An Absent Mind(22)

Bernie, Florence, and the children were the first to arrive. Florence bent over to kiss her father and then pushed Daniel and Howard in Saul’s direction so they could do the same. I was waiting for the fireworks to start, but Saul bent over so they could reach his cheek, and both of them gave him a quick kiss before retreating. Arthur was the next to arrive, and finally, a half hour later, the king himself, Joey.

Everyone brought a present. I told them not to spend a lot. There wasn’t much that Saul could use at this point. Florence brought a bright paisley tie. Why would she do that? I wondered. Arthur brought him a DVD. Joey gave Saul a brush for Dugin. Speaking of Dugin—and I’d rather not, to be honest—he stayed right by Saul’s side the whole time.

Bernie took the collage over to the fireplace and put it on the table. We took turns showing Saul the pictures. His eyes sparkled just like in the old days. He put his finger on a photograph of us holding hands in front of the Eiffel Tower, and a big smile came over his face. “Beautiful,” he said, “Simply beautiful.”

Florence asked him if he knew what birthday it was.

Saul said, “Eight.”

“No father,” Florence said, “I mean how old are you today?”

Saul closed his eyes for a few seconds but said nothing.

Florence said, “Seventy, seventy-five, eighty, one hundred?”

Saul answered, “The first one.”

Florence corrected him. “No, Father, seventy-five. Isn’t that great?”

Saul’s face tensed and he said again, insistently, “The first one.”

I motioned for her to stop before he got agitated, then asked everyone to go to the table. Joey helped Saul out of his easy chair and led him to the seat of honor. We all sat around chatting, mostly about Saul before he got sick. Occasionally, he would jump in, sometimes with appropriate remarks, sometimes with ones completely off base. But, regardless, he was calm and smiling.

After lunch, I lit the candles on the cake, and Joey carried it to the table. I asked Saul to blow them out. He did—two of the three anyway.

Florence put a birthday hat on Saul’s head and gave him a party horn. He started to blow the horn, and in between he started laughing, as if he knew something no one else did. It was really quite cute. He was having so much fun, laughing and laughing. After a few minutes, he became quiet, but he stayed seated at the table.

The whole day couldn’t have gone better. Everyone left by four. Saul took a nap while I cleaned up. I saved the candles. There won’t be many more birthdays.





Saul





A Bit Lewd


I’m not myself today. Now, that even gives me a tickle. I mean, how can you be yourself when you’re morphing into a monster? And by at least one account, I am not only a monster but also a pervert.

Monique told me that today through her running mascara. If she’s going to be on a constant crying jag, why doesn’t she give up the damn mascara? I mentioned that to her, and all I got was a tongue job. No, I don’t mean what you think I mean, but in a way it’s all related.

First of all, by tongue job, I mean she kind of stuck her tongue out at me like we did in Miss Novak’s grade-three class. You were probably thinking some sex thing, when some of them do the tricks. But like I already told you, Monique doesn’t do the tricks.

She said I went into the kitchen last night as naked as God. I guess I’m going to find out if he’s wearing clothes soon enough—and frankly, I think I’m ready. Anyway, Monique said I was playing with my thing, and that she told me to stop, but I wouldn’t. She said it was repulsive.

I asked her if I’d had an explosion. That really upset her. But I figured it would have been a pity to go through all that and not have an explosion. I can’t remember the last time I had one of them with Monique, but given my state, that’s probably not news to you. And maybe, just maybe, now that she knows I won’t remember much, she tried a couple of those tricks, or at least one of them—you know the one I mean. But I doubt it. I don’t think Monique ever had much fun with me when it came to sex. It was always a reward for good behavior. Some reward—a zaftig woman with cellulite and stretch marks lying face up on the bed under the bright light, with her eyes squeezed shut, as if awaiting her executioner—not exactly Linda Lovelace in heat!





Monique





Humiliation


Saul is really going downhill. I shiver whenever I think of taking him out in public and tremble when I think of being alone with him.

Last week, I drove him downtown for lunch. One of my old friends, Danielle Lafontaine, was walking by with her nine-year-old granddaughter. She saw us sitting out on the sidewalk terrace and stopped to say bonjour. We hadn’t talked in a long time, and I wasn’t sure how much she knew about Saul’s condition, but the hesitant smile and quick kiss on his cheek answered the question.

Saul looked up at her and over at the little girl and started spewing the “F” word. Danielle grabbed her granddaughter’s hand and rushed away.

That wasn’t the first time he’d sworn like that in public, and Dr. Tremblay told me it probably wouldn’t be the last. But I can’t exactly hang a sign around his neck saying Alzheimer’s patient, so what am I supposed to do?

If it were just that, I could probably handle it. What really scares me is being alone with him. There are things I haven’t shared with you, the children, or anyone else. They were too humiliating. But I have to tell someone.