“I’ve got some good news for you.”
I braced myself. What other people considered good news was often the worst news you could imagine. But Mo’s eyes were so shiny that I figured it might actually be true this time.
“You’re moving to a new ward very soon. One where you’ll fit in better. Doctor Römerman wants you to come see him, to talk it over with you. I’ll be there, too.”
I nodded. You had to have someone you could trust, and I had Mo.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Mo leaned forward until his face was close to mine. It made me feel uncomfortable. “On the new ward you’ll be given a bigger suite. And you have three guesses what you’ll have room for in there.”
I didn’t dare guess the thing I wanted most in the whole wide world.
Mo started making swimming-fish movements with his hands. “But I haven’t breathed a word to you, all right?”
He walked out of the common room on his way to the social workers’ office, and I was left alone, standing by the window as usual. My fish! Did he really mean I was going to get my fish back?
I raised my hands over my head and started running through the common room like a soccer player who’s just scored a goal. I kept cheering and running up and down. I kept it up until Richard put his hands to his ears and started moaning, “Stop it! Stop it!” Then Mo poked his head out of the office and said, “Ray, I know you’re happy, but take it down a notch, okay?”
“I’m doing my best,” I answered.
“You won’t tell a soul yet, all right?”
“Okay.”
Dr. Römerman explained to me what being placed in the new unit would mean. It was the “autism unit” and was meant for people who weren’t good at feelings. Like me.
I would have to stick to a strict daily schedule and would have to keep going to therapy.
“Fine!” I wanted to shout. “Now tell me about my fish!” But Mo, sitting beside me, was watching me, so I tried to control myself.
“During the intake session, you made a request,” said Dr. Römerman. “You asked if you could have your aquarium in your suite.”
I leaned forward. “Yes? Yes?”
“We have decided to grant your request.”
“That means you’re getting your fish,” said Mo, with a meaningful wink.
“But,” said Dr. Römerman, “first we’ll have to take the dimensions of the tank into account. If it’s too large, we’ll give you permission for a smaller one. Would that be a problem?”
I shook my head. “François! Maria! Hannibal! King Kong! Saturn! Venus! Peanut! Raisin! Margie!”
“I see,” said Römerman. He put on his horn-rimmed glasses and started writing something on his notepad. “I think we’ll move you next Tuesday. If you want, you may visit the new unit today with Mo. Would you like to do that?”
“Then we can take a look and decide where your aquarium would go in your new suite,” Mo added.
Again I was overwhelmed with an indescribable sense of happiness. On an impulse I threw my arms around Mo and rested my head on his shoulder.
“Well, well,” said Dr. Römerman, smiling.
Mo patted me on the back. “I’m delighted you’re so happy, Ray.”
The autism unit didn’t look any different from the orientation unit. It had the same sofa and chairs upholstered in blue with thin red stripes, the blond oak coffee table, the yellow polyester carpet . . . even the plants were in the exact same places.
Most of the residents were out, at therapy or at work, the autism social worker told me. He was an older man with a beard and a deep, calm, and clear voice. There were only two of the residents in the common room. They were on a break between activities.
They didn’t say hello. They didn’t even seem aware of our presence. One of them sat on the couch reading a book about ferns. The other was working on a 1,500-piece puzzle.
I was going to like it there.
“You’ll have more freedom here,” the new therapist told me. “But we’ll start you off slow. The first few weeks you’ll remain under close observation. If all goes well, you’ll be given increased independence. Such as being allowed to go to the library on your own, or the canteen.”
“Can I see my cell?”
“Your suite. I must warn you, it isn’t in the greatest shape. We’re having it painted, and you’ll be getting new furniture.”
We walked into a corridor lined with steel doors fitted with little shutters. My cell was at the very end. The social worker tapped in a code and the door swung open.
I stepped into the bare room. There was a stench of sweat, and one wall had a huge damp spot on it. “It hasn’t been cleaned yet,” said the social worker. “But I warned you.”
I started pacing. From one wall to the opposite wall I was able to take exactly eight steps. So I’d have three more feet than before, a definite improvement. The new cell was also wider, and it had a window that looked out on an empty wall.
“What do you think?” asked Mo.
“Very nice,” I said.
“We’re going to clean it up for you, naturally. That won’t be there anymore, either.” The social worker was pointing at the huge stain on the wall, as if it had escaped my notice.
“Great,” said Mo. “If we place your bed here, you’ll have room over there for your aquarium.”
“Oh, yes, I’d heard about that,” said the new social worker. “A saltwater aquarium, right? What kind of fish do you have?”
“All kinds. Angelfish, surgeonfish, clownfish, blennies . . .”
“We have another a resident here who also keeps fish. Only in his case it’s just two goldfish in a bowl.”
Mo glanced at his watch. “We have to get back, Ray. It’s almost the end of my shift.”
I looked around the empty space one last time.
Not too bad, I decided.