“Alone in the Dark”
The importunate buzzing makes me jump, dragging me out of a mellow lethargy. I move my leg and a wind chime of empty bottles rattles. I groan as my hand searches the top of the coffee table for the source of the repetitive, irritating sound.
The phone is unrelenting.
My index finger presses it blindly.
I bring it to my ear, sigh, eyes closed. “Hello?”
Adeline’s urgent, tearful voice answers me. “I’m at the hospital. It’s Dad… he…” She sniffs, inhales sharply. “He is in critical condition. Can you please come? Please, for me…”
I remain on the crumpled sofa a while longer before switching off the TV. A thin ray of brightness disturbs the shadows of the room; a neighbour’s balcony light, forgotten, wasted. I dig inside my soul, my heart; hollow echo of a beat, no sadness, no anguish. I only feel sorry for Adeline.
A mosquito hums around my ear, obstinate. No slapping deters its intent. I grunt and make a move towards the bedroom. I put on yesterday’s clothes piled on the slanted chair by my bed before stumbling through the corridor.
The bathroom light blinks for a while, forcing a dazzling headache on my grey head. I throw cold water on my face, brush the stench of dehydration off my teeth, run a shaky hand through my unkempt hair, and leave the musky comfort of my flat.
The air is fresh; the quietude soothing. I stroll along the park, blowing aromatic smoke through my parted, minty lips. An owl flies overhead.
A silent witness to my (non)existence.
When I reach the main street, I find a cab, get in and make my way to the land of the sick.
The bearded driver yawns, apologies, yarns. “I’m glad for a chat and some company.”
I am not. I glare at his scrutiny twinkling in the rear-view mirror.
“I had a quiet shift, foggy atmosphere, eerie almost, unsettling stillness.”
I roll my eyes, look out.
All I needed was a poet for a driver.
My lack of answer doesn’t deter him. He rambles on, his face oscillating from shadow to a ghostly yellow glow every few metres following the rhythm of the streetlights. I mutter unintelligibly now and again. It seems to satisfy his quest for connection.
He smiles inquisitively as we reach the hospital. I mumble a quick thank you and trudge towards the building.
The sharpness of the lights intensifies my headache. I squint in discomfort, consider turning around, leaving. The smell of disinfectant annoys my nostrils, stopping me in my tracks. It brings back the memory of another night I would rather forget. The night my mother threw herself into a forever darkness, too bruised and beaten to want to live. The night Adeline and I fell into an abyss of despair.
Adeline.
I push forward, entering a maze of uniforms and doors. When I find her, she grabs my hand. Sorrow and relief flood her ashen face.
“He doesn’t have long.” She holds a sob.
I nod, unable to offer any comforting word; my only thought being ‘good’.
The pathetic being is attached to his bed, tubes covering his thin decaying frame, a catheter slowly filling with bloody urine. His hands, once a symbol of strength, pain and fear, are frail now.
I feel nothing.
The head nurse comes in, officious, yet apologetic for the state of our father.
“We had to restrain his movements after he slapped a colleague. He’s now nourished through tubes since he spat his food at a nurse’s face. We were forced to insert a catheter… he kept urinating on the bed…”
I nod again, unable to think of anything to express my emptiness.
Adeline’s cheeks turn the colour of the radishes she despises. “I’m so sorry.” She turns to hide her tears.
I place my hand on her shaky shoulder and turn towards the door. “Let’s go for coffee. No point watching the old bastard all night.”
Her gaze shifts from me to our father.
The head nurse pats Adeline’s arm. “Young lady, you’ve been here for hours. Your presence makes no difference; it’s a fool’s errand… He’s unconscious, unresponsive, unaware… Go, take a break. I will send for you if he…”
Stains cover the linoleum floor. Coffee, ketchup, or could it be blood? Adeline returns to the table after freshening up; droplets of water have replaced her tears. Her face, still lined with grief, is as white as the walls.
“Remember?” she asked.
“I wish I didn’t.”
We stare into each other’s eyes; same colour, same sadness. The steam emanating from our coffees twirls between us. I look down first, unable to hold her gaze, get my ancient tobacco pouch out of my pocket for something to do.
“I need a smoke. Let’s go outside.”
There is a small garden across the parking lot, with a bench. We stroll there and sit—simultaneous sigh. I place a filter between my cracked lips and roll.
“Can you make me one?”
I chortle and shake my head. She giggles, like she used to, back then, before the fall. I hand her the cigarette and make another. Using my hands soothes my nerves.
Adeline blows perfect rings. I watch as the breeze toys with the fragile silvery smoke. Hypnotic, meditative spectacle.
“Thank you for coming,” she says.
“I came for you, not for him.”
“I know… Happy belated birthday, by the way.”
“You too. You’re still older, though. That won’t change.”
She smiles and sips some coffee. I pick up mine, burn my tongue, and growl. We are taking our time, purposely postponing our return to the gloomy room filled with tubes, pee, anger, latent violence, unspoken hatred, death. The room filled with broken hearts, a mother’s loss, a depraved psychopath with a fear of being alone—always his fear of being alone—his fear of dying alone.
Adeline removes dust from my sleeve. “What have you been up to, are you happy?”
I murmur a vague answer and ask about hers; her life, an existence put on hold to look after an ageing beast. “What will you do now? Now that he…”
The first bird awakens and brings forth the blithe melody of a new dawn. I listen, transfixed, hoping for it to symbolise a new life for my sister. Wishing her a new beginning without being forced to care for him, to do her duty, her, the only woman left in the family. The usual pang of guilt makes me turn to express remorse.
“I’m—”
A hazy gleam arises in her red eyes.
“A fool’s errand… the nurse just described my life. I have been living in a cage.” She snorts and takes a puff at her cigarette. “Scotland. I want to move to the Highlands. I’ve always dreamed of going there, of hiding in the Celtic mist. A small, quiet stone house surrounded by isolated, verdant hills, near a whirling river.” Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply. “I crave loneliness, blissful calm. I can find it there.”
A first ray of sun breaks through the tree branches, caressing her waxen cheek. We know we should go back, but remain sitting on the bench, watching the tide of cars and ambulances coming and going as we smoke. An untold agreement sits between us. The old bastard will die alone.
Jim’s eyelids feel heavy. He tries to lift his hand to his face but can’t. He is lost in a fog of suffering, a shadow of fear.
Am I alone?
Every attempt to catch his breath brings agony to his chest. His ankles and wrists are sore, the immobility of his body scares him. The old man inhales painfully and tries to call, but no sound comes.
He opens his eyes. An invisible hand unbolts the window and draws the curtains slightly, a shaded being he can barely sense as the fever controls his drained body. A face appears hovering over his bed, a silent, matronly visage checking his heartbeat. He perceives a strengthening around his ankles and wrists and manages a pitiful yelp, hoping for the tightness to go away. It doesn’t. Instead, sudden darkness engulfs the room before the door opens and closes.
Now, Jim is alone, alone in the dark. He turns his head left and right in a panic, pain shooting through the back of his eyes.
“Adeline?” The desperate croak remains unanswered.
Breathing fast, he moves his fingers to locate the call button. It isn’t there; the nurse has moved it too far for him to reach. Wrath erupts in his abdomen, giving him unexpected vigour. He screams with all his might and waits. After a few minutes, he tries again. No one comes.
The fever gains momentum; his angst rises. The gentle breeze coming through the open window creates a blurry shape of light in the gap between the curtains.
“Margaret?”
His confused mind, starving for companionship, brings on a vision of his late wife. The spectral illusion is dancing, teasing; a flirting silhouette of sunlight blowing through his troubled senses.
“Margaret, you bitch, you left me!”
Jim chokes on the words as the rage fires through his core one last time.
Adeline takes a sharp breath and stands up. “It’s time to go back in.”
There’s such a look of certainty on her face that I do not question her. I collect our cups and cigarette butts slowly, lingering for a moment longer.
‘It’s time…’ she says again, staring ahead.
We do not rush back, we tacitly meander around the cars, ambulances, and people. When we reach the entrance, the head nurse rushes towards us.
“He’s gone. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be,” I answer, finally finding the right thing to say.
Delphine Gauthier-Georgakopoulos is a Breton writer, teacher, mother, nature & music lover, foodie, dreamer. She loves butter, needs coffee, hates easy opening packaging, and likes to create stories in her head. Her words can be found in Roi Fainéant Press, The Hooghly Review, Spare Parts Lit, JAKE, The Amazine, Funny Pearls, Every Day Fiction, among others. She is a contributor to Poverty House and the EIC of Raw Lit. She lives in Athens, Greece.
REVOLUTION JOHN. 