Cubby couldn’t see Rosemary’s face clearly, since her chin was resting on her collarbone. He knelt on the carpet in front of her chair, looking up at her.
‘Rosemary,’ he whispered. ‘Do you know who I am?’
The dull eyes drifted across his face indifferently for a moment, then slid away. He studied her, hardly able to believe what he saw. The beauty of her face, so much of which had come from the vivacity of her expressions, was completely gone. What had once been plump was now drooping. The once-rounded cheeks were pouchy, the once-full lips thin and cracked. Her skin, which had bloomed with youth, was sallow. He saw that even her hands were prematurely aged, their grace gone, the nails cut short. They lay in her lap like two dead birds.
‘It’s me. Cubby. Don’t you remember me?’
He thought he saw her nodding at that, though it might have been just part of the tremors which now and then moved her body. He was appalled at the change in her.
‘Do you know why I came to see you today? Do you know what day it is?’
She was unresponsive.
‘Oh, Rosemary. What happened to you?’
He sat back in the hard armchair, and rested his head in his hands. He hadn’t known what to expect today. Perhaps Rosemary screaming, Rosemary raging, but at least Rosemary alive. Not this. Not Rosemary dead. Rosemary dead was not something he could accept or understand. He sat hunched over in misery for a long time, remembering the intense joy he had once held in his arms, now gone forever.
He heard a wet sound from her mouth, and took his hands away from his face. She had raised her head off her chest. The effort made her neck quiver. But she was looking at him. Her lips were moving, straining to form a word.
‘Ca…’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m Cubby. Do you remember me, darling?’
She peered at him searchingly for a while, as though trying to recall something. He was not sure whether she recognised him, or whether she remembered anything about him at all. Then he noticed the wetness that was darkening the brown fabric of her slacks, soaking into the towel she sat on. That was what the nurse had meant by ‘in case of accidents’.
He saw her expression change, showing the first emotion he’d seen in her – a rush of embarrassment or shame. Her head drooped down on to her breast again. He thought she might be crying.
Cubby turned away and pressed the buzzer. In a short while, Nurse Olsen came back.
‘Ah, I hoped that wouldn’t happen,’ she said regretfully. ‘I took her to the commode before I brought her down, but she didn’t do anything. I guess she was too excited to see you.’
‘Excited?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘What the hell have they done to her?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Didn’t you know about the operation?’
‘What operation?’
‘I thought you knew. You said you were her fiancé.’
‘I was. That was four years ago. I had no idea she was like this.’
Nurse Olsen parted the hair at the front of Rosemary’s head to show him the curved scars on her white scalp. ‘They lobotomised her.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They took out part of her brain. It’s a very new medical procedure. It was supposed to make her calmer. It wasn’t a success.’
‘A success?’ Cubby was trembling. ‘They’ve destroyed her!’
Nurse Olsen took him to the window and lowered her voice. ‘Watch what you say in front of her, Lieutenant. You don’t know what she hears and understands.’
‘Whose idea was it to do this to her?’
‘Her parents took the decision.’
He felt sick to his heart. ‘What did she do that was so terribly wrong? What did she do to deserve this?’
‘They told us she was out of control. Sexually hyperactive.’
‘Sexually hyperactive?’
‘I guess this will upset you, having been engaged to her and all, but she was running around with a lot of men.’
‘Do you know how her brothers behave?’ Cubby demanded.
‘There’s one rule for men,’ Nurse Olsen replied primly, ‘and another for women.’
‘There certainly is in that family,’ he replied bitterly. ‘The men do as they please and the women do as they’re told.’
‘She was a danger to herself. There were incidents. And there was more than that. She had seizures, learning difficulties—’
‘You never knew her as she was,’ Cubby snapped. ‘Whatever problems she had, she’s a thousand times worse now!’
Nurse Olsen straightened her uniform. ‘Look, we didn’t do this to her. We just take care of her now. Okay? So there’s no use yelling at me. People bring their problems to us and dump them here, and we just make sure there’s no more scandal. I’m sorry you weren’t prepared for this. I would have explained if I’d known. I just assumed you were familiar with her condition.’
He couldn’t bear to look at Rosemary any longer. He was staring at the wind-battered yellow roses outside, which were drooping their heads like Rosemary. ‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Well, now you know.’
‘Today is her birthday.’
Nurse Olsen looked surprised. ‘Why, yes. Of course it is. I’d almost forgotten.’
‘She’s twenty-five.’
‘Well, she has the mental age of a two-year-old now.’ There was a silence after this brutal assessment. Then the nurse sighed. ‘You’ll have to excuse us, Lieutenant. I need to change her. I think it’s best if you leave.’
‘Yes.’ He was sleepwalking now, his feelings numbed. There was nothing more to be said or done.
Nurse Olsen’s expression softened. ‘She may make progress. Come back in a year.’
He wondered if she meant that to be consoling. He forced himself to look at the hunched figure of Rosemary, her head hanging down. ‘A year?’
‘It’s going to be slow. But you never know. Come back in a year.’
Idlewild
Rachel Morgenstern stood in front of the huge glass window at Idlewild airport. The sinuous lines of the building flowed around her in convolutions of steel and concrete, but she was oblivious to the neo-futurist architecture. She had eyes only for the gleaming silver Pan American DC-7 which had just landed on the far runway. It caught the watery sunlight as it turned to approach the terminal building, its four great propellers blurring.
Rachel felt that she was hardly breathing. Time had ground to a halt. Out on the airfield, the airliner lumbered slowly along the maze of pathways, though airborne it was capable of three hundred and sixty knots. The heavy drone of its engines shook the ground, even through the plate glass and concrete. Spray kicked up from rain puddles on the tarmac, along with stray pages of newspaper, whirled into the air.
At last, the DC-7 stopped in its bay. The propellers feathered and slowed to a standstill. Ground crew in blue-and-tan uniforms pushed the rolling staircase to the single door aft of the wing. It opened. And after a minute, passengers began to emerge.
Rachel let out her breath at last, feeling dizzy. She’d been in the grip of an unreasoning fear that the airliner would crash, catch fire, vanish before it could release its precious cargo. But it was here at last.
She moved closer to the glass, watching the procession of passengers intently. They clutched at their coats and hats as they came out into the windy New York afternoon, many of them pausing to wave joyfully as they caught sight of those who had come to greet them.
The figure in the long English coat was unmistakable. Rachel waved, but the distant woman did not lift her head to search the windows of the terminal for a familiar face, as the others did, partly because she was short-sightedly peering her way down the aluminium stairs, and partly because she was leading a little girl, who clung sleepily to her hand.