strange!

  Feeling mentally invigorated, she attempted to find her eyes once again, and was working towards feeling her lids when she became aware of something. There was no longer silence. There were sounds.

  Surprised, she listened (listening without ears! How amazing!) and thought she made out strange voices, talking in Western Pennsylvanian accents. Locals, she thought to herself, standing right near me, but not talking to me. They came and went. Somewhere, she thought, I have a body, still, and it’s lying down, and they’re coming and talking around me, but not to me. She pieced together the scenario: I must be in the hospital.

  The effort of listening was a real exertion, and she could only make it for a short time before retreating into the sluggish and non-linear thought of sleep.

  “Rose darling, can you hear me?”

  It was her mother’s voice. Yes, I can hear you! She wanted to cry out, but then she remembered that in the excitement of hearing, she had forgotten how to keep hold of her mouth. And she hadn’t remembered how to talk yet—that was something completely different. She wondered if her mother were holding her hand and stroking her face. That would have been a lovely sensation, but she could feel nothing.

  “How’s she doing?” rumbled a man’s deep voice, and she recognized Bear. I must have had a bad accident, she thought. They all came out to see me.

  “Ask her, Bear. You’re supposed to talk to people in comas, as though they can hear you. She just might be able to hear us, and not respond. That’s how it was for me.”

  It was her sister’s voice, and Rose was moved to tears, if only she could find her eyes and tear ducts and remember how to cry. You’re right, Blanche, she cried out. But I can’t find my body, so I can’t tell you you’re right. Please, keep talking to me!

  “Rose, how are you feeling?” Bear said, a touch of uncertainty in his voice. “You’re looking a little better this morning. That bruise on your head doesn’t look so bad.”

  “You had quite a fall, Rose,” her mother said. “The doctor said you fell almost straight on your skull. We’re very grateful you didn’t break your neck.”

  “We’re hoping you’ll come out of this soon,” Blanche said softly. “It might be a while before you’re able to do everything you used to do, but it looks as though there’s a good chance you’ll be all right, once you wake up.”

  I am—I will! Rose tried to cry. I’ve already found my ears, and if I have some more sleep, I’m sure I’ll remember how to see again. It’s just a matter of time.

  Encouraged, Rose listened to her family speak to her, and rested from her own efforts. They were right. She would be well soon. She knew it.

  HIS

  Forty-eight hours had passed, and still Rose remained in her coma, still as death, not moving. Fish, Bear, Blanche, and her mom took turns sitting by her bed as often as they could, chatting with her, reading to her, encouraging her.

  The surgeon who examined her, Dr. Barnes, was not particularly helpful or hopeful. He seemed (Fish thought) to have a cold, impatient air about him, and, when he found out from Jean’s questions that she was a nurse, became more frosty with her instead of giving more of an explanation for his diagnosis. Fish was glad when he left the room.

  After Fish got some sleep at the hotel where the Briers were staying, he returned to the hospital and found Rose alone. He paused, watching her still features behind the breathing tubes, trying to ignore the ventilator which filled and deflated her lungs in slow rhythm.

  Then a nurse came up to him and told him the rest of the family was in conference with the director of the hospital. He was escorted to a small sitting room, where Bear and the Briers were seated on chairs, listening to a heavy-set woman with powerful shoulders, curly short brown hair and large eyes, with a brusque but familiar, almost too invasively familiar, manner. He recognized her after a moment as Dr. Prosser, whom he had met at the French restaurant at the beginning of the semester, the one who had had Kateri Kovach investigated as a potential criminal. She looked up as Fish came in and looked away without acknowledgement.

  One of Fish’s faults had always been that he took an instant dislike to some people, for no reason at all, other than he didn’t like the way they looked. He knew it was unfair. Father Raymond had prodded him into attempting to be a bit more charitable in his thoughts. So now he stood by the door and tried not to show his feelings of animosity towards the female doctor. He wished it had been any other doctor besides her.

  Dr. Prosser was outlining what she saw as the problems in Rose’s case. “We’re keeping her under observation, but I have to tell you that Dr. Barnes isn’t giving us much hope. Now, I’m not saying she’s permanently damaged, but it’s problematic as to whether or not she’ll wake up any time soon. So, what I recommend is that we ask Dr. Murray to come and evaluate her. Dr. Murray is an excellent doctor who specializes in working with comatose patients. She used to work here, but now she is the head of the Graceton Long-Term Care Facility. If I were you, I would ask her to come and give her opinion.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Jean was saying. “Is she nearby?”

  “Quite. Graceton is out in the countryside, but only about a half hour from here. I’ll call her today.”

  “We very much appreciate that, Dr. Prosser,” Jean was saying. Fish wondered if Rose had ever told Jean about Dr. Prosser’s strident pro-abortion stance. Not that it mattered now, but he was curious.

  Dr. Prosser rose. “Very good then.” As she turned to go to the door, she encountered Fish, who made to open the door for her, but Dr. Prosser swiftly grasped the door handle herself with a tight smile. Her eyes hovered on Fish, and she paused.

  “You look familiar,” she said slowly.

  “I had dinner with you and some of the University of Pittsburgh faculty,” Fish said politely. “Back in September.”

  “Was that it? Thought I recognized you.” The big woman was scrutinizing his features with a brazenness that he found embarrassing. He half-wondered if she was matching him up to mug photos.

  “Were you in a car accident?” she asked abruptly.

  Fish instinctively brushed the scar on his cheek, almost protectively. “No.”

  The doctor’s look seemed to say, “You sure look like it.” She turned away, opened the door, and walked out of the room. Fish watched her go. Nasty, nasty woman, he thought. It wasn’t getting any easier to like her.

  He looked back at the family, but they were all huddled together, talking, and hadn’t noticed his exchange with the doctor. Jean, her jaw tensed, was handling the situation as well as could be expected, and Blanche had a protective arm around her mother. Bear was due home the next day for his work, but Blanche wanted to stay on, and was asking him to delay going back. Bear wanted to, but wasn’t sure if he could.

  Fish sat on the outside of the circle, thinking. His thoughts traveled back to Donna, and wondered again about her presence at the hospital. Was it a sign of a guilty conscience? Or worse, a desire to finish the job?

  Donna was another person to whom he had taken an instant disliking, but he was less inclined to be open-minded in her case. He had called the dean and reported seeing Donna at the hospital the night of Rose’s accident. But all the dean could tell him was that Donna hadn’t returned to school after break, and had indicated her desire to take the rest of the semester off.

  Dr. Murray from Graceton Long-Term Care facility, who arrived at lunchtime that day, was a decided contrast to Dr. Prosser. She had more of a bedside manner, and although with her build and wavy hair, she bore a passing resemblance to Dr. Prosser, there was a distinctly different manner. She was soft-spoken and somber, and listened intently to Jean and Blanche’s descriptions of what had happened to Rose.

  “That’s very unfor
tunate,” she said as they stood in the hospital corridor. “Let me go and see her, and then I can give you my opinion.”

  As they went into Rose’s room, however, Dr. Murray drew up short on seeing the patient’s face. She said nothing for a moment, then went forward to Rose’s side. “I thought her name sounded familiar,” she said at last, the sadness in her face deepening. “This is the student I just met with a few days ago. She was doing a paper of some kind.”

  Fish and the other family members exchanged glances. “That’s what she was doing on the day she fell,” Jean said with an effort. “Her friend from school said she was interviewing doctors.”

  “Yes. She talked with me,” the doctor said woodenly, and slowly shook her head. “I’m very, very sorry.” At last she said, “Well, if you don’t mind waiting in the other room, I’ll begin.”

  The family filed over to the waiting room, where they sat together, waiting. They attempted to talk, but eventually settled into silence. It was as if they had fallen asleep themselves. We’re all praying, Fish thought to himself. We’re all hoping that there’s some hope.

  When Dr. Murray returned, she sat down in the remaining chair by the bed, and with a sigh, took out her clipboard of notes. “I’m running some tests,” she said. “Comas are very mysterious. We still are not sure exactly what causes them, and how they end.” She looked around at the family. “If she doesn’t come out of it within the next few days, though, there’s a chance that she could be in the coma much longer. And it may be an indication of some permanent damage.”

  Jean bit her lip and nodded. Dr. Murray put away her clipboard and cleared her throat. “I wanted to make an offer to you,” she said. “Dr. Prosser may have told you that I’m the director of a facility for long-term care of people in a vegetative state. Normally we don’t take people until they’ve been in a coma like this one for some time. But I recognize that keeping your daughter in a hospital for an extended period of time like this can be quite difficult for you, as well as expensive. We do have an opening, and I would be willing to accept your daughter as a patient in our facility, on the chance that this will be a temporary situation and she will wake up soon. And if that doesn’t come to pass, I would be quite willing to discuss having her with us for as long as we need to. Financially, I’m sure we can make some kind of arrangement.”

  “That’s quite generous of you,” Jean said with an effort, and Dr. Murray shook her head.

  “Not at all. At times we are able to offer assistance to people in your position, and when we can, I’m quite happy to offer it. Do you live near here?”

  “Actually, we’re living in New Jersey,” Jean said. “And it is such a long way away.”

  “I realize that,” Dr. Murray said, “And you’ll have to make the decision about whether to transfer her to New Jersey or not, but here, she can have visits from her school friends, from those she was interacting with shortly before her accident. That might add more normality to her situation, and might encourage her to continue to heal.”

  “I can come and visit her regularly,” Fish said. Jean glanced at him gratefully.

  “We’ll certainly consider it,” Jean said. “That would be a real help. I’ve already been trying to work out the problems of the care in my head, and the situation seems rather grim. You see, I’m a full-time nurse myself, and my salary isn’t enormous. I would be happy to have Rose at home—I’m sure our insurance would cover some of it—but I’m afraid she would need, at least at first, more round-the-clock observation than I could afford to give her. And quality care at home isn’t inexpensive, as I’m sure you know.” Her voice trembled.

  “You don’t need to give me your decision now,” Dr. Murray said gently. “I just wanted to make the offer.”

  “We appreciate it, Doctor,” Jean said.

  On the Tuesday that school resumed after break, Mercy College had a special Mass said for the intention of Rose’s healing. Jean, Blanche, and Fish, who had all been personally invited by the president of the college, also came.When Fish escorted Jean into the chapel, they were met by Paul Fester, who was wearing a suit coat and tie. Several other soberly-dressed male students stood with him.

  “Mrs. Brier, I just wanted to tell you that my friends and I have been praying the rosary for Rose in the chapel every night,” he said earnestly.

  “Thank you, Paul,” Jean said to the tall student, whom she had met in person when he came to visit Rose in the hospital. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for Rose.”

  “I wish I could do more,” Paul said. “My friends and I hope to go over regularly to visit her.”

  “The doctor said visits would help her recover,” Jean said. “I appreciate it.” And she squeezed his hand, for a moment looking a bit more at ease. Fish wondered what she thought of Paul. He was certainly a wholesome, clean-cut guy. Much more the type of guy a mother would want dating her daughter.

  Paul and his friends were serving as ushers, and they led Fish and the Briers up to front seats in the chapel. Fish was surprised at how many students had come to the Mass.

  Still, there was a sense of heaviness in the air that was difficult to dispel. Afterwards, the crowd filed out into the darkness of the night like sleepwalkers. Fish said goodnight to Blanche and looked around for Jean.

  At last he spotted her, talking to a tiny nun in a blue habit.

  Something awakened in him, something that he hadn’t thought about for a very long time. The ancient nun was holding Jean’s hand and patting it, saying something over and over.

  Fish moved towards them as though he were climbing out of a dream. He paused beside Jean, and the nun looked into his eyes. Her blue eyes were penetrating and bright.

  “Fish, there you are. This is Sister Maria, Rose’s godmother. I knew her when I was at college here.”

  The wind billowed the nun’s veil in the haze of the spotlights outside the chapel. “It’s good to see you again, young man.”

  Jean faded away into the crowd of condolers, but Fish kept looking at the nun. She looked at him with her clear, surprisingly young eyes.

  “How did you know?” he said to her at last.

  The little nun’s face was peaceful despite its pain.

  “I am her godmother,” she reminded him mildly.

  Does that mean you automatically have foresight? he wanted to ask. “You said she was in danger.”

  The nun took his arm and drew him away from the crowd to a vacant spot beneath the thorny crabapples flanking the chapel.

  “She has been in danger ever since she was baptized.”

  Fish, trying to figure out if this was a theological statement about the fallenness of the world, nodded vaguely. “But what was the serpent in the grass you told me about?”

  “It wasn’t a literal snake, you know.”

  “I figured that.”

  “We just call it that, to illustrate that it was a hidden and unexpected danger.”

  “We?” There was a prickle in his spine.

  “My sisters and I. We have been praying for her, and for you. Come with me. You should hear the whole story.”

  14

  ...And the princess pricked herself on the sharp point and fell into a deep sleep...

  HIS

  Sister Maria crossed the parking lot and got into an ancient Honda Civic. “Do you have a car?” she asked.

  Fish nodded, and, glancing back at the Briers, got into his own car to go after her. As he followed the sputtering car off campus, he felt streams of emotion run over him. There was something pulsing with life here, and he, living in the twilight of grief, distrusted it. At the same time, he couldn’t stop until he found out what this was all about.

  The nun did not drive very far, parking her car on a residential street a few blocks from the college. He parked behind her, and got out. She led him down a sidewalk beside a wall, with Fish trailing after her. She began explaining where they were going.

  “My sisters and I live together in a little house. It
's all that's left of our convent. When we both entered, there were thirty-nine nuns in our cloister. But they're all gone now, died or moved on. Only we three—Sister Carmen, Sister Therese, and myself are left. You see, we were contemplative nuns, but we didn't want to leave the cloister for work in the world like so many of the others did. So the diocese was kind enough to give us a house by the church. I have become semi-active to maintain our house.”

  The little house was a thin brick building squashed between two other similar constructions. The windows had shades, but it hardly looked like a cloister.

  Inside, the light was a golden glow of lamps. With padding, delicate steps of a woman half her age, Sister Maria ushered him down a narrow corridor to the parlor. There, two other women sat in old-fashioned padded chairs below a huge gilt-framed Spanish painting of the Virgin Mary in a cloak of stars, upheld by an angel.

  “May I introduce you to my elder sister, Sister Carmen, and my younger sister, Mary Therese,” Sister Maria laid a fragile hand on his black jacket. “Sisters, this young man is a friend of Rose Brier.”

  Sister Carmen looked as though she were about ninety. Age had stooped her, but she still wore her blue veil with a full white wimple, and the same blue habit as Sister Maria. Behind thick glasses, her eyes were dim but aware. Therese, the youngest of the three sisters, had eyes that looked older, but her voice was considerably younger and she talked faster.