I blinked. Long and slow. The carpet was scratchy against the side of my cheek but if I moved, they’d see and they’d know. I blinked again, willing the itch away. What if I was not myself? Something else. Something other. Then my face wouldn’t prickle. I thought about spiders. Dead ones. Still… and dead. Their spindly legs folded inwards like tiny dry sticks. A breath of wind and…
…snap.
The door opened. I fixed my gaze in front of me. A pair of legs stood in the haze of fluorescent lighting. Then, one pause step pause at pause a pause time, they moved closer. Legs turned into ankles and then shoes – white, scuffed takkies. Knees replaced shoes. A voice. Low, deep. A man. The smell of smoke. Bensen & Hedges. Faint. Familiar. The sound of waves… and smoke. Drink and smoke. Shouting. A fist above my face. Running Hiding. Waves. My leg twitched.
Spiders. Dead spiders.
The low, deep voice did not falter.
Disembodied.
“Marius, this can’t be that comfortable. Why don’t you try a different position?”
I shouted a warning. A warning from my gut. Don’t get too close! The last time someone got too close, I bit. Blood and bicep.
But he couldn’t hear me. Nobody heard. Nobody ever heard.
The man carried on speaking. About nothing, really. And everything. Telling me about himself. Asking me about myself.
His voice low and deep.
And then, of their own accord, my legs crept down the side of the wall and before I knew it my cheek was off the floor. I looked into icy blue eyes. Not cold. Blue. Clear. A furry face. Long hair. Like a girl’s.
I gave nothing.
Alive. Awakened. But not.
And still the voice.
“Marius, it’s getting late. You should have a bath.”
His grip was strong, firm. Not harsh.
I allowed it.
I took my clothes off. First my shirt, then my pants and underpants. The water was warm. I slid down into it.
He was folding my things, placing them neatly in a pile.
I raised my neck and thrust my head hard against the back of the bath. Once. Twice. It got his attention.
He did nothing. Other than look. His blue eyes watching.
Three times. Four. Five. Nothing. Then the man walked towards me. I shouted the same warning as before. He handed me a sponge.
“Marius, I have some things to do. I’ll come back in a bit. Use the sponge to wash yourself.”
He left.
Six. Harder. Seven.
Nothing.
Sitting up, I reached for the sponge and ran it over my torso – rubbing the contours of my ribs which stuck out like dunes bubbling under a translucent plastic glove. Next, my face. Water dripping down my cheeks and into my mouth. I stuck out my tongue to catch the rivulet. Blinking, I turned my head left and right. I was truly alone.
The man returned, helped me out the bath. I dressed and allowed him to lead me to my mattress on the floor.
He walked towards the door and turned to look at me.
“Good night, Marius.”
And switched the light off.
The lock clicked from the outside.
I practised at night, in the dark. Perfecting. Their hands twisted inwards. I watched the retards as they moved. They were distracted, irregular – protected.
“Good morning, Marius. I hope you’ve slept well?”
Nothing.
“I have an idea I’d like to share with you. I’d like you to be more independent. So, every day, at the end of the day, I am going to award you either a bronze, silver or gold star on a chart, according to how well you perform your daily tasks – neatening your bed, getting dressed, feeding yourself, washing yourself, going to the toilet.”
Blink.
“I think you understand me.”
Stare.
I decided that I would. There was something about this man with low, deep voice. A calm. I might let him see.
The first star I got was a gold one. I didn’t always get gold, sometimes silver and sometimes bronze. I was pleased. Only I knew it. But as the days passed, I thought maybe I could share. Every now and then I allowed a tiny bit of myself out. A little at a time. A smile out the corner of my left eye… then both eyes… then a hint of recognition… that turned into the slightest nod… and then sounds came out my mouth. Long buried noises that scared me at first. I’d forgotten. But then, I grew used to them and even liked the sound – the sound of my voice.
“Marius, there’s something I’d like you to try. Could you untwist your hands and legs, and maybe try to walk like other people do. Like I do. You don’t have to do it all at once but look how well you are speaking and getting on with your chores and skills. I think you can do it.”
I knew I could do it.
For the man, I would do it.
It was hard. I had to undo the knots that I had worked so hard to tie. But slowly, they unfurled.
***
Every morning when I woke up, I went to wait for the man. His name was Noel. He rode a motorbike. I’d hear it coming and I’d be waiting. To show him my untwisted self. I’d even made some friends. People I talked to. Today I had exciting news. Everyone was donating money to buy a colour TV for our ward, to replace the black and white one. I also wanted to help.
Marius could hear the rumble of my Triumph Bonneville as I rode into the parking lot and I knew he would be there waiting. But not today. Something wasn’t right. Yesterday, he’d been excited about the colour TV and I’d even chatted to the doc about Marius possibly moving on soon. I walked through the doors with a flutter in my stomach.
“Noel, Marius is hiding. He’s there behind the door at the end of the corridor.”
I could see him clutching the door against himself, trying to press himself into the wall – through the wall and out the other side.
“What happened?”
“Well, the colour TV? You know we’ve been collecting money from everyone so that we can replace the black and white one in the lounge. Marius broke into Johan’s room in the schizophrenic ward, stole some cash and donated it to the television fund. There was a complete uproar when Johan realised his money was gone and Marius was discovered as the culprit. So now he’s hiding.”
My heart sank. It was going to be tough to explain to Marius that what he did was wrong even though his intention was good. As I took a moment to contemplate the ethics of criminality and morality I glanced up toward Marius’s door-prison. He was gone.
Happily vaporised.
I craned my head around only to spot his slight frame in the queue to receive his medication. As I start walking towards Marius, the guy behind him tapped him on the shoulder…
…I ran.
Now, Marius is a little guy and most others in the ward are bigger than him, but Marius has no fear. All it would take is a split second.
I ran faster.
The doorstop is in Marius’s hand. It’s about the size of a half-brick. He lifts his arm. I lunge towards him, shoving tables, chairs and okes out the way, grabbing Marius in a bear hug. Furious, he writhes around like a crazed animal, completely feral. A spectacle. I tighten my grip and Marius locks into my bicep with his teeth and starts squeezing. Oh…no no no. With my free hand, I give him a quick smack on the back of the head and immediately he lets go of my arm.
It’s over.
I take him back to his room and put him on his bed.
“Marius, we need to talk about this. I know what’s happened”.
And I talk to him—gently, quietly. Just explaining. For hours and hours.
I was so sure that Marius’s behaviour would regress after this incident but, surprisingly, it didn’t. Not many months later, I turned the light off and walked out of Marius’s room. Leaving the door slightly ajar.
***
Noel left. I never saw him again. I missed his calm voice, the smell of smoke on his clothes, his motorbike in the morning, his hairy arms and girlish hair. After a while I relocated to the Salvation Army Boys Home. I ran away but went back. I grew up, got married, I have a job and go to church. It took a while for me to remember myself.
But I did.
I am Marius.
***
Image: Tantetati pixabay remix