Disinfectant.
God, the smell is strong. As soon as I enter the room with its smirking, fluorescent lights it's in my nose and travelling thickly down to my lungs. Its potency makes the centre of my forehead ache. My stomach swims with acid and bile and oh, I don't want this. I don't want this.
They've cleaned it all up. I know this because the floor sparkles and squeaks slightly with my steps. They wouldn't have cleaned it if it hadn't been dirtied. What was it- blood, vomit? It must have been some kind of bodily fluid- some bodily fluid that I cannot connect to this blankety lump laying in the middle of the room, because it is dead.
She is dead, she is dead, dead dead dead.
FOR GOD'S SAKE.
Can't they do something about the smell of this detergent?
Wait- detergent of disinfectant? Detergent, disinfectant, detergent, disinfectant, detergentdisinfectant, deter-
I must not deter myself any longer. With one foot firmly in front of the other, I make an orderly shuffle to the bed. There.. Not so scary, is it? Same white hair, angel face, not yet cold and grey and worm-eaten. I could pretend she was sleeping, but I'm not naïve. I know she isn't there, because I whisper her name and she doesn't respond.
"Ma-a-a-gd-a-a-a-a.."
Why is it that those syllables take so long to fall off my tongue and sound so alien in the non-acoustics of this little room?
They think I'm saying goodbye. That's what they told me to do, to come in and say my last goodbyes. Well, fuck them, how can I? She's dead, it's not as if she'll hear. I don't know if I can bear to touch her, I can hardly look as it is. I'm afraid that'll make the pain set in, make the void open up as I realise that she is Gone Forever.
"Mr Lens-air?"
Say it right, for the love of god. Lehnsherr.
"Mr Lens-air, we need to take Magda away now."
Oh no you don't. You took her from me in the first place.
"And.. There is the is-sue of the children to think of."
No no, I have no children I have no children I have no children.
"Mr Lens-air, I realise this is hard for you, but.."
The door swings open. I get another wave of disinfectant. I have an urge to throw up, which grows as I see what Nursey is holding. Two little bundles. No. No, take them away. No, I don't want to hold them.
"Take them, Mr Lens-air."
Nursey dumps them into my arms. Dear god, how does one hold two children? I remember Magda's book telling you always to support the head and unconsciously I nestle the thickest part of each bundles into the crook of an arm. They are ugly- piggy, hairless, red-faced little creatures with horrible slits for eyes. Demons, surely.
A boy and a girl, so I'm told. That would have thrilled Magda. Poor, simple Magda- all she ever wanted was to have children of her own. How could anyone be so cruel as to deny her that? What do I do with these.. things she has left behind? They're hers, not mine.
Hers.
I'll keep them, for her sake. I'll keep her alive, somebody has to. I'll raise the girl to be just like her and everybody will say "My, aren't you just the spitting image of your poor mother?" I'll give her the kind of son she always wanted- a nice, wholesome boy who would later become a doctor or a professor at a big university. I can't fail her- the fate of these children lies in my hands and it's all up to me now.
Shit, if I was half as brave as I made myself out to be..
There's a rolling sound, and I see the bed being taken away and Magda's getting further and further. The cheap, scratchy blanket has been pulled over her face in a sneering taunt from the nurses- a "Haha, she's dead and she's a nobody now!" I'll forget what she looks like- this will be my lasting image- I'll never see those blue eyes again- she's just any old corpse now and PLEASE, STOP CRYING. The one in the blue hat- the boy I presume emits a hideous, ear-splitting banshee's wail.
The room is empty.
What do I do?
Stop crying. You didn't know your mother. You can't possibly know the pain of losing her. I feel like I'm the one who should be crying, and that's what I want to do. I want to drop to my knees on this too-clean floor and scream from the pit of my stomach until I die. I allow myself a few dry sobs, but no tears come and the sobs feel false. I feel like an actor in a film. This is not my life. This is not me. This is not my child. That was not my wife. This did not happen.
The girl starts to cry too. Nursey enters with a form to sign and takes the children while she waits. I don't want them back, and she knows it. She's muttering something about childcare, but they are empty, empty words. My hand shakes and my signature loops halfway off the page, and this makes me angry. I can't afford to be weak- I need to be in control. Come on, control. Focus. Breeeeeathe.
E. Lehnsherr.
"I'll be leaving you now," says Nursey, taking her clipboard and whipping her pen from my hand.
No.
"What about the-"
"We'll send a visitor round," she says, looking bored or upset or both. "She'll teach you how to care for them. Just for the record, Mr Lens-air, we all think you're very brave."
Brave? I'm shaking. I don't know if I can do this after all.
"Wait, I'm not ready to-"
"You'll be fine, Mr Lens-air."
With a half-smile, Nursey waits patiently for me to pick up the children and leave. I have no choice but to do this. I cannot let Magda down, not again.
She hands me the boy first. I secure him in my arms. He's become quiet and still, and fleetingly I find myself wishing that he too were dead. Then I am given the girl, who is crying angrily in a croaky voice. Nursey waits no longer and leads me down the corridors to the car park.
Death row.
When I walked this route before, Magda was with me but now she's dead.
I can't cope, I won't cope, I know I won't.
If she hadn't come here, perhaps she'd still be with me.
Oh god, it's my fault.
I feel a little tap on my shoulder, and with tortoises' reflexes I finally lift my eyes. It's too late, she's gone and I'm staring into the nothingness of the car park. I can't remember what my car looks like. I can taste the salty, sulphurous air and the world closes in on me like lead curtains. It's rather hard to breathe, here with two piggish bundles stealing what is rightfully my air.
Where the hell is my car?
Everything is opening out before me, spinning too quickly to register. I feel suspended in time, trapped in a glass vacuum with the world rushing on around me. Magda is dead, Magda is faceless and Magda is nothing. But I love her.. The children.. I can't fail her.
The sky threatens rain, and in the distance I see the fuzzy black outline of the car. I walk towards it with that dragging weight on my arms like a man making his final journey with his crucifix.
It should be a new beginning, but something tells me it's all over.
God, the smell is strong. As soon as I enter the room with its smirking, fluorescent lights it's in my nose and travelling thickly down to my lungs. Its potency makes the centre of my forehead ache. My stomach swims with acid and bile and oh, I don't want this. I don't want this.
They've cleaned it all up. I know this because the floor sparkles and squeaks slightly with my steps. They wouldn't have cleaned it if it hadn't been dirtied. What was it- blood, vomit? It must have been some kind of bodily fluid- some bodily fluid that I cannot connect to this blankety lump laying in the middle of the room, because it is dead.
She is dead, she is dead, dead dead dead.
FOR GOD'S SAKE.
Can't they do something about the smell of this detergent?
Wait- detergent of disinfectant? Detergent, disinfectant, detergent, disinfectant, detergentdisinfectant, deter-
I must not deter myself any longer. With one foot firmly in front of the other, I make an orderly shuffle to the bed. There.. Not so scary, is it? Same white hair, angel face, not yet cold and grey and worm-eaten. I could pretend she was sleeping, but I'm not naïve. I know she isn't there, because I whisper her name and she doesn't respond.
"Ma-a-a-gd-a-a-a-a.."
Why is it that those syllables take so long to fall off my tongue and sound so alien in the non-acoustics of this little room?
They think I'm saying goodbye. That's what they told me to do, to come in and say my last goodbyes. Well, fuck them, how can I? She's dead, it's not as if she'll hear. I don't know if I can bear to touch her, I can hardly look as it is. I'm afraid that'll make the pain set in, make the void open up as I realise that she is Gone Forever.
"Mr Lens-air?"
Say it right, for the love of god. Lehnsherr.
"Mr Lens-air, we need to take Magda away now."
Oh no you don't. You took her from me in the first place.
"And.. There is the is-sue of the children to think of."
No no, I have no children I have no children I have no children.
"Mr Lens-air, I realise this is hard for you, but.."
The door swings open. I get another wave of disinfectant. I have an urge to throw up, which grows as I see what Nursey is holding. Two little bundles. No. No, take them away. No, I don't want to hold them.
"Take them, Mr Lens-air."
Nursey dumps them into my arms. Dear god, how does one hold two children? I remember Magda's book telling you always to support the head and unconsciously I nestle the thickest part of each bundles into the crook of an arm. They are ugly- piggy, hairless, red-faced little creatures with horrible slits for eyes. Demons, surely.
A boy and a girl, so I'm told. That would have thrilled Magda. Poor, simple Magda- all she ever wanted was to have children of her own. How could anyone be so cruel as to deny her that? What do I do with these.. things she has left behind? They're hers, not mine.
Hers.
I'll keep them, for her sake. I'll keep her alive, somebody has to. I'll raise the girl to be just like her and everybody will say "My, aren't you just the spitting image of your poor mother?" I'll give her the kind of son she always wanted- a nice, wholesome boy who would later become a doctor or a professor at a big university. I can't fail her- the fate of these children lies in my hands and it's all up to me now.
Shit, if I was half as brave as I made myself out to be..
There's a rolling sound, and I see the bed being taken away and Magda's getting further and further. The cheap, scratchy blanket has been pulled over her face in a sneering taunt from the nurses- a "Haha, she's dead and she's a nobody now!" I'll forget what she looks like- this will be my lasting image- I'll never see those blue eyes again- she's just any old corpse now and PLEASE, STOP CRYING. The one in the blue hat- the boy I presume emits a hideous, ear-splitting banshee's wail.
The room is empty.
What do I do?
Stop crying. You didn't know your mother. You can't possibly know the pain of losing her. I feel like I'm the one who should be crying, and that's what I want to do. I want to drop to my knees on this too-clean floor and scream from the pit of my stomach until I die. I allow myself a few dry sobs, but no tears come and the sobs feel false. I feel like an actor in a film. This is not my life. This is not me. This is not my child. That was not my wife. This did not happen.
The girl starts to cry too. Nursey enters with a form to sign and takes the children while she waits. I don't want them back, and she knows it. She's muttering something about childcare, but they are empty, empty words. My hand shakes and my signature loops halfway off the page, and this makes me angry. I can't afford to be weak- I need to be in control. Come on, control. Focus. Breeeeeathe.
E. Lehnsherr.
"I'll be leaving you now," says Nursey, taking her clipboard and whipping her pen from my hand.
No.
"What about the-"
"We'll send a visitor round," she says, looking bored or upset or both. "She'll teach you how to care for them. Just for the record, Mr Lens-air, we all think you're very brave."
Brave? I'm shaking. I don't know if I can do this after all.
"Wait, I'm not ready to-"
"You'll be fine, Mr Lens-air."
With a half-smile, Nursey waits patiently for me to pick up the children and leave. I have no choice but to do this. I cannot let Magda down, not again.
She hands me the boy first. I secure him in my arms. He's become quiet and still, and fleetingly I find myself wishing that he too were dead. Then I am given the girl, who is crying angrily in a croaky voice. Nursey waits no longer and leads me down the corridors to the car park.
Death row.
When I walked this route before, Magda was with me but now she's dead.
I can't cope, I won't cope, I know I won't.
If she hadn't come here, perhaps she'd still be with me.
Oh god, it's my fault.
I feel a little tap on my shoulder, and with tortoises' reflexes I finally lift my eyes. It's too late, she's gone and I'm staring into the nothingness of the car park. I can't remember what my car looks like. I can taste the salty, sulphurous air and the world closes in on me like lead curtains. It's rather hard to breathe, here with two piggish bundles stealing what is rightfully my air.
Where the hell is my car?
Everything is opening out before me, spinning too quickly to register. I feel suspended in time, trapped in a glass vacuum with the world rushing on around me. Magda is dead, Magda is faceless and Magda is nothing. But I love her.. The children.. I can't fail her.
The sky threatens rain, and in the distance I see the fuzzy black outline of the car. I walk towards it with that dragging weight on my arms like a man making his final journey with his crucifix.
It should be a new beginning, but something tells me it's all over.