The Non-adventures of Agent Smith... and Other Tales

Young Gretchen was just finishing her treacle when she heard the crash. Judging from the long screech, then the resounding bang outside, it was a good one; perhaps with blood-spattered victims squashed in mangled steel wreckage or sprawled across the street. At least she hoped so as she quickly licked her thin, pale lips.

  Her little brother, Sean, was off to school, her father was at work and her mother wouldn’t be back for another hour. Except for Toby, the aged family dog, the house was empty. “What luck!” she smiled, jumping out of her wheelchair and racing upstairs for a bird’s-eye view of the show.

  Cautiously, she parted the curtains before venturing a peek; she couldn’t risk being seen upstairs by any stupid neighbors who might be on the scene. It would be hard to explain to her parents how she got up there. For, apart from Toby, no one knew that she was perfectly capable of walking around. And it was a good thing for Toby that he couldn’t speak.

  It was a pretty good accident, judging by what she could see; not as spectacular as the one she and her family had suffered a few years back, but it was still a great show with plenty of broken glass, a fuming radiator, a growing puddle of gasoline, (she hoped it was not water), and someone’s arm hanging limply from the side window of the small delivery van. The other car, an older Buick was sitting crab-wise across the road, its hood sighing out a small cloud of steam. It seemed disappointingly not too damaged except for its crinkled front end.

  A man was slowly getting out of the Buick. “Darn!” sighed Gretchen, shifting her attention back to the van: nothing new there – the arm was still motionless. Dopey neighbors were now gathering, exchanging comments, and the distant sound of a siren signalled the imminent arrival of help, either a police car or an ambulance. She was hoping for a patrol car, less equipped to deal with such emergencies, but she would have to wait; and that was fun too.

  “Yay!” she silently cheered as a patrol car pulled up: it would still be a while before the ambulance or firemen arrived, and the patrolmen were not taking any reckless initiatives with the van’s unconscious driver. For the moment they were talking to the Buick’s driver who was sitting on the curb, still in partial shock, and were asking around if anyone had witnessed the accident.

  A few minutes later, the firemen arrived, spread some sort of stuff on the gas puddle, cautiously extricated the unconscious driver from the van and carried him away on a stretcher. Within half an hour the road was fairly well cleaned up and ready for new traffic. Gretchen’s mother would soon be back, probably stopping to get the news from the neighbors who were still outside. It was time to zip back into her wheelchair. “Not a bad morning,” she mused, giving old Toby a passing kick as she skipped down the stairs.

  Margaret Doffmeyer, arms laden with groceries, managed her way into the house, slammed the door shut with her foot and put on her cheerful voice: “I’m home, Gretch. Boy, Janet Wimbley just told me there was some sort of accident outside. Did you hear anything?” She had hardly finished asking the question before silently reprimanding herself: how thoughtless could she be, asking about a car accident? The crash that had paralysed her poor daughter was surely indelibly engraved in her little mind.

  It was.

  “Yes, I did,” answered Gretchen with a perfect dose of feebleness. She had had just enough time to spill the milk on the kitchen floor before her mother’s arrival. “It startled me and I’m afraid I spilled the milk,” she explained.

  It was a pretty good puddle despite Toby’s efforts to lap up as much as he could. Margaret held in a sigh. “Oh don’t worry, dear; it’s nothing,” she consoled, cautiously circumventing the whitish liquid and putting down her grocery bags. True, it wasn’t much but it wasn’t “nothing” ascertained Gretchen, smiling in her mind, as her mother grabbed the mop.

  “Is it today we’re going to the doctor’s?” Gretchen loved these monthly visits to Dr. Jacob’s clinic: they were always a good occasion to polish her acting skills and the looks of disappointment on her parents’ faces were priceless.

  “Yes, it is,” sighed Margaret, wringing out the mop. “Ummm… I’m afraid daddy won’t be able to come with us today. He’s got a lot of work to catch up on and…”

  “But mommy! He promised!” cried out Gretchen, the tears welling up in her eyes – a little trick she had practised for a great many hours while she was alone watching TV. And since her parents felt responsible for what they thought was her present condition, it always paid off.

  “You know daddy has to work hard to…” (Margaret stopped herself, not wanting to bring up the costly visits at the specialist’s that were taking an increasing toll on the family budget) “…Well, OK; I’ll call him up and see if he can come.”

  “Oh, goody!” smiled Gretchen. “I’ve been practising hard. I think I can wiggle my toes a little… sometimes.”

  “Oh! That’s great, honey.” Margaret forced a half-smile as she put away the mop. “Daddy will be so happy to hear that. I’ll call him right now. Oh, by the way, I met Mary’s mother at the grocery store. She said that Mary will be coming over to see you next Tuesday.”

  Mary was Gretchen’s only friend; or at least she thought she was. She was an exceptionally kind and loving girl who had been brought up with the charitable principle of caring for the more unfortunate. Gretchen despised her, but it was always fun scheduling Mary’s visits on rainy and/or cold days and watching her shiver in her wet clothes as they talked. Gretchen would have to check the weather forecasts to see if Tuesday was suitable or not.

  Harald Doffmeyer, (his office friends called him “Doff”), arrived half an hour later, looking worn and nervous. His recurring absences from work were tolerated due to his problems at home. However, his boss did little to hide his annoyance at being forced to pay someone for catching up on what he hadn’t done. And Doff’s costly visits at Dr. Jacob’s seemed to do nothing to help his daughter’s condition, or even to reduce his feelings of guilt that left him little respite.

  Gretchen smiled to her father. It was a small but genuine smile. She was focusing on her dad’s right eye: the twitch was coming back. It was time to work a bit on that. She focused more attentively on the twitch, knowing that her father was fairly self-conscious about it whenever it came upon him. ‘Hmmm,’ noticed Gretchen, ‘an extra twitch – it’s picking up slowly.’

  “Daddy! Did mommy tell you... about my toes?... How I can wiggle them... a little... sometimes?”

  Doff did his best at a smile. “Yes, she did, honey. That’s great news,” he grinned, teeth clenched as his twitch picked up pace.

  “Look – I’ll try now,” she announced enthusiastically. Her parents were quickly both down on hands and knees on the still-damp kitchen floor, rooting for their daughter’s toes. Gretchen pulled her “making an effort” look out of her large bag of facial expressions. She was also particularly good at remaining motionless: the toes didn’t move and she let out a long sigh of disappointment as her parents were getting up off their knees. Doff started looking around for a kitchen towel to wipe his pants with; it failed to fill the silence.

  Then a surprising piece of progress happened, much to Gretchen’s joy: Doff’s left eye let out a twitch, almost perfectly synchronized with his right. A fixed stare could improve on that but the timing wasn’t right. Her mother’s back was turned, often a sign that she was beginning to cry; but that was no big deal. The situation, however, did call for an extra pinch of poison. “Oh, well,” she muttered, almost hiding her disappointment. “Maybe it will come back later... this week.”

  “What a brave little girl,” complimented Doff. “That’s the spirit!” blink, blink, blink. “Well, it’s almost time to leave for Dr. Jacob’s. I’ll just run upstairs and put on a fresh pair of pants.”

  Gretchen could have asked, in a slightly anxious tone, who would be driving – a strong move – but she didn’t want to overuse the question. It was always a winner but best kept for moments when things were getting slow. And today, things were going well: already bad enough to silentl
y celebrate. She decided to give it a rest before working on her father’s nervous blinks later on during her visit with Dr. Jacobs.

  Doff was soon back downstairs, slightly more composed, and Margaret was putting on her coat. He slowly wheeled his daughter out to the front porch, then gently lifted her as his wife got the wheelchair down the three front steps, ready for reception. It was always more fun for Gretchen when Margaret had to manage the maneuver by herself but still, seeing her dad’s present condition was worth the sacrifice. There would always be plenty more opportunities for increasing Margaret’s tenacious backaches.

  Dr. Jacob’s waiting room was full as usual. Doff blankly thumbed through one of the women’s magazines, wondering why waiting room magazines seemed always exclusively designed for women readers. Then again, he didn’t read much anyway. He looked up from a breath-taking account of how a famous actress had lost 18 pounds in three weeks, and smiled weakly at Gretchen. “It shouldn’t be much longer now, honey.”

  Gretchen noticed Dr. Jacob’s secretary approaching. “I have to go to the bathroom, Daddy,” she half-whimpered, her voiced tinted with a touch of urgency. Of course she knew that this was Margaret’s job but those blinks needed upkeep.

  “Sure, sweetie.” blink blink blink. “Mommy will take you there right away.”

  The secretary walked up to Margaret. “Dr. Jacobs will see you now, Mrs. Doffmeyer.”

  “Yes. Just a second, Sally. Gretchen has to go to the bathroom,” she explained apologetically. “We’ll be right there.” She quickly wheeled her daughter down the narrow hall and into the small bathroom before going through the various maneuvers, trying not to wince too visibly as her lower back sent out sharp little pains.

  Gretchen did her best to keep everyone waiting but all good things eventually come to an end and, ten minutes later, the Doffmeyers were wheeling their daughter back through the waiting room to Dr. Jacob’s office, under the annoyed stares of his impatient patients. The specialist went through the preliminary gestures and questions that went along with, for lack of anything better, selling hope to people he couldn’t help.

  Margaret finally spoke up: “Gretchen told me that she managed to wiggle her toes a little bit... when was that, honey?”

  “Ummm, the other day... just a little, I think.”

  “Well, that’s great news, Gretchen,” beamed Jacobs. “Could you try that now?”

  Gretchen went through her immobile toes routine, savoring the adults’ reactions.

  Dr. Jacobs cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Doffmeyer. It’s still good news. These things take time. I’ll schedule a few more tests for, let’s say...2 or 3 weeks at my clinic. I’ll have Sally set up an appointment.”

  Doff was slowly writing out the check under Gretchen’s keen eye. There was a short muted discussion between him and Sally – probably about waiting a bit before cashing the check. In any case the nervous blinking was finding its stride; and hopefully, it would become a permanent feature, a new, twisted source of entertainment for her daddy’s little “honey”.

  The Doffmeyers rode back home in silence, wondering how they would pay for another set of costly tests and if they would be of any real help. The kitchen floor had dried and Gretchen was rolled into the living room, just in time for one of the TV shows she liked to watch, mostly because her mother would have preferred to watch something else.

  Sean was soon back from school and was happily greeted by Toby. The boy and the dog made a playful and loving pair and Toby always seemed to awaken from his lethargic old age whenever Sean was around. Gretchen found their camaraderie annoying. She hadn’t come up with any definite solutions for Toby yet but she was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before the problem was resolved. And thinking up new schemes was her favorite pastime. She darted a quick glance at Toby’s wagging tail and thought: ‘Go ahead; wag that stupid tail while you still can.’

  The next few days went by slowly. The week-end was finally over with. Gretchen despised the week-ends, where her entire nitwit family went about their business or felt the need to gather in the living room or kitchen. Sometimes their friends would come over for a quick visit - visits that had become quicker and sparser with the help of Gretchen’s remarkable talent.

  No visitors this week-end. No opportunities to make the family’s friends uncomfortable. But it hadn’t been a total loss. Gretchen had pulled off another very convincing fake nightmare, waking the whole family up an hour before dawn on Sunday. And since then, Doff’s blinks were heading for posterity.

  Mary would be coming by to visit Gretchen on Wednesday. Gretchen had checked out the weather reports: Tuesday wasn’t sure, but Wednesday’s forecast was definitely heavy rain. She started toying with an idea: perhaps she could ask Mary to wheel her around the block. Struggling with wheelchair and an umbrella at the same time could make for some good entertainment. And once they were back in, she could always fall on Mary’s umbrella, leaving the poor girl drenched for at least two hours – or more if Gretchen could stretch out their conversations. Plus another twenty minutes walking home with a broken umbrella. Yep, it was a good scheme, transforming Mary into a walking sponge. ‘Spongewoman Goes Straight to Heaven!’ chuckled Gretchen.

  Monday and Tuesday had also been devoted to coming up with a little something for her brother. There was no reason why Sean shouldn’t become part of her game. But he was harder to deal with because of his absence of guilt for his sister’s condition. Even Sean’s occasional dumb friends who stopped by didn’t seem to be particularly shaken by Gretchen’s handicap, lost as they were in Nintendo-land. And so, Sean was hard to get a grip on.

  But he surely did love Toby. And Gretchen didn’t love either of them. ‘That’s it!’ she finally exclaimed late Tuesday night. She would have enough time and privacy Wednesday morning to chew up her brother’s X-Box, wires and video games – something hard to forgive or forget, and perhaps even harder to take for an innocent dog. Gretchen slept soundly that night.

  The next two weeks had gone according to plan: Mary was now in the hospital recovering from a mild case of pneumonia, Toby had spent a good week in the dog house after being held responsible for chewing up Sean’s equipment, Margaret’s backaches were getting worse and Doff was blinking away a mile a minute.

  Although the developments were certainly entertaining, it was time to move on: Sean and Toby were starting to renew their solid friendship, especially since Doff had offered to replace Sean’s X-box with a newer version. This would take a bit more work.

  ‘Hmm,’ thought Gretchen while at home by herself, ‘It’s time to do something bigger, better about Toby.’ There was one thing that could clinch it. If Toby suddenly started biting, especially a poor handicapped girl, his days would be numbered! Her mother was out shopping again and wouldn’t be back for another hour. Gretchen raced upstairs into Sean’s room where old Toby liked to sleep.

  There he was, lost in his dog dreams. She silently edged up to his bed and grabbed him sternly by the neck. She forced the dog’s mouth up to her leg, shouting: “Bite me, bite me, you stupid dog!”

  Surprised as he was, it simply wasn’t in Toby’s nature. The damn dog refused to bite, even with his nose firmly squashed against Gretchen’s calf. He finally managed to squirm out of her grasp and headed for the stairs, quickly followed by the screaming, horrid little girl.

  “Come back, you stupid dog!” she bellowed, closely behind him. Toby had made it to the top of the stairs as fast as his arthritic legs could carry him.

  “Oh no you don’t!,” shouted Gretchen in all her fury. One way or the other, this was going to be it for Toby, and she let fly with a powerful kick at the dog’s rear end.

  It was close, but she missed. Off balance, Gretchen toppled down the stairs heavily.

  There was a crunch; a sort of muffled, deep and disgusting crunch in her spine as she approached the ground floor, two feet away from her wheel chair. There wasn’t much pain, for Gretchen had lost consc
iousness. When she finally awakened, 45 minutes later, she was still alone. Toby had gone off to hide somewhere and her mother still wasn’t back from shopping yet.

  ‘I’ll get you next time, Toby!’ she screamed, making for the comfort of her wheel chair... nothing. She couldn’t get up! Her arms were OK, but her legs refused to move. Toby had sensed a dilemma and was squeaking compassion from a safe distance. Her mother’s car was soon pulling into the driveway. Not good.

  Upon seeing her daughter lying on the floor once again, Margaret dropped her groceries. “Oh dear, poor sweetheart,” she exclaimed. “What happened?! Let me help you up.”

  “I can’t move my legs!” shouted Gretchen, unable to offer an explanation. “I’m paralysed!”

  “Yes. I know, dear,” sighed Margaret, holding back a tear but trying to remain positive. “I got you your favorite cupcakes at the market.”