Vexation stung as she left the room. Somehow Vince still managed
to have the last word, even when he didn’t. Vince still managed to prescribe
his arrogance without his scotch, his silk sheets or even the use of his legs.
She dropped his pillow at the foot of his bedroom door and added a blanket. She
would aid his campaign in his refusal to sleep in his room. He could sleep on the
floor and continue to be the Vince that scoffed at her.
Towels
and a bowel of warm water in arm, she descended the stairs. At this moment, she
felt more nurse than ever. She relished the shield of her outfit and the rap of
her shoes. His arrogance brought out the Nora within her and she sort of liked
it. Vince appeared expectant as she entered the room. He had taken off his knee
braces and put them in the corner. Nancy paused before depositing the bowel on
the floor. She unrolled the towel over an adjacent, more capacious couch that
enabled Vince to recline horizontally. He did so, using the crutches in this transfer.
Nancy washed her hands without helping. The couch gave a squeak as he rested
his head upon the arm-support. She unfurled the bottom of his bathrobe. ‘I
couldn’t help noticing your legs are undressed.’
Vince’s
tone emerged short yet throaty. ‘The stitches itched like hell last night. The
damned dressing got in the way.’
Nancy’s
breath caught in her throat at the sight. She tried not to let it show in her
voice. ‘You obviously needed a fresh dressing.’
Vince’s
voice came back flatly. ‘A nurse was due to change it yesterday…but you took
care of her.’
Nancy
refused to admit fault. She seized a hand-wipe from the trolley’s lower tray
and worked the tissue between her fingers. A clinical tang cut through Vince’s aromatic
fusion of seashell and well-water. She raised the bottom of Vince’s bathrobe to
pipe antiseptic lotion along the ridges of his wounds. The shock of what she
was seeing began to sink in as she spread her fingers over his knees. Vince’s
right leg twitched. Notches that had no business being there protruded from
both kneecaps in ugly asymmetry. Sunset hues blotched out from ridged scars
that ran down the flanks of Vince’s knee joints. In places, bruised skin
appeared to bank up against the line of scar, bringing the illusion of patchwork.
Within these folds, flaky skin had partially curdled. A line of stubble
separated the injured area from his lower legs. Below this line, muscle and
sinew from a former life had proved the best sculptor. Now the aesthetic and
the deformed vied for attention.
Nancy
worked the antiseptic cream over the broad areas of Vince’s legs. A tic
developed within Vince’s right knee. Nancy maintained pressure for the benefit
of the pores. Her fingers enclosed the force of his spasms. Vince grunted.
Nancy brought her thumbs to the sides of his kneecaps and pushed the cream into
the seams of his scars. Vince cried out. Her thumbs continued to make a
circuit. ‘Just being thorough, Mr. Jonas.’
Vince
hissed through gritted teeth. ‘What sort of mother did you have?’
Her
fingertip exorcised the curdled skin from his scar tissue. ‘She made me what I
am.’ At her periphery, his left hand groped at the edge of the couch.
‘Do
your best, Nora…won’t you?’
Nancy
eased the pressure before letting go. Without delay, she enclosed her index
finger within a clean cloth. She then excavated all traces of dead skin that
dared to evade her. Double-Barreled Nurse with her falsies could not have equalled
Nancy in thoroughness. Vince’s right thigh now joined kneecap in a spasmodic
dance. His voice came out a strangled whisper. ‘Soon, Nora… very soon… I will
be adrift somewhere… miles from this grim climate… and your grim company. I
will be sipping wine with good friends… watching the sun go down… the water
lapping at my feet… and above all… I will be with someone who will please me.’
Residual
dead skin gathered at the cloth’s leading edge. ‘I’m sorry you find my company
grim, Mr. Jonas.’
‘Don’t
be sorry, Nora. You have made me appreciate the good things in life.’
Nancy
paused in her task and felt an imperative to look ahead. Her sights fixated
upon the door leading to the foyer. Beyond the doorframe, the gloom shifted.
Her nape hairs twitched. Was someone watching her? Nancy lowered her gaze not wanting
to draw attention. The ambiguity tormented her but she wouldn’t look again. She
hoped she had simply neglected to close the door or imagined what she’d seen.
Nancy
turned to encounter the full force of Vince’s glare. Sweat speckled his brow
and his fevered eyes demanded an answer. Nancy suppressed a gasp. ‘Lay back,
Mr. Jonas. I have not finished.’
The
dressing at his throat jerked as he swallowed. Mouth firmly-seamed, he
complied, the couch whispering against his bathrobe as he lowered his head onto
the armrest.
Clothed
finger poised, Nancy set her sights upon a seamed scar below his left kneecap.
She didn’t want Vince to cry out anymore. She didn’t want him to make a sound.
But a pink gash intersecting the wound warned this may not always be possible.
Clothed
finger touched down; a sweep across the seam. Vince submitted to a choked whimper.
Another sweep. Vince’s leg jerked. The gloom beyond the doorframe continued to
survey her. A cherry-sized portion of antiseptic cream slowly departed from her
fingertip into the recesses of Vince’s scars. Vince made small sounds along the
way.
The
task done, Nancy washed her hands. Vince’s cries had satisfied the gloom beyond
the door. The gloom beyond the door can now retreat with the memory and dwell
upon it. Clean towel failed to cleanse her soiled hands. The gloom had latched
onto her purpose and made it dirty.
Nancy
groped at her run of tasks. She applied a light dressing below the knee. She
applied another just above. She repeated the procedure on Vince’s other knee.
The emergence from her trance brought her to silence. The creases of Vince’s
bathrobe shifted with each breath. Nancy folded the towel. ‘Your wounds
shouldn’t itch tonight, Mr. Jonas,’ she said.
Vince
grasped the edge of the couch and levered himself up. His fevered state had
passed, leaving his hair damp and his eyelids heavy. With a clatter, she placed
everything on the lower tray of the trolley. ‘You haven’t eaten since
yesterday,’ she remarked.
Vince
shifted onto his tailbone. ‘I think you should know, Nora that cheese
sandwiches and custard creams are not really to my taste.’
Nancy
raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry, Mr. Jonas. You’ll get a taste for it.’ She
poised herself behind the trolley ready to wheel it out.
‘Nora.’
Nancy
paused, looking at him.
Heavy
shadows flickered over his face. ‘Nothing.’
