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July 1993
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“WHAT WERE YOU thinking? If you wanted to go on a ferry ride you should have told me. I’d have gone with you. You’re in no condition to be wandering around Queen’s Quay by yourself. How did you even get down there?”
I want to glare at Michael and say, “How do you think? I took the streetcar,” but every bone in my body aches and the diplopia is worse than ever. I turn my head away from the angry blur that is my son and close my eyes. The pillow is cool and soothing against my cheek, and it muffles his exasperated pleas for an explanation. Why did I go down to the lake after all these years? I’d simply wanted a boat, or rather I wanted the freedom and exhilaration that comes from piloting a small boat across a lake in summer. I wanted to feel young again, but now I only feel embarrassed and confused, mostly confused.
It was a mistake saying I’d fallen in a cruise ship’s dining room. Apparently, the harbor isn’t large enough for a cruise ship and now everyone thinks I’m senile, non compos mentis, meshuggah. Maybe I am, but I’m sane enough to understand their indulgent smiles and sidelong glances. Sam should have accompanied me to the hospital. He’s the ship’s doctor. He could have corroborated my story. I close my eyes. But what if they’re right? What if Sam, Joanie, Bess, the ship, all of it, was some sort of hallucination? My God, I hope I didn’t tell Michael that I saw his mother. He’d have me locked up in the loony bin for sure. A sharp stabbing sensation jabs me in the groin.
“Michael, call the nurse. I need something for the pain.” My voice is so soft I’m not sure he can hear me.
“Of course, is there anything else? Do you want water or juice, another blanket?”
“Would you turn out the light? I’m going to take a little nap.”
“OK, I’ll be back later, and I’ll ask the nurse to give you something for the pain.”
The room goes dark, and I relax a bit. “You’re a good son.”
“Dad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture you, but you had us worried. We just want to keep you safe.”
“The desire for safety stands against every great and noble enterprise,” I whisper into the darkness.
He’s still there. He’s heard me. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, which one of your Greek philosophers said that?”
“Tacitus, and he wasn’t Greek. He was Roman.” I smile, pleased with myself. Maybe I’m not so far gone after all.
“Good night, Dad.” I hear Michael chuckling as he shuts the door.
They must have laced my pain medication with sleeping pills because the next time I open my eyes a nurse is fussing with a breakfast tray. Sun is streaming through the window, I need to pee, and my leg hurts like the devil. The nurse looks vaguely familiar, robust, and competent, but I can’t quite place her. She puts the tray on the dresser and hands me a urinal, asking if I can manage by myself. This is the ultimate indignity of old age. I take the plastic contraption and glower at her until she leaves the room. I never urinated in front of my wife of forty-five years, and I have no intention of sharing that intimacy with a stranger.
I’m looking for a place to set down the filled urinal when I see another one of those damn brochures on my bedside table. I can’t read it without my glasses, but I recognize Bayside Manor’s cheery blue and yellow lettering. Now that I’ve proven myself incompetent to manage a short trip downtown, Michael’s more determined than ever to consign me to an old folk’s home. I put the urinal on top of the brochure and feel around for my glasses.
The nurse pokes her head back inside. “Ready for your breakfast?”
She looks so familiar, but where have I seen her? “Just some coffee and a newspaper. Do you have newspapers here?”
“We always have copies of the Globe and Mail at the nurse’s station. I’ll nab one for you, but you need to eat something. If you don’t like scrambled eggs, I could bring you oatmeal.”
She looks so genuinely concerned that I hate to disappoint her. “How about a slice of toast? Would that do?”
“That’s a start.” She hustles over to my bedside, inspects the urinal with a satisfied nod, then empties it into the toilet. A moment later she has me sitting up with a full breakfast tray laid out in front of me: eggs, bacon, orange slices, toast, and coffee.
“Eat whatever you can manage. I’ll have a volunteer stop by with your paper. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you again.”
I stare at her, feeling embarrassed and confused. Again? Had she been on the boat with me? Had she seen me fall?
“Oh dear, you don’t remember, do you?” She fills my coffee cup from a small metal pot. “I helped you up after your fall in that alleyway. I was the one who drove you to the pier. Do you remember now?”
“Yes, of course, of course I remember.” So, that’s why she looks so familiar. She was the good Samaritan who scraped me off the pavement after I was mugged. “You were very kind. I don’t think I thanked you properly.”
“Oh, it was no trouble, no trouble at all.”
The eggs don’t look half bad for hospital food and the coffee is steaming hot. I pick up my fork and take a bite. “They gave me a free ticket on that boat you told me about, the Aqua Meridian. It was quite the adventure.”
“Was it now?” Isn’t that wonderful. I’d love to hear about it when I have more time, but at the moment I have eight patients needing morning meds. Press the call button if you need anything.”
I’m pouring myself a second cup of coffee from the little pot when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I call out as loudly as I can. My voice feels stronger today and I’m pretty sure it carries.
An attractive girl with an astonishing profusion of dark hair appears, pushing a book cart. She’s wearing a green pinafore over a plaid shirt, blue jeans, and army boots. The pinafore must be some sort of hospital uniform since it’s too large by a mile. She looks both ridiculous and endearing. I can’t help but smile. “Have you brought my paper?”
“Yes, and I also have some books from the hospital library if you’re interested. Are you a reader?”
“I was definitely a reader at one time, but my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Do you have anything with large print?”
She hands me my newspaper then rummages through the stack of books on her cart. “How do you read the newspaper? It has really small print.”
“Good question. When I’m at home I use a magnifying glass, but here I’ll be sticking mainly to the headlines, which means I’ll miss a lot—but I see you don’t miss much.”
“How about these?” She hauls a couple large print volumes to the top of the pile. “Texas, Part Two by James Michener, but we don’t have Part One, so probably not.” She tosses the book aside and reads the next title, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. “Wow, I didn’t know that was a book. I just knew about the film. Did you see it?”
“No, I don’t see many movies these days.”
“Oh, it’s old. It came out when I was just a kid, but if you didn’t see the film you might like the book since you won’t know how it ends.”
She was adorable, a little younger than my grandson, Peter, but without his studied nonchalance. “Maybe I would. What else have you got?”
“This has big print, but it’s for kids and, my God, here’s a math textbook. How did that get in here?” She’s obviously new at her job and unfamiliar with her inventory. I watch her digging through the books like a puppy tearing up a garden. “Wait, here’s a large print book by P.D. James. He writes mysteries.”
“P.D. James is a woman, Phyllis Dorothy. Which one do you have there? I’ve read most of her work.”
“The Black Tower, have you read that one?”
“Probably, but I don’t remember it. Let’s give that one a try. How do I sign it out?”
“You don’t do anything. It’s not like a real library. Just leave it on your bedside table when you’re discharged, and someone will pick it up. Do you want Lonesome Dove, too? You can keep up to three books.”
“Just the P.D. James mystery.”
She obligingly places the book beside my breakfast tray. As she bends over my bed, I get my first good look at her face.
“Joanie?” It’s a ridiculous question. Why would Joanie be pushing a book cart in this hospital, and yet who else could it be?
“No, I’m sorry. My name is Arcadia, Arcadia Savas. I should have introduced myself.”
“You look just like another young woman I know. In fact, the resemblance is quite remarkable. What did you say your name was?”
“Arcadia, but everyone just calls me Cady.”
“Arcadia? That sounds Greek. I spent a lot of time in Greece when I was young.” I continue to stare at her, astounded and unnerved. A moment ago, I was a man in control of his senses and now I’m not sure if I’m awake or asleep, conscious, or hallucinating. I can’t take my eyes off her. What is Joanie doing here? Why doesn’t she know me?
“Did you?” She plops herself down in the chair reserved for visitors. Apparently, she’s planning to stay awhile. “I’ve been there six times, but the first two times I was so young I don’t remember anything. My father’s half Greek and he has a ton of family outside Athens. Well, technically he’s my stepfather, but I mean he’s my dad. He’s the only father I’ve ever known. My real father was killed in Greece before I was born so I never met him.”
I feel a chill run through me. Something is completely off, and I can’t explain it. “You weren’t recently on a cruise ship, were you? The Aqua Meridian?”
“No.” She laughs. “I’ve never been on a cruise ship. Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s nothing, I’m being silly. You just remind me of someone.”
“Why were you in Greece? You sound like you’re from England.”
“I am. I studied archaeology at the British School in Athens and then I worked with a man named John Pendlebury excavating a Bronze Age site in Knossos.”
“Wow, you’re an archaeologist?”
“Yes, but I’ve been retired for a long time. I stopped doing field work years ago. I mostly taught at the University of Toronto.”
“U of T? That’s where I go to school, but I’m pre-med, all math and science, not much time for the classics.”
This naif is going to be a doctor? I’m surprised, but why not? I’ve often wondered what Bess would have become if she’d been given half a chance. Prime minister, I imagine. My earlier burst of energy is starting to fade, but I defend the old philosophers. “You’ll swear the Hippocratic oath one day. You ought to know what Hippocrates had to say. He might surprise you.” My lids have drooped shut, but I suspect she’s rolling her eyes. This generation doesn’t read anything older than yesterday’s newspaper. “Thank you for stopping by, but I need a little nap right now.”
“Sure, do you want me to bring you a paper every morning while you’re here?”
“Yes, thank you, Joanie. That would be very nice.”
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I FEEL A slight tickle along my arm and awake from a dream of grilling sardines on the pink sands of Crete’s Elaphonisi Beach and flirting with a pretty girl named Bess. I’m disoriented for a moment until the smell of alcohol and bleach brings me back to Toronto and St. Michael’s Hospital.
“Mr. Kanter, are you awake?” A nurse I haven’t seen before is shaking my arm.
“I’m uh, yes, of course, do you need something? I must have dozed off for a minute.”
“Sorry to disturb you, but we have to get you down to Neurology. Dr. Mendoza is expecting you.”
I don’t know this woman but she’s very efficient. She has me tucked into a wheelchair, covered with a skimpy hospital blanket, and handed off to an orderly before I’m fully awake. The man pushes me toward the elevator at such a clip that I’m afraid of adding whiplash to my other injuries.
“Wait, slow down. Why am I going to neurology? I broke my hip not my head. What’s this about?”
The man is what the Canadians call a visible minority, probably Jamaican judging from his accent. He’s affable enough, but as clueless as I am. “I don’t know, you better ask the doctor.”
“You bet I’ll ask him. They can’t cart me around like a sack of potatoes without telling me where I’m going.” The elevator door opens, and I find myself in a basement hallway. It’s cold and one of the fluorescent lights is flickering.
“Dr. Mendoza is a lady doctor. She’s very nice,” the orderly reassures me.
“Mendoza? That’s a pretty name.”
“She’s a pretty doctor.” The orderly winks at me, then leaves me shivering outside the doctor’s office.
I’m not wearing a watch and there’s no clock in the corridor, but it feels as though I’ve been sitting here for ages. A woman in a white uniform emerges from the elevator and disappears behind a frosted glass door before I can ask the time. An orderly pushes an empty gurney past my chair, but pretends not to see me. Apart from their brief appearances I’m completely alone, cold, hungry, and increasingly irritable. From the pain in my groin, I’d guess it’s half past time for my medication. I’d wheel myself back to my room if I knew where it was.
I’m wondering if I can turn myself in to the Lost and Found when the office door opens and an attractive brunette pops out, smiling apologetically. “I’m so sorry to leave you waiting. We had a bit of an emergency, and I couldn’t get away. Jacob Kanter, right?” She pretends to shake my hand while actually checking the ID band on my wrist, very smooth. “Can I get you anything, a glass of water, some ginger ale?”
What I’d like is my pain medication, but that’s not her fault so I’m polite. “No, but if you have something hot, tea or coffee, I’d like that.”
“I do have coffee. In fact, I’ll join you if you don’t mind. How do you take it?”
The warm coffee is a comfort, and I can feel my ruffled feathers settle down. She pulls up a chair and sits beside me instead of taking her rightful place behind a large, imposing desk. She smiles so sweetly as she gathers up her pen and a manila folder that I feel myself relax. Even the pain in my groin seems to diminish slightly.
She does a quick perusal through the file then looks up with an expression of concern. “Mr. Kanter, I see that you fell and broke your hip. Can you tell me exactly how that happened?”
The last few days are pretty hazy, but I try to reconstruct events as best I can. “I was at dinner with some friends when I realized I’d forgotten my glasses. When I got up to get them the boat must have lurched because I lost my balance and went down. The next thing I know I’m in the hospital with a broken hip.”
“My notes say you were on a cruise ship, is that right?” She leans forward encouraging me to tell her more.
I’m a bit wary, but nod in the affirmative.
“How interesting, what else do you remember?” A small silver cross sways on a chain between her breasts. She looks too young to be a doctor, but everyone looks too young for everything these days.
I’m not sure that I can trust her, but her sweet smile persuades me to go on. “It was called the Aqua Meridian. At first, I thought it was just a harbor ferry, but it was bigger than it looked.”
“Really? How was that?”
“It was quite remarkable really. They were giving away free tickets to celebrate the ship’s maiden voyage and they gave me one. I thought we’d just sail around the harbor and be back in time for supper, but it turned out to be a longer trip than I’d expected. It really took me by surprise.”
“My goodness, how long were you gone?” She’s still smiling her sweet smile, but I begin to suspect a trap.
“I’m not sure, time is different when you’re at sea. I’m afraid I lost count.”
“What did you do for clothes? You didn’t have a suitcase with you.”
“No, I didn’t.” My memory’s distressingly disordered with disconcerting gaps, but I tell her what I remember, knowing how odd it sounds. “The cabin was equipped with complimentary shirts and toiletries, even a bathing suit.” I stop myself midsentence. Is that what happened? Did the ship really provide clothes for its passengers? That doesn’t sound right. My story dissolves as I tell it. Nothing holds water. I become agitated and start choking on my coffee.
Dr. Mendoza hands me a tissue. “Are you all right Dr. Kanter? Do you need a minute to catch your breath?”
I wipe spittle from my mouth while she gathers up some papers. I was an idiot for talking to her. She’s going to use it all against me.
She opens a spiral notebook. “Are you up to answering a few more questions?”
“Not about the ship, I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”
“No, we’re done with that. Now I’m going to say three words. I want you to remember them then say them back to me. Are you ready?” She pauses then over-articulates, “Lemon, baseball, antelope.”
This is insulting, but I repeat, “Lemon, baseball, antelope,” like a trained parrot.
“Very good, perfect. Now I’m going to ask you to draw the hands on three clocks.”
She hands me a clipboard holding a paper showing three clock faces without hands. “Can you make the first clock say six o’clock?”
I’ve never been a great artist and it’s hard to read the small numbers even with my glasses, but I manage well enough. I complete the other two clocks according to instructions and hand them back.
“Very good.” She looks pleased and I assume I’ve aced the test. “Now, do you remember the three words I gave you earlier? Can you repeat them back to me?”
My mind’s a blank. What happened to those words? I try to stay calm, but I begin to panic. “Orange, I think. I think one of them was orange and—and I can’t remember the others. The clock thing knocked them out of my head.”
“Oh, that’s perfectly all right, don’t worry about it. You got them all the first time. Now can you tell me the name of the prime minister?”
When she’s done peppering me with inane questions, she sends me off to another department for a CT scan without a break for lunch. I could kiss the orderly who finally arrives to take me back upstairs, starving, desperate for my medications and a nap.
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I’M SITTING IN bed, sipping beef broth from a cup when Michael arrives carrying a large potted plant. A toy bird perched on a stick above the foliage is clearly intended to cheer me up.
“Thank you, very thoughtful. Put it on the windowsill, would you?”
“Absolutely, how’s your day been? They tell me you’ve been sleeping quite a lot.” It’s odd that he’s here in the middle of the afternoon when he should be at the office. A moment later his wife, Ellen, bustles in with a box from Harbord Bakery. I know it’s full of rugalach even without looking. They’re both smiling broadly and talking much too loudly. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“What are you doing here at this hour? Who’s minding the store?”
“Michael just decided to take a couple hours off. There was nothing so urgent that he couldn’t take some time to see his father.” Ellen makes a show of opening the bakery box and offering me a small crescent of sweet pastry filled with raisons and chopped nuts.
I brush the box aside. “Thank you, but I’m drinking this right now. I’ll have one after dinner. Michael, what’s going on? Why are you both here?”
Michael is standing at the end of the bed shifting from one foot to the other. I recognize the expression on his face. It’s the one he wore when explaining a bad mark or why he couldn’t make it home by curfew as a boy. He’s about to tell a lie.
“Well, we got some wonderful news today. There’s an opening at Bayside Manor. One of their premiere rooms just opened up.”
“You mean that someone died.” I stare at him with the fiercest expression I can muster.
“Well, I suppose that’s possible. We don’t know why it became available, but we need to decide right away. I’d hate for you to lose a chance like this. Honestly, the place is spectacular. The residents all love it there. They even have their own Rehab Department so you could go there directly from St. Mike’s and get therapy right where you live.”
“That’s not where I live.”
“But you could live there, we could have you moved in within the week. You could go right from the hospital to your new apartment. You wouldn’t even need to pack. We’d take care of all that for you. It’s a corner unit with a bedroom and a nice sitting area with a little table where you can eat if you don’t want to go down to the dining room.”
Was that supposed to be an enticement? I’d never go home again, and strangers would pack all my things. How did this boy survive as a lawyer if he couldn’t make a better argument than that? I wasn’t buying it. “We’ve discussed this before, Michael. I’m not ready for one of those places. They have an excellent rehab department right here at St. Mike’s, then when I’m ready I’ll go back to my own place. Moving would be too upsetting right now. Thank you, but I’m just not interested.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, be honest with him. Tell him the truth.” Ellen plunks her oversized frame into a small metal chair and takes a large bite of one of the rugalach.
I cast a stony eye at my son. “So, tell me, what’s the truth? What don’t you want me to know?”
Michael comes around to the side of the bed and takes my hand. “Dad, we got a call today from one of your doctors, a neurologist. She did some tests and, I’m sorry, Dad, but she says you’re showing signs of dementia.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my memory’s fine. Maybe I didn’t remember all the words on her little test, but ask me about the Palace at Phaestos. Ask me about the Dorian invasion.”
“You’re right, Dad. Dr. Mendoza said your memory’s pretty good, but your judgement’s impaired and well, you’re hallucinating. There’s no brain tumor, so she thinks it’s some sort of dementia. Whatever it is, she says your hallucinations are so vivid you can’t tell what’s real from what you’re imagining. It’s just not safe for you to live alone anymore.”
I feel as though I’ve been cast overboard with a pocket full of rocks. “I see.” I swallow hard. So, this is how it ends, eating with strangers in a home for the terminally old. I muster the strength to protest. “But I’ve been doing fine. I haven’t had any problems. My bills are paid. I eat my vegetables.”
“Dad, you’re in the hospital because you got confused and wandered off to the lake by yourself. You had no business getting on a boat with your poor balance and double vision.”
“I didn’t wander off. I went down to the lake on business. It was a perfectly rational decision. A man can go down to the harbor if he wants to.”
“Not at your age, not in your condition. You should have called me first. We could have gone together. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not punishing you. I love you and want to protect you.”
Michael keeps hold of my hand while I silently say good-bye to my sofa and chairs, my papers and books, the framed family photos, the moth-eaten rug from Morocco, and the familiar view of the courtyard.
“You’re still not being honest. Tell him the whole thing. It will be worse if he’s not prepared.” Ellen’s a trained therapist and very big on honesty, but I’m not sure I can take any more. She stops gobbling down cookies and stares at me with a forlorn expression as though I’m already the dearly departed.
“Not now, Ellen, give him a break. Can’t it wait?” Michael lets go of my hand and runs his fingers through his thinning hair. His eyelids sag and his jowls wobble. It suddenly strikes me that my son is old.
“Tell him, Michael. You can’t wait until he moves in.”
“OK, OK, just give me a minute.” Michael pours some water from the carafe on my tray into an empty glass and slugs it down like a shot of vodka. “OK, Dad, there’s more. That very nice apartment at Bayside Manor is in the Security Unit. There’ll be an alarm on the door so you can’t wander off again. There’s a call button you can use when you want to go out, but you’ll be under supervision. I’m sorry, Dad, but it’s for your own good.”