An Absent Mind(5)

That brings me back to the Nazis who showed up this afternoon. They were on a mission—to destroy my life! They huddled around me, all of them. It felt like when the Indians surrounded the wagons in the movies I went to see as a kid in Ontario. No, I didn’t ever live in Ontario, but, you see, they had a big fire in a movie theater in Montreal back then, and the provincial government, in its infinite wisdom, banned kids under sixteen from going to the movies. So my mother, oh yeah, sorry about that—her name was Hannah, right out of the Bible. Anyway, Mother would pack us up, and we would visit my aunt Riva and uncle Sydney in Cornwall, just over the Quebec border. I would spend all day, from when the movie house opened in the morning until I had to be back for dinner, watching Gene Autry and other actors and actresses fighting, kissing, arguing, and riding through the brush.

Sometimes the same movie would play four times before I had to leave. My buddies and I would hide in the bathroom when the usher came in between shows, and then sneak back in. If there were teenagers necking, we would sit behind them and make funny sounds; at least I thought they were funny, until one of them gave me a walloping shiner. Father grounded me for a week. They didn’t call it grounding then; it was called room time.

Back to Hitler’s finest. They squeezed onto the sofa by the fireplace, all except Joey, who can’t sit for more than the time it takes him to gulp down a milk shake. I often wonder what happens when he’s in the bathroom. With his attention span, he probably can’t sit still until it’s time to reach for the toilet paper.

Florence was the first to speak. No doubt prodded by the others, because they know I think hers is the voice of reason. But not today. She said that they had all discussed it. She said it with hooded eyes and a pained expression. She just kept beating around the bush, never saying what the “it” was. Then Joey butted in, blabbering something about me maybe killing someone. Now, I know Dr. Horowitz said my memory is not what it was, but I can’t for the life of me remember coming close to murdering anyone. I mean, yes, there were times when someone in the room may have been the recipient of one of my Reimer stares. They call it the Reimer stare because, as Monique once said, “That stare of yours can make mere mortals quiver in their boots.” And because my name is Saul Reimer.

Florence moved over beside me and started to massage my shoulders as Joey continued his rant. He said I was getting old and my driving was becoming defensive. I was driving too slowly, and that was dangerous. Christ! All I ever heard for the last umpteen years was how I was a speed demon, and how dangerous that was. Now the troops had advanced into my own living room and were telling me I drive like a tortoise. Worse, the punishment was to take my car away from me.

Take my car? How was I going to get around? They said—well, actually it was Joey who said he would give me taxi vouchers—with my own money, of course. All I had to do was sign them. I could go anywhere. I asked if I could go to New York. Joey smiled. Joey doesn’t smile very often. Too bad he wasted it on such an idiotic statement. I knew he wasn’t going to let me go to New York. I would be lucky if he let me take a cab downtown.

I folded my arms across my chest and said I was not going to give him the keys and that I would continue driving. Joey told me about the eighty-year-old man in California who killed ten people, including two children. I told him I am not eighty and I am a good driver. He said it wouldn’t be fair to kill a child. I told him I wasn’t planning on it, although I must admit I was starting to think about how to get rid of one of my own—and it wasn’t Florence I had in mind.

I know this all started after the incident when I forgot my pants. And I told Joey that I wouldn’t forget to put my trousers on again—never, ever. But Joey said the matter was closed. The others in his division mumbled under their breath, nodded their heads, and offered up sad but resolute expressions. Then Joey said it was best this way. Best for whom?





Monique





Sadness


Unfortunately, it takes forever to get a doctor’s appointment here in Quebec because of the socialized medical system, but I finally got one for Saul to see Dr. Horowitz three weeks after I first called. Saul has been down in the dumps, but the doctor said that was normal. Actually, he said Saul was less depressed than most early Alzheimer’s patients, although he made it very clear that he was only a general practitioner and that we should go and see someone who specializes in that field to get a firm diagnosis. He gave me a referral to Dr. Yves Tremblay. I made the appointment—this time, a two-month wait!

Saul is so different now. Here was a man who roared at his own gags no matter how bad they were, someone who had so much energy, we all joked that he must be on drugs. And now he seems withdrawn, not wanting to participate in any activities except sitting in front of the television with a blank look in his eyes. The only good thing is that he doesn’t click the remote over and over anymore. That used to drive me crazy.

The other night, he got up while we were playing gin and threw his cards on the table, saying he had no interest in playing any longer. When I asked him why, he said the game was for imbeciles. But I could tell he was becoming frustrated because he couldn’t remember all the rules and didn’t want me to know. I told him I would help him with his hand. Then he really got angry and stormed out of the room. Minutes later, he was back, dragging a sheet from the linen closet. When I asked him what he was doing, he just stared at me.