Tender Loving Care

by Andrew Neiderman

  “I’ll just get the pot,” I said.

  “We need more cream too,” Mrs. Randolph said as I started toward the kitchen.

  There wasn’t enough coffee left. Miriam had made barely three cups. I had to brew a whole new potful. When I came back to tell them, Mrs. Randolph suggested I take in the dirty dishes while we waited. Before I could reply, she handed me a few. I cleared the table around her while she went on talking. Just before I finished, she said, “We’ll have the coffee in the living room, Michael. There’s something I want to watch on television.”

  Neither of them saw my look of amazement. They just got up and went into the living room, leaving me with the dishes and the silverware. I stacked everything in the dishwasher and then set out a tray, cups, a creamer, and some spoons. When the coffee was perked, I brought it into the living room. Mrs. Randolph was seated in my chair with her feet up on my hassock. The television was tuned in to one of those dumb sitcoms that I hated. Miriam knew how much I hated them, but she sat on the couch, oblivious to it all, working on a crossword puzzle. I set the tray down, but before I could take a seat, Mrs. Randolph had another suggestion.

  “I noticed the garbage was quite full in the kitchen,” she said. “It’s starting to stink.”

  “Oh, she’s right, Michael.”

  “So?”

  “Why don’t you take it outside? With this warm weather and all, it’s not too sanitary.”

  “I’ll take it out in the morning, like I always do.”

  “I wouldn’t leave it in there overnight. It might attract mice, even rats.”

  “She’s right, Michael,” Miriam repeated. I was about to say something sarcastic when the nurse clicked her cup and saucer. She looked up at me with a threatening smile.

  “All right, I’ll take out the garbage.”

  “You might as well feed the dog when you do that,” Mrs. Randolph said.

  “There’s a can of food under the sink in the closet, Michael,” Miriam said. “And you can give him whatever leftovers you saved.”

  “I didn’t save any leftovers.”

  “Well, you should have,” the nurse said.

  I cursed under my breath, but I did it all. When I came in again, they were finished with their coffee. Mine was already cold in the cup. Mrs. Randolph told me to put the cups and saucers with the other dishes in the dishwasher before I started it. Miriam wore her simple smile throughout all of this, but I grew more and more infuriated. I was going to have a drink, a stiff one, and go out on the porch, but when I went to the cabinet, I found all the whiskey gone.

  “What the hell .... Where’s all the whiskey?” I called. We kept it in the hutch in the dining room. No one answered, so I called again, much louder. All I heard was their laughter at something on television. I slammed the hutch closet door and went into the dining room in heavy, long strides. Neither of them looked away from the television set. “I said, what happened to all my whiskey? There isn’t a bottle in the closet.”

  “I don’t know, Michael,” Miriam said. “Maybe you drank it.”

  “I didn’t drink a half a dozen bottles. Who took it?”

  “You drink too much anyway,” Mrs. Randolph said without turning her attention from the set.

  “You took my whiskey?”

  She turned slowly.

  “Do you know that alcohol is the most used drug?”

  “I don’t care about any of that. I want my whiskey.”

  “I know nothing about it,” she said, “but if you feel you need something, I have something which is relatively safe.” She started to get up. I backed away.

  “No. I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Michael! That isn’t very nice. Here Mrs. Randolph is offering you something to help calm your nerves ....”

  “Just a muscle relaxant,” Mrs. Randolph said. There was that smile on her face again, the one she had given me in her room during our argument.

  “No,” I said. It was more of a whisper. “I ... don’t want anything. I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to bed.”

  “That might be best,” Mrs. Randolph said.

  “Don’t forget to say good night to Lillian,” Miriam called.

  As I turned toward the stairway, I heard Mrs. Randolph say, “He’s very high-strung. No wonder he can’t hold down a job.”

  I couldn’t fall asleep. Miriam and Mrs. Randolph remained downstairs until nearly twelve o’clock. It wasn’t something Miriam was used to doing. She usually went to sleep early and always went to sleep before I did. When she finally did come into the room, I pretended to be asleep. She tiptoed about, moving things gently and softly. With just a little light from the bathroom, she got undressed and slipped into one of her sheer nightgowns. When she came out of the bathroom and got into bed, I acted as though she had awoken me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “That’s all right. I’ve been sleeping on and off.”

  “You poor thing,” she said. I felt her touch my forehead and reached up quickly to take her hand.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said. “Nothing.”

  “Mrs. Randolph says you’re much too tense. She says you’re headed for a nervous breakdown.”

  “Listen to me, Miriam. Listen. She’s wrong. She’s not good; she’s bad. She’s filling your mind with crazy things.”

  “What crazy things, Michael?”

  I hovered in silence, afraid to respond, unsure of how to begin. The wrong words always lingered ominously about me. I could hear myself saying them. She’s been nurturing your mental illness, keeping the disease healthy instead of killing it. You and I know Lillian’s not in that room. We’ve got to stop pretending. Of course, I couldn’t even utter the first syllable of such an answer.

  “Michael? What crazy things?”

  “She’s making you into a hypochondriac, and now she’s trying to do the same to me ... wanting me to take pills, changing our food habits, trying to make me think I’m an alcoholic. She’s gone overboard. She’s a medical fanatic!”

  “Oh, that’s silly. She hasn’t done or said anything that hasn’t made sense.”

  “Miriam, listen to me,” I said, raising my voice and sitting up. But before I could continue, there was a soft knocking at our door.

  “What is it?” Miriam called. The door was half open, as usual, but for a moment, I could see no one. The level of my gaze actually fell to what would have been Lillian’s height. I remembered the nights she had awoken from a nightmare and come running to our room. Sometimes we would take her into bed with us; sometimes I would go back and stay with her. “Lillian?” Miriam said. My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath. Then the nurse appeared, wearing that damn blue dashiki.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but your loud talking has awoken Lillian. She’s been crying.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I said.

  “That’s because you were talking so loud.”

  In the darkness, with just the hall light behind her, the nurse was silhouetted in a sinister shadow. Her face was completely in the dark. The periphery of light made her appear supernatural. She was a nightmare incarnate, a physical presence born out of the darkest fears and the bottom of my deepest terrors. I nearly jumped when Miriam touched my arm.

  “Did she fall asleep again?”

  “No,” the nurse said. “Michael should go to her. She’s asking for her daddy.”

  I shook my head, but Miriam couldn’t see. I cringed but she didn’t sense it. I wanted to lunge forward and beat against the blue darkness. I wanted to destroy her and stamp out her hateful life. But Miriam was already moaning.

  “Poor little Lillian. Oh, hurry, Michael. Tell her a story.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Randolph said. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I thought you should know.”

  “Of course. Thank you,” Miriam said. “Michael?”

  “I’m going.”

  Reluctantly, I got out of bed. The nurse stepped away from the door. S
he was gone as quickly as she had appeared, an evaporating illusion. For a moment I thought maybe she was never there; maybe it was only a dream. But Miriam spoke again.

  “Call me if you need me.”

  “I won’t need you. Go to sleep, dear.”

  I walked out of the room slowly. I knew Miriam would be listening keenly. There was no way not to go into Lillian’s room and then pretend that I had. The lateness of the hour, the tension of the moment, the shock of being asked to do something that I had often done when Lillian was alive—all of it conspired against me. My body was cold, growing numb from the agonizing. I was barely able to move. Once again the nurse had succeeded in turning Lillian’s room into a torture chamber.

  I looked for Mrs. Randolph, but the door to her room was closed and she was no longer in the hall. She has done her vicious duty, I thought, and now she has retreated with satisfaction to the comfort and warmth of her bed. Even so, I was sure she was listening like Miriam, so she could hear me go into Lillian’s room. She might even hear my words. I envisioned her lying there in her warm darkness, smiling with glee.

  I entered Lillian’s room like a sleepwalker. The wheelchair intimidated me so I kept my distance from it, and I avoided looking at it. I avoided looking at everything. I kept my eyes closed as I inched toward the bed. I kept thinking that Miriam was listening through the thin walls. Do it right, I told myself. Get it over with and get out. In the morning I would think of a solution. I wouldn’t rest until I had a solution. I would call Dr. Turner and see if I could make an appointment to see him. This madness had to come to an end.

  Suddenly I heard the tinkling of the chimes and then the sound of gentle sobbing. I spun around. She was there in the darkness making Lillian sounds. A hot flush came over me. My face was on fire. The sobbing grew louder.

  “Michael?” Miriam called. “Is it all right?”

  For a moment I couldn’t move; I couldn’t speak. The sounds she was making were so true.

  “Daddy,” she said. “I’m scared.”

  I screamed unheard. Oh God! I brought my fists to my head and pressed my knuckles against my temples. I bit my lower lip so hard I could taste the blood. I took a few steps toward her. She was in the corner, against the wall, unmoving, barely discernible.

  “Don’t do this,” I whispered. “Please.”

  “I’m scared,” she repeated in a little girl’s voice.

  “Michael?” Miriam said again. “I’m coming.”

  “No!” I shouted. “It’s all right.” I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. Maybe if I could draw up Lillian’s face, I thought, maybe I could do this. “Daddy’s here,” I said. “I won’t leave you,” I added. I opened my eyes quickly. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she was satisfied.

  “Tell me a story,” she said. “Tell me a story.”

  I was choking up. The pain in my throat was so intense I thought I would gush blood. When the words came, they were born out of excruciating agony. I tried desperately to control my voice, to keep the hysteria down. Miriam was listening hard, I thought. I could shatter her in a moment. Everything would come down around us.

  “Once upon a time,” I said, “there was a kingdom made of ice cream and candy ...”

  As I went on, the blue darkness moved ever so slightly and quietly toward the doorway. In the hall light, it took the nurse’s shape. She didn’t look my way as I went on with the story. She slipped out of the room, moving on a floor of air, floating, it seemed to me. She was like a ghost. I didn’t even see her door open. It was more like she passed through it.

  I continued the story, my voice drifting. I spoke as one hypnotized, reciting. There was another Michael Oberman within me talking. I waited patiently for him to finish. When it was over, I backed out of the room. For a moment I stood in the doorway as though I wanted to be sure Lillian was asleep. It was what Miriam would expect me to do. Then I went back to our bed.

  “Is she all right now?”

  “Asleep.”

  “Another nightmare. She has so many lately. I wonder when they’ll stop.”

  “Nightmares never stop.”

  “You’re so good, Michael, so loving and so good.”

  “I want to go to sleep,” I said. “I’m tired.”

  “I know,” she said. I felt her lean over and kiss my forehead. Her breasts grazed me and I was aroused.

  “Oh, Miriam,” I said, “I’m afraid too. Hold me.”

  She ran her arm under my head and drew me to her. I pressed my lips to her neck and followed the smooth line to her shoulder, pushing the nightgown away from her bare skin with my nose and mouth. There was just the slightest moan from her lips.

  “You’re so warm,” I said, “so soft and warm.”

  She kissed my cheek and brushed my hair. I moved my hand up over her thigh, taking the nightgown up with it. She didn’t resist; she didn’t whimper and pull away as she had so many times before during these past months. Her compliance encouraged and excited me. Our lips met and held. The tip of my tongue touched the tip of hers. Each time we made contact, I increased my demands. She was cooperative and receptive. I was amazed but terrified that she would retreat and leave me hanging.

  “It’s been so long,” I whispered. “So long.”

  “I know,” she said. “But since the nurse came, I’ve grown stronger.”

  I couldn’t believe she said that. I wanted to pull back, do anything but be obligated to Mrs. Randolph in another way. But I couldn’t resist Miriam’s embrace. It was as if we were making love for the first time ever. All the mystery and ecstasy was renewed. I wanted to explore every part of her. My fingers were on their own, searching, touching, separating. She had put her arms up, and I had her nightgown to her neck. I kissed her breasts, lifting and nibbling with my lips. Her body had grown hot, but it brought a most delicious salty taste to my mouth.

  I buried my face between her thighs and kissed her moist pocket until she moaned louder and tugged on my head, drawing me up to her and separating her legs to make room for me. I helped her lift herself around me, and then I brought my erection to her, entering her as gently as I could. In my mind she was virginal, pure and untouched. She accepted me with a yes. Sex was reawakening the sleeping woman within her.

  Despite the hunger, we were loving and gentle with one another. Our caresses and our rhythms were almost quiet. We drove at each other with a graceful affection as would two people concerned with one another’s needs. Her climaxes came almost one after another. Mine finally came in long, driving thrusts. Her body shook and trembled, but she relished every moment, cherishing every second until we were both still.

  When it was over, I rested the side of my face against her breasts and drank in the sweet scent of her body. The beat of her heart was so strong and quick it pounded through my cheekbone. We remained like that for minutes, neither willing to break the magic spell. Finally, I turned over. She said nothing. She got up and went to the bathroom. When she came out, I reached for her and said, “Miriam—”

  “Shh,” she said. “We don’t want to wake Lillian again.”

  She got into bed beside me, but then she turned and fell asleep in the fetal position with her back to me. I was up most of the night, tossing and turning, unable to deal with the mixture of emotions. Some time before morning, I fell asleep, but awoke when she did.

  The events of the night before were so dreamlike I was afraid that the beautiful part hadn’t really happened. Maybe I had already lost touch with reality and entered Miriam’s insane world, I thought.

  I remembered my plan to call Dr. Turner. That thought finally got me up and going. I showered, dressed as quickly as I could, and went downstairs. Miriam had all sorts of things prepared for breakfast, but Mrs. Randolph was not there. Satisfied that she wasn’t in any of the other downstairs rooms, I asked Miriam about her.

  “It’s sort of her day off, Michael,” she said. “So I thought we would treat her like a queen.”

  “What are you talking ab
out?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything arranged. First, I want you to bring this up to her,” she said. I looked at the tray she had on the counter. Dishes were covered, and a small pot of coffee was steaming.

  “What is that?”

  “Breakfast. She wants her breakfast in bed. She asked that you be the waiter. It’s all ready so take it.”

  “You’re kidding. This is too much. If you think I’m going to—”

  “Michael, please.” She smiled. Her face was rosy, robust, and healthy. Sensual memories of the night before passed through my mind, but our lovemaking hadn’t caused Miriam to become much stronger mentally. No direct confrontation, I thought, no direct confrontation with Miriam. It has to be done another way.

  “All right,” I said, “but I think this is very silly.” I grabbed the tray.

  “Careful. Don’t spill anything.”

  I nodded and went up the stairs. Balancing the tray carefully with my left hand, I knocked on the nurse’s door. “Enter,” she said as though she were some kind of queen. I opened it roughly and nearly dropped the tray. The dishes shook, and some of the coffee spilled out. Mrs. Randolph was all smiles because of it. I felt like a buffoon.

  She sat up in her bed, the blanket drawn just over her bosom. Her arms lay outside the blanket, and her naked shoulders indicated she had slept in the nude. I didn’t hide my expression of anger, but she looked unaffected.

  “Put it right here,” she said patting the blanket before her. “Carefully.”

  “Who do you think you are?” I said after setting it down. I backed away quickly. Anyone would have thought I was afraid of her touch. “Huh? Making Miriam do this. And how could you do what you did last night. It was cruel; it was sick.”

  For a moment she ignored me and looked under each plate. She poked at the scrambled eggs with her fork and smirked.

  “A little overcooked.”

  “How could you do it?”

  “Do what?” she snapped.

  “Pretend you were Lillian.”

  She broke a piece of the roll and buttered it slowly and meticulously. It was as if someone’s life depended on how evenly the butter was spread. Then she poured the coffee into her cup. I stood there glaring down at her. She didn’t look up.