An Absent Mind(27)

If I had the test and didn’t have the gene—fine. But what if I did? What would I do next? Have Bernie tested? Have the kids tested? And what if I did all that and the results weren’t what I wanted to hear? Then what? What could I do, anyway, other than worry? According to Dr. Tremblay, there is no cure on the horizon.

Joey and I both agreed that I should tell Bernie, but with Mother’s frail health, it would be better not to say anything to her.

Bernie nearly had a breakdown when I told him. But I reasoned, Look, maybe I have a copy, or even two; maybe I don’t. And even if I do, it’s not a sure thing that I would get it, so why not just let it be. As for the kids, given their age, I’m sure even if all this came to be, there would be a cure by that time. Or would there?





Part Three: The Final Stop





Monique





Day 1—Manoir Laurier


It was like a procession tonight as we pulled up to the Manoir. Three cars—Saul and I in a taxi, followed by Florence and Bernie, and Joey’s noisy sports car in the rear.

I looked through the window at what seemed like a typical hotel dining room. At eight o’clock, it was already empty. As was the lobby, with its marble entry, high-back chairs covered in somber-colored chintz, and mahogany furniture sitting on a beautiful circular rug.

The first set of glass doors opened automatically. But the second set wouldn’t open until the first closed, and I had to push a little black button near the top of the door. I guess this complicated process kept the patients safely inside. A pudgy middle-aged woman with too much perfume came out from behind a small desk to the right where there were several screens showing different parts of the building. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and then she took Saul’s arm and signaled for me to follow.

The three of us waited for the elevator while the kids went to get Saul’s things from Bernie’s car. I remembered that when I’d come here the first time to tour the facility, the administrator had told me that there were no rooms on the first floor, except for the dining room, kitchen, offices, and some large rooms for communal activities. The second floor, she said, was for elderly patients with less serious illnesses.

When the elevator opened, a rotund man in pajamas and a bathrobe was standing at the back. The woman asked him where he was going. The man smiled and replied, “To the swimming pool.” The woman smiled back. And that was it.

I said, “I didn’t know there was a swimming pool.”

The woman smiled again, but this time at me. “That’s right,” she said, “there is no swimming pool.”

Saul didn’t seem to understand exactly what was happening. On the way over, I’d tried to reassure him that he would like it here, and that it wouldn’t be permanent. I hated myself for lying to him, but I didn’t have the resolve to tell him he would never sleep in his own house again.

When I’d gone over earlier to sign the necessary papers, the administrator had told me we could furnish Saul’s room in any way we wanted. The kids and I had decided right then that we would pack up as many things as we could to decorate his new room so that he will be in somewhat familiar surroundings, and, hopefully, be less agitated.

Joey will rent a U-Haul tomorrow. We’ll fill it with some bedroom furniture, family pictures, and his favorite chair. That’s the least we can do.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. It holds twenty-six Alzheimer’s patients in the middle stage of the disease. The third floor is reserved for those closer to death. Well, if this was the middle stage, I dreaded to see what would come next.

I almost collided with an emaciated woman walking in the pink-colored hallway, squeezing the sides of her nightgown while chirping like a bird. Directly behind her, a man groaned in a voice that sounded like the devil himself. My first reaction was to grab Saul and head back home. I guess the woman with the heavy perfume must have realized how uneasy I was. She reached over and touched my arm.

The room was small, maybe twelve by eighteen feet, with a bathroom and a tiny closet. The walls were bare, the floor was linoleum, and the bed had side rails. As elegant as the lobby was, the room forced me to come to grips with the fact that this was no more than a fancy hospital.





Saul





Day 2—Where Am I?


When I woke up this morning, my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I looked out the window. The Brodsky’s house wasn’t there anymore. They must have moved it in the middle of the night. I put my blue-checkered robe over my pajamas and headed into the kitchen like I always do, but it wasn’t there, either. In its place was some kind of lounge with couches and chairs. I guess if they could move a house, they could certainly move a kitchen!

I hollered for Monique, but she didn’t answer. So I started searching for her. The house just didn’t seem the same. For one thing, I never would have let Monique paint the hallways pink. That’s for sure. It’s enough that I let her get away with it in the bedroom.

Some lady came over to me, put her hand on my arm, and asked me if I was okay.

“Hell no!” I said. “How can I be okay when someone moved the kitchen and repainted the hallway?”

She smiled at me. Kind of the same smile Friedman always doled out, but she was much prettier than Friedman. She took my hand and started leading me back toward my bedroom. I yanked it away, almost knocking her to the floor in the process. I picked up steam as I came to the end of the corridor and rushed into an open elevator. But we don’t have an elevator in the house. I pushed the lowest button, and a few moments later, when the doors opened, I was in a big room with fancy furniture and a glass wall that looked out onto a garden. I must have walked into the wrong house!