Once We Were (14 page)

“
I second that,” Senator Smith spoke up hastily. “Our business is Titanic. However, if White Star Line wishes to question their employee policy further, they may do so on their own.”

“
It can be counted on,” Mr. Henry glared at Ioan.

“
As far as the ship's fate, we can not yet include your testimony in the report until we investigate it further. Until then, let us move on to the next session, Employee number 509.”

Chapter 10

Dr. Fray thought himself a liberal man who never minded society's expectations. Therefore, if he felt his patients should have free time outside their rooms, instead of being chained like animals, he would allow it. The insane were sick people who needed medical intervention. Rehabilitation could only be reached through social interaction and creative stimulation. Every patient was allowed one hour outside their wards to wander the courtyard. Dr. Fray encouraged games like chess or cards to exercise the social skills patients needed when they were introduced back into society. Creative productivity allowed them to express themselves in acceptable manners. Most of his patients considered it the highlight of the day. Dr. Fray found it a most progressive time to take notes on their status rather than conduct one on one interviews.

He observed them quietly with his notepad. All progressed satisfactorily. All except one. The young man distanced himself from the rest of the group, near the river which rushed pass the facility. He'd claim the easel for himself and spent most of his hours in silence painting. He never uttered a word to anyone, especially the doctor. He answered no questions, nor questioned anything. No one knew his name or where he'd come from, except that he was Italian.

He was Dr. Fray's greatest challenge, not because of his insanity, but because he refused to be cured. His file named him Gianni Antonelli, an immigrant from somewhere in Italy, who murdered a complete stranger. When asked why he did it, he said he didn't know. He was represented by a crafty attorney, notorious for letting bad men go free. Gianni was dumped from his prison cell into Dr. Fray's hands. Fray took the responsibility of figuring out why he was insane, cure it, and send him back to the electric chair. Gianni had to have known this. If he gave Dr. Fray any indication that he was cured, he'd be sent to fry. He feared for his life and avoided the doctor at all costs.

Dr. Fray discovered a weakness Gianni couldn't resist. Appreciation. “That's a very fine painting,” Dr. Fray complimented. “I've never seen the bird bath in that light.” Gianni's dark eyes looked at him astonished, but nonetheless, he was flattered. He couldn't fight the admiration. “You say that to everyone, doctor,” he replied.

“
Well I may occasionally comment that a work is unique or interesting if it puzzles me, but I never say extraordinary unless I mean it. How do you paint something like that?”

“
It is extraordinary, isn't it?” Gianni beamed. “I want perfection. It's all about detail. Very small detail, and passion. It's about loving something.”

“
And you certainly have a great deal of it,” Dr. Fray replied. “Your family must be very proud. Your father and mother especially. What do they say?”

The smile faded from Gianni's face. It was a risky question, but Dr. Fray had to try. Gianni turned back to his painting. The silence resumed.

Dr. Fray didn't pressure him. He disfavored electric chairs. Murder was murder, no matter who pulls the trigger. Gianni wasn't trouble to any of the residents. In fact, he could be pleasant when he opened up. Dr. Fray gave him sanctuary and left his fate to God, not men.

Gianni's eyes wandered from his canvas The doctor followed his gaze to Beatrice sitting alone on a bench near the gardens. Her eyes were downcast and her hands rested on her lap like a statue. Gianni picked up his easel and approached her, leaving the doctor alone by the tree. Dr. Fray readied his pen and notepad.

“Salve, buon giorno,” Gianni said quietly. Beatrice didn't answer. She didn't even look at him. “A woman like you should never look down, especially in this place. I am sorry about your father. He's made a mistake.”

No reply.

“I painted this for you,” he said, placing his canvas in her hands. “I thought it might add color to the rooms. They're sad rooms.”

Beatrice ripped it in half. “I don't want your wop trash!” she barked, hurling it into the wind. “Go on! Get away from me!”

Gianni didn't move. He watched his work tumble across the grass. “What are you staring at?” Beatrice demanded. “I said
get!
” Gianni did as she pleased. Dr. Fray noted.

The next day, Beatrice traded her usual spot outside for a quiet corner in the game room. No one disturbed her there. To the doctor's surprise, Gianni let someone else have the easel, despite how it hurt him to see it abused by mindless paint splatters. He didn't go out to his favorite spot by the river. He told the doctor he'd like to give checkers a go today, but grabbed a board for himself and rejected any opponents.

He sat across from Beatrice in the game room taking an unusual interest in the wooden checker pieces.

Beatrice ignored him, careful not to make eye contact. “I know who you are. You
are
the heiress, Beatrice Luckett,” Gianni said to her. “I collected your photographs in the papers. You wore such beautiful gowns. You are a leading lady in fashion. You are an artist. They said you died on the Titanic. It must be lonely knowing you're dead to everyone you love. I belong in a place like this. I'm crazy. But you, you're better than this. Why do you let them keep you here? It's no good to stop eating. I saved this for you.” He placed a muffin on her table.

Beatrice stared at it. Gianni waited for a thank you but it never came. “Why are you still standing here?” she demanded.

“I thought we could talk about it.”

“
Your stench is cutting my breath.”

“
Fine,” Gianni said, shrugging and walking away. He took a newspaper from the faded yellow sofa. “We won't talk.”

He shot her a dark look as he unfolded the paper. Beatrice wanted to shut every inch of him out, but the photograph on the front of the paper struck her. She wouldn't take her eyes off of it. “I'd like to see that,” she told Gianni. Gianni was pleased to oblige. She snatched the paper from his hand as her blue eyes scanned it eagerly.

“A shame, isn't it?” Gianni commented, hoping to strike conversation with her again. “No one cares for us, but some rich bastard gets engaged and the paper's in love with him.”

“
That's impossible,” Beatrice whispered, looking as if she'd seen a ghost. Her eyes were glued to the photograph of Ioan Saier grasping her best friend's hand.

“
It's not possible,” Beatrice said again, then the reality settled in as she scanned the heading,
“Titanic Officer and Lost Saier Heir Accepts Inheritance and Plans Wedding.”

Beatrice gripped the paper. “She planned this. I know she did. She made sure I didn't get off that ship. She nearly killed me, that little bitch. And all the while I thought she was gone. I blamed myself for leaving her behind.” Her eyes fell on Ioan again.

“Signorina?” Gianni asked. “What is it?”

He jumped when Beatrice leapt from her seat, screaming madly as she ripped the pages to shreds. Gianni fell back in his chair astonished. The attendants rushed to restrain her. “Miss, easy now, miss, or you'll force us to intervene,” they warned as she struggled against them.

“She did this to me! She put me here! I treated her like a sister! I'll kill her! I'll rip them both apart!” Beatrice screeched. “She deserved to die!”

Gianni watched horrified as she pounded the attendants with her fist. “Let go of me! She's the imposter! She's taken my place! You have to call my father and tell him what's happened! He can't marry her! He's my fiance! He promised me!” An attendant slammed her hard against the table as the other readied the injection.

“Signore, is that necessary? Can't she just be put in her room?” Gianni begged.

“
No!” Beatrice screamed. “I am Beatrice Luckett, do you hear me? I've been cheated! You can't keep me here! You
can't
keep me here!” In moments, she was out cold.

Dr. Fray warned Gianni not to upset her again and to keep his distance. Beatrice forced him to. She refused to eat or leave her ward. She stared in a daze at the bars of her window.

Gianni sneaked away to her door to offer her food at every mealtime. “Signorina, you must eat,” he pleaded. “You'll die if you go on like this.” Yet he feared it was exactly what she wanted now. She'd given up everything. He was certain one day he'd wake up to find her dead. He wanted to preserve her in his memory.

One afternoon, during recreation hour, he paced in front of an elderly man who grabbed the easel before he could. When the old man limped off to find a potty, Gianni darted for the easel and crept up to Beatrice's room. “Signorina,” he called, knocking on the door. “I'm sorry to bother you. I was wondering if I might paint your portrait by the river.”

There was no answer.

Gianni sighed. He turned to leave when the door suddenly creaked open. Beatrice stood in the doorway.

The dazed look disappeared from her eyes, and she seemed more focused and tranquil than ever. He saw the attractive heiress he knew somewhere inside of her. “Yes,” she said. “I'd like that very much. You lead the way.”

Gianni sat her comfortably against the tree trunk and set up his easel. “I won't pay you anything for this,” she warned him.

“If it pleases you.”

“
It'd please me more if this gets you to shut up. If my father knew I was doing this, he'd...” She trailed off. Her father's face turned away in her memory. Her stiffened lip softened remorsefully.

“
We're not so different,” Gianni told her.

“
You're mad if you think you and I are at the same level.”

“
My father hated me. He would not let my mother love me. He did not like me or my paintings,” Gianni said.

“
Oh, play me a violin. I don't like your paintings either,” Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You plan on boring me with your life story too?”

“
He destroyed them,” Gianni continued. “So one day I made him eat them. I left the house as he gagged on the lead paint. I never saw or heard from him again. I tried to get into the university, but they said my work was boring. Unimpressive. So I had a drink with gentlemen in expensive suits who promised to get me back to Italy to study with a great painter. I just had to do what he said. I had no money, so of course I agree. I ride with them out of town, and I'm guessing I'm going to work in vineyards. My heart pounds in excitement. My family has trained wine for years. We stop and they tell me to get out. There was no more sun. It was too late to pick grapes. When I tell them this, they shove me out. I see a man in between the vines with his back toward us. His hands and feet are tied and he's gagged. My heart is pounding again, but this time out of fear. I think they're going to kill me. I don't want to die. I just want to paint.

“
They tell me I have to work if I want to paint. They hand me the gun and demand me to pull the trigger. I say no. I don't know this man. Why should I kill him? They ask if I don't want to work. I say I want to work but not like this. So they beat the man and break his arm. They say shoot him. I say no. They break his other arm. They say shoot him. I scream no. They break his legs and say put him out of his misery. I couldn't say nothing. They take a hammer and break his back. He screams for me to shoot him. They order me to shoot him. I can't move. They cut his neck but he's still alive gurgling for air. Then I shoot him.

“
They want me to get rid of him. They leave me alone in the vineyard with a bleeding man. I carried him for miles in the dark before someone found me and asked what happened. I could barely speak, clenching this dead man to my chest. I said I killed him. They took me in and the lawyer convinced the judge to send me here. That was generosity.”

“
How is that got anything to do with me?” Beatrice demanded.

“
Me and you, we were both sacrificed so that someone else could have their prize. All we wanted was to be loved and appreciated for what we do, but that is never enough. Those we loved dearly took the advantage,” he said, taking up his brush. “Like the man and woman in the photograph. You loved them.”

Beatrice gazed silently at the river. “I cried for them both when I got off the ship. I blamed myself for not going back. I'm such a sap. She wanted him all along. She was willing to kill for it. She's taken everything. What sort of game is God playing?”

“It wasn't he who pulled the trigger,” Gianni commented. “It was me. It was her. It was you. The question is who is playing God?”

“
That is blasphemy, sir.”

“
Oh, fate,” Gianni smiled at her as if she were a little girl. “Never leave it in the hands of another person, much less a deity. You'll wait an eternity for salvation. Take responsibility for your own fate.
You
are God.”

“
So you're a preacher now?”

“
I am all but passive,” Gianni replied. “I'm not done with your portrait, signorina. Please, sit down.”

“
No, paint me like this,” Beatrice told him as she stood gazing at the river. “Paint me so that whoever looks on this canvas one day will nod and say she was thinking about freedom. She thought about taking control of her life. Challenging God.”

“
Signorina, don't step so close. It is steep,” Gianni cautioned her.