Uninvented Stories of Invented People
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“Calm down lady, everything will be just fine.”
“What if the cycle changes and depressive semiology shall occur? What if he gets suicidal? What’s then? Our staff will not handle it!”
“Ms. Clover, calm down, everything will be fine.”
His words did not sound confident, nevertheless. Though, contained anxiety.
Our patient’s name was Georgy. He began to often visit the ward where Cahrmel and Zimmerman dwelt. He brought them tea, sweets and flowers in mornings, which was quite typical for patients in mania. He was aggressive towards the staff and quarrelsome at times. Everyone danced around and tried to please him. The chief nurse personally came to make his bed.
The three of them often went out for walks, my girls, Rimma, Charmel and Georgy. The girls blossomed and became laughers. At any age, when a woman is given mindful masculine attention, they flourish and grow young again.
At about seven p.m. I got home. No sooner had I put my feet up on the sofa and took up the book of my beloved Remarque, after the first meal for the day, an incoming call from Oleg lit up on the phone.
“Hello, chief, have you missed me already?”
“Marie, dear, come to the department ASAP, we have an emergency.”
In no time I jumped into the clothes I could reach right away and rushed to the dear nut house. When I got in and heard Pablo’s roust from the office: “Have you, old idiot, finally lost your mind? No clue at all? It is time you retire! You are a crazy idiot! Have ruined my evening! Lost you expertise, you are not a doctor, you are a street sweeper, an imbecile!”
“But you yourself said, Mr. Dollton, that he should have been with us. I did not want to take him!”
“What if I tell you to jump from a bridge, will you jump? Dotard.”
At that point Pablo rolled out of Oleg’s office and left the department in a heavy waddling gait.
I went into the office. The old man poured himself another shot of Zelenin Drops.
“What on Earth has happened, Oleg?” “Oh, Marie! Happened the expected.”
Our Georgy went out for a walk with his grannies. He left the hospital grounds, crossed the road and arrived himself at the local convenience store. There he stole two chewing gums, a deck of cards, a pair of socks and two roll-pens. Hiding the loot under his jacket and pants, he intended to leave the crime zone under the guise of unsuspecting elderly women. They were detained at the checkout, where the guards disclosed the theft. Socially responsible grannies began to defend Georgy, cry and wail: “we’re from the nut house, let him go.” Georgy got excited and grew infuriated. A fight broke out and the police was called for. Certainly, the police investigated the matter to the very essence of Georgy’s kin. His daddy visited the local station and sorted things out. As a result, Pablo got into and embarrassing position. The ladies were not determined as the crime accomplices and were sent back to the department.”
“Oleg, you are aware of how absurd the actions in mania may be. He barely sleeps two hours a night. Praise the God, it’s not less. Don’t get upset.” “Thank you, Marie. It seems indeed I am old and it is hard for me!”
“Come-oooon! What’s up!? We adore you! There is no specialist like you.
Who will treat the patients? Do not leave us. Anna is out on vacation and it is already so difficult. We’d be lost without you. Hold on, Oleg. Hold on!
So, now I check up on my girls and we drink tea.”
I went to the ward. Charnel’s blood pressure was 220 to 120, Zimmerman’s – 190 to 110.
“Well, jail birds, pulled the jobs today?” I smile pretending as if nothing happened and cheer them up.
“Oh, Miss Clover, thank you so much for coming over. Certainly, we are shocked! Such a gallant, such a positive young man …” Rima began to wail.
Meanwhile, Charnel sat with her head bowed, in her woolen shawl and looked out into the window. Then, she slowly turned around, sighed and uttered philosophically:
“Oh, Mary, I thought it was love that enchanted me in my old ages, but turned out to be just a disease … sheer disappointments.”
Chapter four
•Cornflower •
Music School. Final exam. I am 13 years old. I hardly hold my tears back when playing. I hate piano. A couple more minutes of “the torment”, and I finish playing, close the lid, as if the one of a coffin, and tell mom: “I’ll never approach the instrument again.”
I’m 8. I study hard in a music school. Above all kinds of tutors in mathematics, drawing, literature, dance, Russian and Ukrainian languages, there is also one for music. The teacher’s name is Christina Hives. She has always had a perfect manicure. Sometimes she praises me. She says, I possess good sense of pitch and a technique. I have an extremely cherished dream to become a pianist. I already imagine how I assemble the halls and play the Moonlight Sonata at a ball in Salzburg. This was how my mind painted success for that occupation. From time to time my arms and back are beaten by a ruler, so that “I kept the posture correctly and held my hands as if there were tiny pads under the palms.” It’s not painful, but pretty frustrating.
I ail much. I am transferred to distant education. It’s even harder to study at home. Once my teacher starts laughing at me and says I will never do well to become a pianist. I am a mediocrity. To punish her I aggressively draw over the music text with my pen. I am being scolded. I lump the blame onto my younger half-cousin brother. Now he is being scolded. I get even more upset over that dishonourable act of mine and confess everything. I am under the silent treatment at home. Though, the teacher keeps on coming.
I am gifted a kitten. I call him Cornflower. I love him very much. He is gray and of Persian breed – a snub-nosed and long-haired fluffy ball. Cornflower is sweet and funny. He kisses my hands and loves to play. He’s always waiting for me from school.
It is a fine spring day. The snow melts outside the window. Boys float paper boats and I am playing music. Really don’t feel like, but I have to. Mom says: “an Individual should be educated comprehensively.” I am still in no understanding to the meaning of these words. Why paper boats are not the education? But there is something very much important in that.