when a band of rebels came to her village. The dozen fighters massacred everyone, including the woman’s husband and children, and only left when the smell of the rotting bodies became unbearable. The mother’s response was to berate herself publicly for being alive.
…I often think of her. The length of time she lay under her house—motionless, terrified, silent—was about as long as I spent in the Baghdad cellar. Did she talk to herself to stay sane? And, if so, what about? Did she argue the merits of saving her own skin against leaving her children to perish? Is that when her loop of madness began?
…There’s a scream inside my head that won’t go away. Perhaps it’s in everyone’s head. Perhaps it’s what made the woman in Freetown shout. Why does no one care about me?
6
T HE HALL WAS dark and cool after the brilliant sunshine outside. Doors on either side opened into rooms that didn’t appear to lead anywhere, and a branching staircase rose in front of me. It was only when I heard a murmur of voices coming from somewhere to my right that I noticed a green baize door at the back. It was operated by a self-closing hinge and when I eased it open six inches, I could make out words.
“I still don’t understand why I had to park beside your filthy old jalopy,” said the man’s voice. “Don’t you think it’s a little over the top to steal her keys and block her exit?” He spoke in a light, bantering tone as if teasing this woman-child came naturally to him.
Jess, by contrast, sounded irritated, as if his patronizing approach got on her nerves. “She might have had a spare set in the car.”
“In which case she’d have left while you were phoning me from the farm,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Then it’s a pity I can’t see into the future,” she snapped. “If I could, I wouldn’t have bothered you at all. I was afraid she’d invoke the dangerous dogs’ act if I didn’t make a pretence of caring.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know…she has keys to the house so I assume she’s a tenant. I thought it was the dogs that frightened her, which is why I drove them home.” She gave a brief account of what had happened.
“Did you consider that she might be to allergic to fur?”
“Of course, but I asked her if it was anything to do with the dogs, and she said no.”
“OK.” He must have been sitting down because I heard the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor as he prepared to stand up. “I’ll go and talk to her.”
“No!” said Jess sharply. “She needs to come in of her own accord.”
Peter Coleman sounded amused. “What’s the point of my being here if you’ve already decided on the treatment?”
“I’ve already told you. I didn’t want to be sued.”
“Well, I can’t sit around all afternoon,” he said with a yawn. “I’m on the golf course in half an hour.”
“There are other sorts of treatment besides pills, you know. You wouldn’t think twice about cancelling your golf if one of your old ladies wanted a chat. It might tarnish your halo.”
Surprisingly, Peter laughed. “My God! Do you ever give up? It’s a shame no one’s invented a cure for grudge-bearing…I’d have put you on a drip and pumped you full of it twelve years ago. Just for the record— again —you hadn’t slept in five days and your heart was going like a hammer.” He paused as if waiting for a response. “You know the sedatives worked, Jess. They gave you some respite, which was what your body needed.”
“They turned me into a zombie.”
“For all of a week, while your grandmother shouldered the burden. Don’t you think I’d have given you a paper bag myself if that was all you needed?”
Jess didn’t answer.
“So what’s your prescription for the woman out there?”
“Slowlee, slowlee, catchee monkee.”
“What about my golf? I do have a life outside medicine, you know.”
But Jess wasn’t interested, and a silence fell between
…I often think of her. The length of time she lay under her house—motionless, terrified, silent—was about as long as I spent in the Baghdad cellar. Did she talk to herself to stay sane? And, if so, what about? Did she argue the merits of saving her own skin against leaving her children to perish? Is that when her loop of madness began?
…There’s a scream inside my head that won’t go away. Perhaps it’s in everyone’s head. Perhaps it’s what made the woman in Freetown shout. Why does no one care about me?
6
T HE HALL WAS dark and cool after the brilliant sunshine outside. Doors on either side opened into rooms that didn’t appear to lead anywhere, and a branching staircase rose in front of me. It was only when I heard a murmur of voices coming from somewhere to my right that I noticed a green baize door at the back. It was operated by a self-closing hinge and when I eased it open six inches, I could make out words.
“I still don’t understand why I had to park beside your filthy old jalopy,” said the man’s voice. “Don’t you think it’s a little over the top to steal her keys and block her exit?” He spoke in a light, bantering tone as if teasing this woman-child came naturally to him.
Jess, by contrast, sounded irritated, as if his patronizing approach got on her nerves. “She might have had a spare set in the car.”
“In which case she’d have left while you were phoning me from the farm,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Then it’s a pity I can’t see into the future,” she snapped. “If I could, I wouldn’t have bothered you at all. I was afraid she’d invoke the dangerous dogs’ act if I didn’t make a pretence of caring.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know…she has keys to the house so I assume she’s a tenant. I thought it was the dogs that frightened her, which is why I drove them home.” She gave a brief account of what had happened.
“Did you consider that she might be to allergic to fur?”
“Of course, but I asked her if it was anything to do with the dogs, and she said no.”
“OK.” He must have been sitting down because I heard the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor as he prepared to stand up. “I’ll go and talk to her.”
“No!” said Jess sharply. “She needs to come in of her own accord.”
Peter Coleman sounded amused. “What’s the point of my being here if you’ve already decided on the treatment?”
“I’ve already told you. I didn’t want to be sued.”
“Well, I can’t sit around all afternoon,” he said with a yawn. “I’m on the golf course in half an hour.”
“There are other sorts of treatment besides pills, you know. You wouldn’t think twice about cancelling your golf if one of your old ladies wanted a chat. It might tarnish your halo.”
Surprisingly, Peter laughed. “My God! Do you ever give up? It’s a shame no one’s invented a cure for grudge-bearing…I’d have put you on a drip and pumped you full of it twelve years ago. Just for the record— again —you hadn’t slept in five days and your heart was going like a hammer.” He paused as if waiting for a response. “You know the sedatives worked, Jess. They gave you some respite, which was what your body needed.”
“They turned me into a zombie.”
“For all of a week, while your grandmother shouldered the burden. Don’t you think I’d have given you a paper bag myself if that was all you needed?”
Jess didn’t answer.
“So what’s your prescription for the woman out there?”
“Slowlee, slowlee, catchee monkee.”
“What about my golf? I do have a life outside medicine, you know.”
But Jess wasn’t interested, and a silence fell between
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