Tarnished Beauty (35 page)

Jamilet's bag of belongings dropped to the floor. “Tía Carmen called you?”

“She did the right thing,” Nurse B. said. Then she glanced at Mr. Simpson, who was engrossed in organizing his documents on her desk, and continued. “If you recall, when you started your employment here, I informed you that your patient was free to come and go as he wished. You have become quite
intimate,
I know,” she said in a belittling tone. “So perhaps he informed you that if he didn't cooperate with his treatment, and demonstrate some sort of improvement by leaving his room on occasion for meals or by taking a stroll in the garden, he would be placed on an involuntary conservatorship. What that means is that at approximately three o clock this afternoon, he will lose the legal right to make decisions for himself. Mr. Simpson,” she said, nodding at the man seated in front of her, “is the attorney who will see to it.”

Nurse B. went on with eyes half closed, as though reciting the words from a professional journal she had long ago memorized. “Delusional patients like Mr. Calderon can be persuasive, and quite believable. They're capable of inventing elaborate stories in order to support their delusions. Sometimes,” she said, slowing her speech, as though speaking with an idiot who was also deaf, “they incorporate others into their delusional stories. And sometimes,” she said, slower still, “these others believe the delusion just as much as they do. Among professionals, this is called a ‘folie à deux,' or a shared delusion. It's most likely to occur when a close bond has been established between the delusional patient and someone else who may have the need to believe similarly.” A sad and somewhat patronizing smile crept over Nurse B.'s haggard face. “He says the same thing every year—that he's waiting for the ‘
appointed hour,'
and that at the
‘appointed hour'
he'll leave his room with a suitcase packed, and head off to Spain. Isn't that right, Mr. Simpson?”

He nodded, irritated that Nurse B. hadn't followed his recommendation to stick to the essential information, and kept his eyes focused on his various documents. “I'll need you to sign where it's highlighted,” he said to Nurse B.

But Nurse B.'s discourse seemed to have renewed her agitation, and she didn't appear to have heard the attorney's request. “That is the reason I instructed you to refrain from unnecessary conversation with him in the first place. Do you know that in all the time he's been here he's never so much as set foot out of his room? How can he possibly board a plane and go to Spain? That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard. Your patient knows very well that if he were able to leave his room and…and tell Mr. Simpson to stop the legal proceedings himself, then that would be something else entirely. But as it stands there's no doubt in my mind that what your patient needs is to be placed on conservatorship so that he can receive the treatment he sorely needs. And as for you,” she continued while pounding her plump fingers on the desk, “your services are no longer required. In fact, I don't want to see you on the grounds of this hospital ever again. I'll have your final check mailed to your home.”

Jamilet stood motionless in the center of the room. “You can't do that to him,” she said.

“I've given him a fair chance,” Nurse B. continued, her face reddening. “But he hasn't been willing to speak with me, or to see his psychiatrist, and he has certainly never left his room.”

Jamilet felt her lungs constricting in her chest, and she began breathing much as Nurse B., in short little spasms and gasps, but what she had to say next was intended not for her employer, but for Jenny. “He won't speak with you because he hates you. You should have let him marry the woman he loved. If he'd married Rosa, none of this would have happened.”

“Nurse B., your signature please,” the attorney repeated, but this time she definitely hadn't heard a word he said. Slowly, she stood up from her chair and leaned over her desk, toward Jamilet, her face contorting and her eyes bulging with pent-up emotion. “I gave everything I had to that man,” she seethed. “And he chose a life with me. Now because of a few dusty letters, he wants to pretend that the past forty years were a lie.” The rage she'd been saving for so long began to sputter and boil to the surface. She raised a clenched fist in the air. “I won't have it!” she yelled as she slammed her fist on the desk. Mr. Simpson jumped nearly a foot in the air, and looked up from his work with a shocked and horrified expression.

Jamilet, however, remained calm. “Perhaps,” she said, “he'd come out of his room if you told him what happened to his child. Perhaps the truth will cure him.”

Nurse B. clasped her hands together, weaving her fingers into a fierce knot. “You have gone too far, and I have indulged you for far too long. If you don't leave this instant, I'll call security and have you removed by force!”

Jamilet picked up her bag of belongings, and headed for the door. But before leaving she turned around and said, “It's never too late to do the right thing, Jenny.”

“Get out!” she yelled while pointing to the door.

Jamilet left the building confused and frantic enough to be on the verge of tears, but she couldn't allow herself to lose her bearings now. She needed time and space to think. She made her way back down toward the gate, stumbling on the path as she went, and nearing the very spot where she and Eddie had come through the trees that first night. She ducked into the darkness of their cover and waited for her heart to stop pounding, and for an idea to come to her.

From where she was hiding she could still see most of the building, and the fifth-floor window of Señor Peregrino's room. It was slightly open, as she'd left it the night before, but Señor Peregrino wasn't there waving at her and urging her to come up, as she'd hoped he would be. Her eyes scanned the rest of the building, and she noticed that one of the windows on the first floor had been left open. Without hesitating she ran back up the path toward the open window. While crouching behind an overgrowth of bushes, she peeked inside and saw two patients still asleep. Soon they would be summoned for their breakfasts and baths. She didn't have much time.

After hastily stuffing her possessions under the bushes, she proceeded to open the window a bit wider, but the stiff wooden frame moaned, and one of the patients opened his eyes to find Jamilet with one leg slung over the windowsill. She froze and then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was Charlie. He started to clap his hands with glee at the sight of his friend. Jamilet put her finger to her lips, and immediately he quieted down. She'd finally managed to squeeze herself through when she heard the unmistakable footsteps of authority approaching. She jumped away from the window and made it to Charlie's bedside only seconds before the charge nurse appeared in the doorway. She was obviously irritated, and in no mood for nonsense. “The two of you should have been showering a half hour ago. I told you—” She stopped when she saw Jamilet. “What are you doing here?”

Jamilet flashed her ID badge, thankfully still in her possession. “I work here. On…on the fifth floor.”

The nurse propped her hands on her hips. “Yes, I've seen you around, but what are you doing here? And why didn't I see you come in? No one gets onto my floor without my authorization.” Her eyes darted toward the open window.

Jamilet took a deep breath. “I…I wanted to wake Charlie because I know he's always late for breakfast.”

The nurse turned toward the patient. “How'd she get in here, Charlie?”

Charlie's eyes flew open, and he shrugged.

She pointed a finger at him. “You tell me the truth or I'll see to it that you don't get your cigarettes today, and I'll know if you're lying.”

“She came in,” he said nervously, while twisting his blankets in between his tar-stained fingers. “That's all.”

“Yes, but
how
did she come in?” the nurse asked, narrowing her eyes. “Did she come in through the door?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, she didn't come in through the door.”

“How about the window, Charlie? Did she come in through the open window?”

He began to tremble, and Jamilet knew that for Charlie, as with most of patients, the prospect of losing their cigarettes for an entire day was intolerable—a fate worse than death.

“It's okay, Charlie,” Jamilet said, her face red with shame. “You can tell her the truth.”

Charlie gazed at Jamilet for some time and then his trembling ceased. All at once he smiled a glorious smile, and pointed up toward the ceiling. “She came through the clouds, just like an angel,” he said. “And every time she comes down from heaven she brings me Jell-O and butterscotch pudding.” He turned to the nurse with all sincerity when adding, “And sometimes a muffin too. I like blueberry the best.”

The nurse rolled her eyes. “Get out of bed and into the shower, Charlie. And you,” she said, pointing at Jamilet this time, “get off my floor before I report you.”

 

Jamilet hurried to the kitchen and collected Señor Peregrino's breakfast, which had been prepared for delivery as usual. She proceeded to the elevator that took her up four floors, and then to the narrow staircase up to the fifth, expertly balancing the tray, as she'd learned to do over the months. She was strong enough now to carry a tray twice as heavy if necessary.

She knocked twice, and entered, although she'd heard no reply from Señor Peregrino. He was still in bed with his blankets pulled up over his head. Stepping over his suitcase, she placed the tray on the night table, and went directly to the bathroom to begin her morning chores.

She returned with his laundry in her arms, and found him sitting up in bed watching her, looking as though he might melt with despair. She greeted him as usual, dropped the armload in the center of the room, and opened the window more widely so the morning breeze could sweep in with a fresh hand.

“They've spoken to you?” he asked gravely.

“Yes,” she said. “And Jenny fired me too. She said that she never wanted to see me on the hospital grounds again.”

Jamilet left the window and began preparing his coffee while shaking her head. With all the delays, it was barely hot enough to dissolve a teaspoon of sugar. She took it to him anyway, but he waved it away with a shaky hand. “Then why are you here?” he asked.

Jamilet prepared a cup for herself, and pulled up a chair to sit near him. She took a sip, and considered him with clear and curious eyes. “Where else would you expect me to be on a beautiful morning like this, if not with my grandfather?”

Señor Peregrino's chin eased down to his chest. Jamilet had nearly finished her coffee before he spoke again. “Your company has proved to be entertaining these past few months, I can't deny that, but the truth is…I've…I've grown tired of you, and…and I no longer think our previous arrangement a sensible one. In fact, it's preposterous to go through with such a charade. You'll have your choice of jobs with your papers now, so leave me be. I'm not anybody's grandfather, least of all yours.”

Jamilet set her cup down and leaned forward. “I know what you're doing,” she said softly. “You're trying to punish yourself and discourage the world. But it won't work, Grandfather. You can't run from the truth.”

Señor Peregrino raised his head, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “The truth is that our little game is finished. My foolish agony prevents me from setting foot outside my room, and so we won't be going anywhere. What's more, what little freedom I have will soon be taken from me. I can't be wasting my time with this nonsense!” He clenched his fists, and a slight tremor of rage overtook him.

Jamilet leaned in closer, her eyes shining. “The truth is that we took a vow, you and I. We put our hands on the Bible and everything, and you can't change that now no matter what Jenny and that attorney downstairs say about it.” Gazing at him, she said, “Tell me again how it is with miracles, Grandfather.”

His lips quivered slightly when he said, “I don't recall.”

“Yes you do. You said that we conceive our own miracles, and that we must decide what is real by choosing our own stories, and believing in them with all of who we are.”

His eyes flickered and he glanced in her direction, although he dared not look at her fully. “I so wanted to make a miracle happen for us, my dear. But I'm afraid that the only thing that seems real for me today is the trembling I feel whenever I step out that door. After all that's happened, I don't know if I'll ever be able to face the world again.”

Jamilet took his clenched hand into her own, and immediately his fingers loosened as she tugged gently on his arm. “It's a beautiful morning. Come to the window with me and see for yourself. The way the light is shimmering through everything, it reminds me of the mornings you told me about in Spain.”

Begrudgingly, Señor Peregrino allowed himself to be pulled out of bed, and guided to the open window. He and Jamilet stood there together looking down at the garden for some time. Then she said, “You know, if I could choose from all the people in the whole world who I'd want for my grandfather, I'd choose you. I'd say that's quite a miracle, wouldn't you?”