An Absent Mind(25)

Our cabin was one of the larger suites, located on deck ten. I chose that one because it had an oversize balcony, big enough to maneuver the wheelchair Constellation provided. Although Saul used a wheelchair at home only occasionally, I thought with the motion of the sea and the long corridors, it would be easier. Amin was in an adjoining room, so that I wouldn’t have to go out into the hallway in the middle of the night if I needed him.

The first evening, I decided that Amin should roll Saul to the dining room on deck five, as it would be easier to leave him in the wheelchair than to move him into one of the chairs at the table by the window.

Saul had his own plan. He said he wanted to sit in one of the chairs. I made the mistake of telling him he should stay where he was. Next thing I knew, he bellowed and then swept his long arm over the table, leaving only a few plates and two water glasses standing, and a big mess on the taupe carpet. My face turned scarlet. I was petrified to turn around, wondering how many diners had witnessed his tantrum. It’s one thing when your friends know about his condition, or when you won’t see people again, but I had nine more nights to suffer through and excuses to make. I could feel the heat of hundreds of eyes boring into my back as I watched Amin and the waiters quickly clean up the mess.

We managed to get through dinner without another incident. Saul sat in a dining room chair between Amin and me, and we both helped him with his food. I drank a little too much and now know how dizzy Saul must feel every night.

Saul said he wanted to walk back to the suite, and I certainly wasn’t going to argue with him. It took almost half an hour, as he kept stopping and talking to both real and imaginary people. I was sure by now that everyone on the ship had either seen or heard about the crazy man and his entourage.

There was another incident I want to share with you. One day—I think it was about halfway into the cruise—we were sitting alone on the deck outside the Globe Lounge at teatime. Amin had secured the wheels on Saul’s wheelchair and left us alone so he could get some well-deserved time off. I placed a straw in the ice tea and put the glass within Saul’s reach. He picked it up, put the straw in his mouth, and took a big sip. Then he put the glass back on the table, but he didn’t release his hand. Seconds later, he picked up the glass and drank again. This went on until the tea was drained. Then he stared at the empty glass for a moment and proceeded to pick it up and try to drink again. He did this over and over.

I told him there was nothing left and that he should put the glass down. He just looked through me. I told him again. He turned to me and smiled as he smashed the glass against the table. Then he picked up a large shard and sliced it across his arm, drawing a red river of blood.

I must have shrieked loudly enough to wake up all the sea life below. Two waiters raced outside. One grabbed the piece of glass from Saul’s hand, cutting himself in the process; the other one rushed back into the lounge, heading toward a telephone by the bar.

Moments later, Amin came flying through the door, followed by a young woman in a nurse’s uniform. He took Saul’s arm and wiped it with a napkin. Then Amin examined it and used the napkin as a tourniquet. He told the nurse that Saul had missed the artery but said they should move him down to the infirmary on deck three to get him stitched up.

Thank God the rest of the trip was normal—well, as normal as could be expected under the circumstances. But, you know, all in all—for Saul’s sake—I’m glad we went. And to be fair, there were some good moments—really good ones. Like when we were at the captain’s cocktail party and the band was playing a song Saul knew. He harmonized in a very quiet voice, forgetting most of the words, but with a glint in his eyes and just a slight hint of a wink and a smile as he turned to look at me. Or when we were watching a few couples dance to the band after dinner one night. He was in his wheelchair, but he looked over at me and in a clear voice asked me to dance. Before I could even figure out how to respond, his gaze slipped back to the floor, and he retreated into his own world. But just for that moment, a brief one at that, it was like it used to be when we cruised together. And moments like that made it all worth it.





Monique





No Choice


The first few days after the trip were without incident—more or less. But that changed suddenly. In the last week, there was a beating, which resulted in a bruised arm and a cut on my left cheek. If that wasn’t bad enough, he used disgusting language, and I mean really disgusting.

The beating came out of thin air. He just got up and hit me. Thank God I was able to cover my face. After a few attempts to pry my arms away, he seemed satisfied to push me and slap my shoulders a few times before he calmed down. I can’t go through this anymore. Not for another month, another week, or even another day.

Joey, Florence, and Bernie are coming over later this afternoon. I have been packing Saul’s things all day. The administrator at Manoir Laurier told me to bring a few pairs of pajamas in addition to his clothes, and Velcro running shoes, which would be easier to put on and take off. Loose-fitting clothes, she said, would be more comfortable, especially when he has to be confined to a wheelchair. Just hearing her say that set me off crying again.

It is beginning to dawn on me that the man I have lived with for all these years is leaving me for good tonight. Never to step foot in our house again. Never to put his strong arm around my back, or throw his long leg over mine as we fall asleep. Never to fill the kitchen with the aroma of his coffee in the morning. It is as if he is heading to the execution chamber.