It fell, a flood of silver, over her shoulders, over the sides of the chair, all the way to the dirty floor.
She stared directly at the wall behind me and waited, holding perfectly still.
I realized suddenly that she was not an old lady at all. She held her chin up and though I am embarrassed to say this, her bosoms were not old-lady bosoms when she sat up straight, and her feet were just narrow pretty white feet. Her hair was still a little damp, which meant she had taken a shower. I could smell soap.
I blinked, confused, waiting for her to go back to looking like she did before.
She glanced at me once, as if to say, Well?
So since I had not used a page yet today I drew her. I drew her all afternoon.
You start with the structure of the thing. Animal, vegetable, mineral. Same as if you’re drawing a machine. The construction of a thing, the underneath, implies the exterior. That is what it says in my book of medical illustrations. “The body’s blueprint is of utmost importance in every aspect of accurate representation; the interior will dictate the exterior. To overlook the structure is a grave, if regrettably common, error.”
Cheekbone, brow bone, nose: “A single line should suffice. The bones are not a jigsaw puzzle: The body is of a piece.”
Doris did not blink, or if she blinked, she did it so fast I did not notice.
Jawbone, line of throat.
Clavicle, shoulder, breast, ribs.
When the structure is completed—waist, hip, thigh, knee, calf, the complexity of ankle, foot—there is time for detail work. The shape of the eye socket, the eye. The line of the lips. Ears and fingers.
“The actuality of the thing will emerge if sufficient attention is given to each layer of the object as it is drawn. If done in haste, without consideration for variants and structural integrity, the drawing, far from being an accurate representation, will instead lie lifeless on the page.”
Rumple of housedress. Tiny blue flowers. Cornflowers. Petals of cornflowers. Breath beneath the dress, space between the dress and the belly. Slight hills of thighs.
The light faded, so I could only see the left side of her. She didn’t move. Her hands curved over the ends of the arms of the chair, cupped because the muscles of the hands, “in their state of full relaxation, do not extend, unlike most muscles, which gives the hand a natural curve, as if about to clench. Drawn without this, the hand will appear stiff. This is the mark of the amateur.”
Her hair coiled in thick ropes on the floor. I stood up and went over to the chair, bent in, and studied the color of her eyes. She stared at the wall. My breath ruffled the hairs on her temples. I sat back down and made her eyes the color of fresh mud: brown, green, orange, olive.
“To give the eyeball its natural light, shading will be necessary. The living eye is wet and curved, not dry and flat.”
It was dark in the room. From memory, I shaded in the shadows underneath her eyes and cheekbones. She sat there, a shadow in the chair. From the hall, a triangle of light fell on the floor and voices passed the doorway on their way to dinner.
I finished. The whispering of my pencils stopped.
I stood up and turned on the light. She blinked. I tore the page carefully out of the sketch pad, and before I could change my mind I laid it in her lap.
She picked it up with both hands and studied it for a long time. Then she stood up and went over to the small mirror that hung over the dresser. She held it up next to her face and stared at her selves.
The drawing was my best one.
She glanced at me in the mirror and said, like it hurt to talk, “My face.”
I shrugged and pulled on my ear.
“It’s my face.”
“Your face.”
She thumbed the edges of the page, still looking at it. “Can I have it?”
I hesitated, feeling my words tangle. “Course. It’s for you, I draw, I drew it for you. Of you.” I wanted to give her my entire room. I pounded my leg, flopped on my bed in frustration, and curled up in a ball.
I could feel her watching me in the mirror. Then I heard her turn around. She came over and sat down on the bed. She scootched so she sat with her back against the wall.
She patted my head awkwardly. Then her hand went still and she just let it lie there.
I opened one eye. She was staring across the room. It was okay. I rearranged myself, putting my head in her lap. I moved it around until I was comfortable.
“Your face,” I said.
She looked down at me. She smiled. I put my hands over my face and nearly died.
Around two o’clock on December 15, they came to get Bob.
We all watched four orderlies in white coats park a rolling bed outside Bob’s door. When they didn’t find him in there, they came into the dayroom. We all looked down at our cards and pretended they weren’t there. They reminded me of Martians. The main Martian looked at his clipboard. “Mr. Thornton?” he called.
Bob stared at his hand of hearts. “Tarnation,” he said under his breath. “Knew they’d find me in here.”
No one looked up. I noticed Bob’s hand was shaking.
“Which one of you is Mr. Thornton?” the Martian asked, looking around.
“There is no such person present,” Jonathan said, sounding bored, and passed three cards to the left. Ellen passed three to her left and picked up the ones Jonathan had given her.
“Why, you little rat,” she said to him. Her voice was unnaturally high.
“Look, folks, I’ve got an order to borrow Mr. Robert Thornton for just a few hours. I’m just doing my job. No reason you’ve got to make it harder for me,” the Martian said. “Tell a fellow which one is he and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Jonathan’s leg was going crazy under the table. I passed him three hearts. He looked at them and didn’t even blink, just arranged them in his hand, which was a pretty good hand. The muscles in his jaw were working. He was having troubles with his anger management, I could tell.
Bob had started whispering softly to his cards, rocking slightly back and forth.
His voice mild, Jonathan said, “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, pal. You are just shit out of luck, aren’t you?”
The Martian started to look not so friendly about the whole thing.
Beast had worked his hand over to Bob’s side. In a flash, he twisted Bob’s hospital bracelet off his wrist and put it in his mouth.
Jonathan was flexing his neck muscles. I didn’t think this was good. The Martian approached the table.
“Permission to speak,” Captain Joe said. He was ignored. He stood up, saluted the man, and said, “Young pup, I strongly advise you to be on your way. You are on enemy territory.”
“That you are,” Geronimo concurred in a soft growl.
“We give you fair warning. We may look crazy, sir, but that is relative, and we are extremely organized.”
The alien man picked up Beast’s wrist. This was dumb. Because Beast grabbed his forearm and twisted it behind his back superfast, laying him out on the floor, at which point Jonathan actually jumped over the table and landed on the guy and started pounding on him.
The guy got beat up pretty good before Staff made it into the room and hauled Jonathan and Beast out.
“Crazy motherfuckers,” the Martian spat out, standing there with a bloody nose while the nurse patched him up.
Bob stood up abruptly, laid down his hand, and walked stiffly out of the room. Through the Plexiglas windows on to the hall, we could see him climb up and lie down on the rolling bed. He lay there staring at the ceiling until the beat-up Martian was fixed. Then they rolled him down the hall.
“Poor Bob,” Doris said softly. She was sitting next to me. She didn’t play, but she liked to sit in.
“Poor Bob,” Ellen nodded.
“It is truly a pity they didn’t take out the entire regiment,” Captain Joe said thoughtfully, and tossed down the queen of hearts.
“Damn,” Geronimo said, throwing do
wn the king and taking the pile. “Captain, it is. Had we had better intelligence, we might have more successfully braced the camp.”
“Sir, we had no way of knowing.”
“No, no, I know. But still, it hurts to see your men go down. Hurts terribly.”
Ellen patted his arm.
“It does, sir. If I may say, sir, I believe they have demonstrated amply their bravery in the face of adversity.”
“Indeed. The purple heart for each.”
“Sir, if I may be so bold, I am not certain they sustained injuries in the course of this battle. Seeing as how they so successfully intercepted the surprise attack, and their quickness and sheer physical skill so totally outstripped that of their opponent.”
“Heart injuries,” Geronimo said, patting his chest. “An inner pain, a heartache, for example, is a perfectly worthy cause.”
“Sir, I stand corrected, sir.” Captain Joe looked at his hand. Then he threw down the queen of spades.
Geronimo stared at it. “Goddammit, soldier.”
“Sir, my apologies, sir.”
“Well played.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I didn’t play well tonight.”
“Sir, you were distracted by the battle.”
“I was. It’s true.” Geronimo swept the pile into his hand and everyone tossed their cards his way.
“Well,” Ellen said. “Tea, Doris?” She stood up and made two cups of lukewarm chamomile, which she swore improved the mood. While it steeped, she looked out the window. Geronimo dealt another hand. “I suppose they’re down there zapping his poor little brain,” she said.
I looked up. “What what?”
“Zapping him, darling,” she said, stirring honey into the tea and setting a cup in front of Doris. She pulled her chair in again, blew on her tea, and picked up her cards. “They came to get him for electroshock, why, I couldn’t tell you, it’s the silliest thing I ever heard.”
“Terrible stuff,” Geronimo said.
“Perfectly awful. Scares the poor thing half to death. Can you blame him? How would you like it if they attached you to a heap of wires and, what is it, volted you? Like a lightbulb?” She shivered.
“Whole body leaping around like a frog,” the Captain said. “Tzzzt!”
“Oh, Captain, that’s enough,” Ellen scolded. “And it makes him so ill.”
“Have to strap you down to do it,” the Captain muttered. “No dignity.”
I sat, horrified. “Bob,” I whimpered.
“Honey, he’ll be back.”
“No respect for a man’s dignity whatsoever, that’s what it is,” the Captain added. “Put those things on his head and try to melt his brains.”
I shrieked.
“Captain!” Ellen commanded. “You’ve simply got to stop it. You’re being morbid.”
“Didn’t start it.”
“You most certainly did.”
“Woman, you’re out of line.”
“Oh, put it back in your pants, old man!”
“I will not be spoken to this way,” the Captain said, his face getting red. He stood up and pushed his chair in firmly. “Sir, permission to smack her, sir.”
“Denied. Most absolutely denied. Take your seat, Captain.”
The Captain and Ellen glowered at each other. “Captain!” Geronimo bellowed. “I won’t tell you twice. Take your seat!”
The Captain did so.
“Oughtta tan her hide,” the Captain muttered. “Old man indeed.”
Ellen waved her hand dismissively in his direction. Doris pushed a tiny piece of paper under my elbow, which rested on the table. They will be back for dinner, it said. I turned it over and she handed me the pencil. Are they in The Room? I wrote. She nodded. Will they get zapped? She shook her head fervently. They are just Punching some walls. She shrugged. I tore another corner of paper from the sheet she held on her lap. Why are they melting Bob’s brain? I wrote.
She laughed out loud. Everyone looked up at her. Her face went back to frozen and she stared into space. She wasn’t crazy, she just didn’t like being looked at, was all. I could understand that. Not funny!!!! I wrote. She shook her head, covering the smile on her mouth. Not melting it. He will be sick a little but he will feel Better tomorrow.
I looked at her. She nodded at the table. Promise, she wrote.
It was my turn. I put down the four of diamonds and picked up the pencil again. Are they going to zap me?
She grabbed the pencil out of my hand. No!
She underlined it a few more times, patted my hand, and wandered out of the room.
That night Bob was rolled down the hall in a wheelchair just as we were filing in to dinner. We all stopped, like he was the president or a hearse. He didn’t look at us. He didn’t look at anything we could see, just stared at the back of his eyes. His head was at a funny angle on his neck, like it was broken. His hands were limp on his thighs. He was dead white and looked like he’d been shrunk.
The nurse pushing the wheelchair turned the corner into his room, jostling his head.
We none of us had anything to say at dinner.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Okay.”
“How’s the drawing coming?”
I tried to hide a smile. I passed him the sketch pad.
He paged through it and whistled low. “Holy smokes. This is something else.”
“For Kate.”
“Oh yeah?”
“For Christmas.”
“They’re coming to visit, aren’t they?”
I nodded. “Five days.”
“You feeling well enough to see them?”
I shrugged, not wanting to look like I cared.
“Because sometimes when they come, it upsets you. Remember? Esau? Sometimes you don’t want to see them.”
This is not true.
I always want to see them.
“They leave.”
“I know they leave. They have to leave. We make them leave, it’s not their fault. Do you know that?”
Sort of.
“Is that why you forget? That they come?”
I don’t forget. I just say I forget. From my window, I watch them drive away.
“Because they leave? Does it feel better to forget they were ever here than to see them and then have them leave?”
“Yes.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yeah.” I watch the snow fall. “When can I go home.”
“Your affect is much better.”
“Yeah.”
“And I understand you’re doing extremely well, talking to people most days.”
“Yeah.”
“You seem to have made some good friends. Are you happy here?”
“Yeah.”
“Feeling pretty safe?”
“Yeah.”
“Still having some night fears, though. I think I’ll try a new med to help you sleep, what do you think of that?”
“Make me stupid.”
“It won’t make you stupid. Knock you out pretty quick, and it might make you a little sedated at first when you wake up.”
“Take my dreams.”
“Definitely won’t do that. Might even give you some pretty wild ones, matter of fact.” He smiled.
“Okay.”
“Okay. You excited to see your family?”
“Superexcited.”
“I bet. What’d you ask for for Christmas?”
I drew a blank. I looked at him.
“You are avoiding the question,” I said. I was startled by the intact sentence.
“You’re right. I’m avoiding the question because I don’t know the answer.”
“Approximately when am I going home.”
“Approximately a while. It could be a while.”
We sat there while that sank in.
“Approximately months or approximately forever.”
“Buddy, I’d say you’re looking at at least a year.”
My head
jerked left. “Long time.”
“All things considered, it’s not long. But it seems long to you, I know.”
“Long, long time.”
“Makes you pretty anxious, huh.”
“Yeah.”
“You feel trapped?”
“Yeah, trapped.”
“But safe.”
“Okay. Yeah. Safe. For a year.”
“Well, that’s the trick. The idea is to get you safe for longer than a year. For good, so when you leave you’re still safe and you still know you’re safe.”
My head jerked again. “Time to go.”
I stood up and walked to the door. I held it open for him. He opened his briefcase and put away my file. Then he pulled out a brand-new sketch pad and set it on my chair. As he walked past, I saluted him. He saluted me back.
“See you Thursday,” he said.
“Thursday.”
We waited.
We always waited. That was what we did. But today was special because for once we had something to wait for. It was Christmas Eve.
Beast waited for Molly. Doris waited for her daughter, holding in her lap the picture I drew. Bob waited for his mother, and so did Captain Joe. Geronimo didn’t wait for anybody, and he didn’t care. Jonathan, pacing happily up and down the hall, waited for his wife.
Ellen sat in a chair by the window. Technically it was my chair, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. She had been there all day. She was knitting the world’s longest red thing. It stretched out across the room, out the door. Knit purl, knit purl. The spool of red wool wound up her leg and disappeared into the knit-purl pattern of the thing.
“Are her sons coming?” I asked Geronimo.
He didn’t answer me. He was doing a crossword. I was helping him with the hard ones. “Seven-letter word for ‘redwood’?” he said.
“Sequoia.” I watched Ellen lick the blister on her thumb and catch a stitch.
“Spell that.”
Captain Joe had his hands in his pockets. He kept looking at his pocket watch. He reminded me of the white rabbit. I laughed.
“What’s so funny, Lieutenant?”
“You. Pocket watch.”
“Six-letter word for ‘songbird.’ Starts with a t.”
The Center of Winter: A Novel Page 17
