Tender Loving Care

by Andrew Neiderman

  After something happened to the mechanism in the hips, the legs wouldn’t work and Lillian lost interest in the big doll. We got her other dolls, ones that looked more like babies, and she took to them quickly. Eventually we put the big doll in the attic with some of Lillian’s other discarded things. I had forgotten all about it.

  Miriam hadn’t forgotten, or else the nurse had discovered it. What she did was dress it in one of Lillian’s old outfits. The doll’s hair was just a shade darker than Lillian’s. It was one of the reasons we had bought it so quickly.

  The scream that had begun in the depths of my soul tore through my paralysis and thundered over my vocal cords. When sound did emerge, it was a long, high-pitched “Nooooooo” that drove me back against the wall. Then, as if light were my enemy, I fumbled over the wall to get my fingers on the switch.

  Miriam and Mrs. Randolph must have been at the bottom of the stairway all the while. When I came out into the hall, they were coming up the steps. The nurse was yelling at me, and Miriam was crying and following her. I cringed against the wall, unable to express my surprise and shock. The nurse was coming at me fast.

  “What a terrible thing to do! Horrible. What did I tell you,” she said turning to Miriam, “he was drunk, right? What did you do to that child?” she shouted back at me.

  “Oh, Michael,” Miriam cried. I was in awe of them both. Never in my life had I been in such a state of confusion. I couldn’t explain anything; I couldn’t speak intelligently. I was babbling and crying myself.

  They charged past me into Lillian’s room. When the light went back on, I moved further away, toward the stairs. I heard Mrs. Randolph offering words of comfort. Miriam was supporting her with her own soothing words. Supposedly, they were calming down an hysterical child. As I listened to them, images of the big doll flashed across my mind and mixed and merged with the images of Lillian. It was maddening. Did I hear a child’s cry? Was it Lillian’s voice?

  “Shut that door,” Mrs. Randolph commanded, “before he comes back in here.”

  Miriam slammed it closed. I embraced myself protectively and leaned against the bannister. Their muffled voices grew lower and less excited. I stepped off the top step and let my downward momentum carry me to the bottom, moving like one in a dream who had no control of his direction and purpose.

  I stumbled into the living room. The records were still playing. There were far fewer checkers on the board, as if the game had been continued and was nearing completion. Retreating to the couch, I shook my head at everything and muttered my “no’s,” but only when I closed my eyes did I find any comfort. The darkness of my own mind was the safest darkness.

  I curled up in Miriam’s fetal position, my body moving in spasmodic jerks. I needed sleep; I needed escape. Everything was closing in around me. I was terribly afraid, more afraid than I could ever remember. I don’t know how long I was like that before the nurse came down, but the records had stopped. I was on the periphery of a deep sleep when she appeared.

  Her presence was so strong it tore through any barriers my mind had set up protectively. Her body radiated authority and demanded attention. She was truly magnetic, reaching through or around anything that stood between us. My eyelids flickered, straining to remain closed to keep me safe, but they couldn’t resist her demands. My vision was blurred at first, but as I gazed up at her standing in the doorway, she focused in sharply.

  She looked larger than ever. Light emanated from her white uniform. She was a power, a force, an emissary from Hell, a supernatural being. I couldn’t look away. My eyes were locked, my body frozen. She had cast a spell and seized me in her grip. As I waited for her to do with me what she would, I began to shiver. But I seemed unable to do anything to warm myself.

  “Now you’ve done it,” she said. Even though I could recognize her voice, it was different. She spoke from new heights. Her voice was filled with more tightness and control. I didn’t just hear her words; I was consumed by them. They penetrated my entire being and vibrated throughout my body. She was literally transmitting through me. I had become a pliable and obedient receiver. She took a step toward me. I brought my knees up against my stomach as tightly as I could.

  “You’ve ruined all my work,” she said, “and brought us back to the very beginning. You’re responsible for this. You deliberately destroyed everything that was good. You tore the scab off the wound and exposed the bare flesh. She’s bleeding again.”

  “Please,” I began. It didn’t even sound like me. It was as if someone within me was talking. I felt like a third party, an observer of the whole scene.

  She was practically standing over me by now. I had my hands pressed against my chest so hard I began to feel pain. I couldn’t look at her. The light around her shoulders was blinding.

  “I must insist that you stay away from Miriam. Tonight you’ll sleep someplace else. She might have to take Lillian into bed with her anyway. If I were you, I wouldn’t move from where you are,” she added, and with that she turned and walked to the doorway. She turned back to flick off the lamp and the lights, leaving me in darkness. I shuddered, but felt grateful that she was gone. I didn’t move for fear she would hear me and come back.

  I fell asleep wrapped up in myself, but a few times during the night I awoke to the sound of a child’s cry. I heard movement in the rooms above. I saw lights go on and off. I must have been hallucinating, too, because I thought the lights went on in the hall, and I saw Miriam walking with the big doll in her arms. One time I thought the records went back on and “Wooden Heart” was played. For me it was a night of terror, filled with sounds from the past and agony of the present.

  When I awoke to the sunlight coming through the windows, I felt as though I hadn’t slept at all. I was so exhausted, I could barely turn on the couch. My first moments of consciousness were dominated by confusion. I had forgotten where I was or why I was there. It was difficult to work it all back into some semblance of order. The chronology of the night before was jumbled.

  The pain in my head reminded me that I had drunk quite a bit of whiskey. The images began to fall into place, taking their positions like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I remembered the music and the anger, the darkness and the doll’s appearance, but everything was vague after that.

  I sat up. The house was quiet, except for a continuous smooth sound of something rubbing. After a moment I realized it was the phonograph. A record had ended and not rejected. The needle was caught in the clear area, and the monotonous sound was amplified through the speakers.

  I stood up too fast, grew terribly dizzy, and had to sit down again. I had to have the worst hangover of my life. My mouth was so dry that my tongue felt like burnt toast. Finally I was able to stand up and steady myself sufficiently to navigate to the phonograph. I turned it off, noting that the stuck record was “Wooden Heart.”

  I looked about the room. As the reality of what had happened the night before sunk in, I became more and more enraged. She had gone too far; she had gone berserk. I had to do something about it. I forced myself to think clearly. It was Monday. Perhaps Dr. Turner would be back in his office. If he weren’t, at least Mrs. Greenstreet would be there and I wouldn’t have to deal with that impersonal answering service.

  Of course, I didn’t trust Mrs. Greenstreet. I was sure she didn’t like me, and I didn’t want to have to explain things to her. Who was she anyway? She wasn’t a doctor. As I stood there thinking and planning, something else occurred to me. Maybe Dr. Turner never left. Maybe nothing was wrong with his brother. Maybe he and the nurse had concocted that story about his dying brother as a way of keeping me off their backs. He did sound somewhat annoyed the last time I spoke to him. If I got Mrs. Greenstreet on the phone, would she tell me the truth? Obviously not. I couldn’t just call her. I had to go down there and see for myself.

  I looked at my watch. It was half past six, which was of course too early for doctor’s hours or the office to be opened, but I didn’t want to remain around the house an
d wait. I didn’t trust Mrs. Randolph. Who knew what else she was planning and what else she could do, especially if she had any inkling that I was going off to do something about her.

  I listened hard. There wasn’t a sound from above. The both of them were asleep. Why not, after the torment they put me through all night? I thought. Bending over like a thief, I walked softly to the doorway of the living room and listened again. Nothing. Just the dripping from the faucet in the kitchen. As quietly as I could, I went to the front door, waited and listened again, and then opened it carefully, making only the slightest noise.

  In an instant I was out of the house. I paused on the steps. She could be looking out the front window, I thought. I pressed myself against the front of the porch and slid down to the side of the house, keeping my body from the view of anyone above. Then, after another pause, I charged forward, weaving in and out of some bushes to get to the car. I knelt down behind it and peered up at the front windows.

  All of them were dark and empty. I knew she could be peeking out the side of a curtain, but as far as I could tell, she wasn’t there. I slipped into the car from the passenger’s side and got behind the wheel. I realized they might hear the sound of the engine starting, but by then it would be too late for them to stop me. Mrs. Randolph couldn’t use Miriam or Lillian or anything to get in my way. I’d be gone.

  As soon as the engine started, I looked up at the windows again. But again, I saw no one. I smiled to myself. It was OK; everything was going to be all right. I put the car into gear and slowly eased it out of the driveway and onto the highway. I looked back only once when I pulled away from the house. The building appeared asleep, quiet, caught in the morning mist, stuck in time like an old picture postcard. The sight of it filled me with sadness, but I hurried on to Dr. Turner’s office and what I hoped would be a solution.

  Fortunately, there was very little traffic on the highway that morning. I wasn’t concentrating properly on my driving because I was in a daze. I was remembering old times. But the sequences and the images became confused and absurd. I saw myself as a boy playing with Lillian. And even though I never knew Miriam when she was that young, I recalled her when she was Lillian’s age. I kept moving in and out of these wild daydreams. When I finally saw Dr. Turner’s office building ahead of me, I breathed with relief.

  There wasn’t a car in the parking lot yet. I started to pull in there and then thought that if either Mrs. Greenstreet or Dr. Turner saw my car they might not go in. It wasn’t a very logical idea, I know, but nevertheless I didn’t want to take a single chance. I drove around to the street behind the building and parked my car there. I got out and walked over on the sidewalk.

  It was nearly seven thirty now, and more of the world was waking up. There was a great deal more traffic and more people. It seemed to me that just about everyone looked my way. Some people in passing cars actually stared with very curious and surprised faces. It wasn’t until I caught my reflection in a storefront window that I realized why. I looked terrible.

  My hair was wild. My shirt was ripped. I had no idea how that had happened. My arms were smeared with dirt from when I was down by the cow barn, and my pants were terribly creased and dirty. My face was streaked, too. I had no idea how I would clean up and I didn’t want to take the chance of missing Mrs. Greenstreet’s or Dr. Turner’s arrival, so I cleaned myself the best I could with my handkerchief and then took a position behind a large hedge at the front of Dr. Turner’s building. I squatted there and waited for a little more than an hour before Mrs. Greenstreet finally arrived.

  I watched her get out of her car. She was so damn precise about everything: the way she smoothed down her skirt, the way she rolled up the windows, and the way she locked all the doors. She stood back to study the vehicle as though it were about to undergo some sort of inspection. I saw how careful she was about putting it just right in the parking spot.

  In the daylight, without the heavy desk around her and the papers and intercom, Mrs. Greenstreet looked a great deal more vulnerable. It made me wonder why I was so timid with this woman. She looked so thin and fragile. The sunlight on her face emphasized the bones of her skull. I had a vision of her stopping on the sidewalk and then crumpling to the ground as her skin slid off her bones. Before she was halfway to the door, I popped out at her.

  She took one look at me, gasped, and brought her hands to her throat. For a moment I thought she wouldn’t recognize who I was and would either scream or start running down the street. Her pocketbook dangled in front of her like a shield, and she looked back at me with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Mr. Oberman?” she said.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I nearly didn’t recognize you. What ... what are you doing here? Where were you standing just now?”

  “I was waiting for you or Dr. Turner. Right behind this hedge,” I said pointing behind me. She looked at it as though she had never seen it before. Then she looked back at me, her face still registering a greal deal of confusion and fear.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to see you and I didn’t want any excuses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where’s Dr. Turner?”

  “He’s not here. He won’t be here for a few more days. His brother passed away last night. What’s happened to you?” she asked, taking her usual strong, cold posture again. She lowered her pocketbook and stiffened up. “You look at though you were sleeping behind that hedge all night as well.”

  “I’ve been having a bad time, Mrs. Greenstreet, a bad time. I have to talk to the doctor.”

  “That’s not possible just yet.”

  “It’s got to be possible,” I said raising my voice some. She studied me a moment, blinking rapidly.

  “Perhaps we can call someone else: Dr. Wasserman or Dr.—”

  “No. Let’s go upstairs,” I demanded, “to your office.”

  She hesitated. I saw her look to the side for some avenue of escape. She turned slightly to gaze back at her car, but she had locked the doors. Running back to it would be no good. She could wait for someone else to pull into the parking lot, I thought, but I wouldn’t stand for it and she knew better.

  “What for?”

  “I need some information. You’ll help me.”

  “I don’t know what I can do. I’m just manning the office, Mr. Oberman.”

  “Let’s go,” I said. I jerked my head toward the front door and stepped back. “Upstairs.” It came out like a loud whisper, which had the effect of making it sound more threatening. She shuddered and then moved to the front door. I waited right behind her as she unlocked it. I knew she was taking her time, still hoping someone else would arrive. But no one did. In a few moments we were inside walking up that short stairway. I followed just a few feet behind her, listening to the click of her heels echo down the clean, smooth corridors.

  “Dr. Turner is going to be very upset with you, Mr. Oberman,” she said, turning back to me before she opened the office door.

  “I’m very upset with him ... going away and leaving me there with Mrs. Randolph. You don’t know what’s been going on.”

  “I can imagine,” she said, and she opened the office door. I followed her in. “Dr. Turner isn’t away on a holiday, you know,” she said hanging up her coat quickly. “It isn’t that he deliberately deserted you.” She moved to the security of her damn large desk, but she didn’t sit down. “What is it you want from me so early in the morning?”

  “Get out my wife’s file,” I commanded. “I want to see the resumé on Mrs. Randolph, and I want the telephone number of the agency that sent her to me.”

  “Dr. Turner isn’t going to like this.”

  “I don’t give a damn!” I said. I leaned over the desk, my face inches from hers. “Don’t you understand what I’ve been going through? I want her out of my house, and if he won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. Get the information.”

  She moved quickly to the file cabinet. I watched her search through the
drawer. When she lifted a folder out, I went over to her and snatched it from her hands.

  “OK,” I said seeing what I wanted. “Go back to your work.” She returned to the desk and sat down, but instead of doing any of the things she was supposed to do, she stared at me continuously.

  The resumé on Mrs. Randolph listed her past jobs. I saw that she had worked in a sanitarium. There were recommendations attached and I perused a few. I noted that on a couple of them there was a comment concerning her tendency to overstep her authority. On one letter, it was underlined. I thought, perhaps, Dr. Turner had done it. The rest of the letters and comments were all laudable, filled with hyperboles.

  “I hope they make my comments part of her resumé some day,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. I want to use Dr. Turner’s office. I have to call this agency.” I spoke with authority. It was what Mrs. Greenstreet was used to. I could see that now. She ate timid people for breakfast. “Is that door locked?”

  “Of course. I can’t let you in there. I ...”

  What she saw in my face must have been enough. I didn’t raise my voice; I didn’t threaten her with any violent gesture. I did take a few steps toward her, but my arms were down, my hands still holding the file. She said nothing else. She opened the top drawer of her desk, took out a set of keys, and walked to Dr. Turner’s inner office door. I waited right behind her as she unlocked it. I was so close I could get a strong whiff of her perfumed hair spray. It was nauseating.

  “I just want to use the phone in there,” I said. “After that, I’ll leave you be.”

  She stepped back, her bony hands clenched into tiny fists and held against her hips. Her skin was white around her lips.

  “I want you to know that all of this is highly irregular and reprehensible behavior. I’ll have to report every detail of it to Dr. Turner when he calls in.”