Music in the Night

  "You never found her, Karl," she told him. "I need your word on that."

  "Pardon, Mrs. Logan?"

  "You never found her," she said firmly. "Leave it all to me now,"

  "But Mrs. Logan--"

  "You will be handsomely rewarded for your loyalty to me, Karl. I know your wife is sick and you have been having a hard time making ends meet. You won't have to worry at all about her doctor bills anymore or anything else for that matter. As long as I can rely on your word," she added.

  He gazed at me and then at the small, angry woman he called Mrs. Logan.

  "Well. I suppose there's nothing more to do about this, really. You'll see to her and whoever else was out there. Well, God rest his poor soul," Karl Hansen said. "I'm sure he didn't survive. There's nothing we could do anyway except locate the body and there's no rush to do that."

  "Exactly. Now remember, Karl, you never found her. You just made your own way toward shore and got washed up here. It was hard enough for you."

  "Yes, it was, ma'am. That it was. There's no lying about that."

  "Precisely," she said. "Raymond will see that you get home and I will have something for you in the morning. I'll also see that Ruth gets the personal nursing care she requires."

  "Well, thank you, Mrs. Logan. That's very kind."

  "As long as we understand each other, Karl," she added, her small eyes very cold and threatening. He nodded quickly.

  "Oh, absolutely, Mrs. Logan. Absolutely."

  "Good," she said and turned back to me. "Good."

  She escorted him out and then returned a few minutes later. She simply stood there, gazing down at me.

  "How could you do this?" she demanded. "How could you deliberately lie and deceive me and do this?"

  My teeth chattered and I moaned.

  "Don't you have even the slightest concern for this family? Do you know what kind of a disgrace this could bring? Why, they might even put this in the newspapers. People from outside of Provincetown, friends, acquaintances from everywhere could learn of it. Well? Don't you have anything to say?"

  "I'm cold," I finally said.

  "Cold? That's the least of your problems. Fortunately, Mr. Hansen won't tell anyone a thing, but. . . don't you hear a word of what I'm saying to you?" she snapped. "You're staring at me as if I were speaking Greek. And wipe that silly smile off your face," she ordered. "I won't have it."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not smiling. I'm just cold. My hair is soaked," I said. I started to rub the blanket up and down my arms and legs.

  "I'm sure you are sorry now. Although it does us no good to have you say it," she said and wagged her head. "How did this happen?"

  "What?" I asked.

  "What? Are you an idiot? This!" she exclaimed, thrusting her hands toward me. "You've lived here long enough to know when to come in from a storm and when to be cautious. What were you doing out there? Were you so wrapped up in your lust that you ignored the weather? Well?"

  "Out where?"

  "In the ocean, you fool. What is wrong with you?"

  Then I remember giggling. I couldn't help it. She was a funny little old lady to me. Her hair was held tightly back with pearl combs and she wore a flower print dress with a rope of pearls around her neck. When she got excited, the blood under her skin rose up her neck like mercury in a thermometer, and she seemed to bounce on her feet after every sentence.

  "You think this is funny?" she asked, astounded. I shook my head.

  "What happened to him?" she asked.

  "To who?" I responded.

  She stopped being angry for a moment and stared intently at me.

  "Don't you remember anything?"

  I shook my head.

  "You know where you are, don't you?" Again, I shook my head.

  She stared and then tilted her head a little as she thought. "What's my name?" she suddenly asked.

  "That man called you Mrs. Logan," I said. "Isn't that your name?"

  "My God." She covered her mouth and stared at me. Then she lowered her hand slowly. "What's your name?" I thought, but no name came to mind.

  "I don't know."

  She stepped back as if I had some contagious disease and stared at me again.

  "Madness on top of disgrace. It's happening again. First, to my sister, and now to you, and I'm supposed to bear the burden, face the community, hold on to my prestige and position, and keep this family name as respected as it once was, as it should be?"

  She paused and then raised her small fist toward the ceiling as if she were threatening God.

  "This will not happen," she declared. Then she turned back to me. "Don't you move from that bed," she ordered.

  I didn't think I could move. I had just barely managed to straighten my legs.

  Minutes later, she returned with an armful of big, fluffy towels and then went into the bathroom. I heard her run water in the tub. She was moving quickly, and she looked like a goblin to me and I couldn't help smiling again. It made her angry when she emerged from the bathroom and saw the smile on my face.

  "Get up," she ordered. "I'll handle this myself. Go on, get up!"

  I swung my legs out slowly, the muscles in my thighs screaming, and when I pushed to sit up, I felt my shoulder stinging. The blanket fell away. I looked at my arm. Blood vessels had burst all along it, so that there were black and blue marks from the inside of my wrist, up over my elbow, right to my shoulder. Even she gasped.

  "Everything hurts," I complained.

  "And rightly so," she said, regaining her regal, stern demeanor. "Stand up and walk into the bathroom. Go on. I don't have the strength to lift you," she added, her hands on her hips. I realized she had put on a light blue housecoat over her dress. I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled.

  "I can't," I moaned.

  "You can and you will. Stand!" she ordered. She reached forward and seized the top of my hair, tugging me hard.

  I screamed. The breath nearly left me, but I rose. I reached out to brace myself on her shoulder. She stepped back and at least gave me her hand.

  "I can't carry you. Walk," she commanded.

  Each step was excruciating. My back, my legs, even my feet ached. I made my way toward the sound of the running water, reaching out to steady myself against the doorjamb, and then I entered the bathroom. She moved ahead and shut off the water.

  "Get into the tub and soak yourself. Go on. Do what I say and do it now," she ordered again.

  I don't know how I did it, but I reached the tub and lifted my leg to step into the water. It was so hot, however, I howled and pulled my foot out quickly, losing my balance. I fell back and sat hard on the floor.

  "You're disgusting," she cried.

  "It's too hot," I moaned.

  "It has to be hot, you fool. Now get up and get into the water. Go on. Do it." She hovered over me. "If you don't, you'll surely get pneumonia."

  I got to my knees and crawled to the tub. Then I took a deep breath and rose to put my foot in again. It took the breath out of me and I grew so dizzy, I thought I would faint. She put her hands on my hips and held me steady, permitting me to rest against her for a moment.

  "All right, now lower yourself into the water. Just do it quickly," she commanded.

  I took a deep breath and did so, crying out as I settled into the steamy liquid. My body began to itch and then tingle. I kept taking deep breaths. Finally, I grew more comfortable and then it did suddenly make me feel better. I closed my eyes.

  Suddenly I felt something being poured over my head.

  "You have to wash out the salt," she said. She scooped water onto my hair, scrubbed it, and then forced me to lower myself until I was under the water so I could rinse my hair. She kept me down so long, I thought she wanted to drown me in the tub. I came up gasping.

  "Just lie there and soak," she said and left the bathroom.

  I'm sure I fell asleep for a few minutes. Then I sensed her nearby again. She had returned and stood above me, looking down at me with an expression
of utter disgust.

  "Well?" she demanded. "Do you know who you are now?"

  I thought and thought. Then I shook my head. "I don't know," I wailed. "Who am I?"

  "You're a fool and I don't suffer fools in this family anymore," she declared. She sighed deeply. "Who am I?"

  I tried to remember. I had even forgotten what that man had called her before.

  "I don't remember what that man called you," I moaned. "What, has your brain turned to cranberry jelly?" she asked.

  "Cranberries? I remember cranberries."

  "Well, I'm glad about that. What else do you remember? Do you have any family, friends?"

  I thought and just found a blank, dark place in my mind with no faces, no words, no voices. I shook my head.

  "I don't know," I said.

  She stared.

  "Maybe you don't. Maybe . . . this is a blessing in disguise. Yes," she said, her face lighting up and her eyes widening, "it is."

  She left again and for what seemed like quite a long time. When she returned this time, she had a white terry cloth robe in her hands.

  "Get out. Dry yourself off and put this on," she said. "Someone will be here for you soon."

  "Someone?"

  Good, I thought. There was someone. Surely, I would remember everything soon. I crawled up and out of the tub with great effort. My body was beyond exhaustion, the muscles working on their own memory and not my commands. It seemed to take me forever to dry myself. She grew impatient.

  "For God's sake," she said and seized one of the towels. She began to rub me vigorously. I felt as if she would peel away my skin. My every movement was still filled with pain and I ached everywhere.

  "There," she said. "Now put on the robe and return to that bed," she instructed.

  I did what she said. The moment my head hit the pillow and I closed my eyes, I fell asleep. I woke when I heard voices near and above me. My eyelids refused to stay open at first and then, with stubborn effort, I did get them to do so.

  Coming into focus was a tall woman in a starched white uniform. She stood next to the small elderly lady. The woman in white scrutinized me a moment and then made a small, tight smile.

  "Hello. My name is Clara. What's your name?" she asked and took my wrist into her fingers to feel for my pulse.

  "My name's . . My name's . . . I can't

  remember!" I cried.

  The woman looked at the elderly woman and then back at me.

  "Do you know whose home you are in?"

  I shook my head.

  "How old are you?"

  "I don't know."

  "How did you get here?" she followed quickly. "I don't remember. Where am I?"

  "Are you home?"

  "Am I?"

  "See?" the elderly lady said.

  "Yes. It's classic, I think," the woman in white said. "Her pulse is strong."

  "It's not her pulse I'm worried about," the small elderly lady said.

  Clara nodded.

  "You understand what I want and how I want it done," the elderly lady said.

  "Precisely. You have made the appropriate phone calls, I imagine?"

  "Of course," the elderly lady said. "It's all arranged. I'm relying on your discretion. You will be rewarded," she added.

  Clara smiled. "You won't be disappointed."

  "Good."

  Clara turned back to me.

  "I'm going to help you now," she said, "but I need you to help yourself, too. Okay?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Good. I want you to get up and walk with me. We're going to get into a car outside. I'm going to take you to a nice place, okay?"

  "Okay," I said. I raised myself up on my elbows and Clara reached under my left arm and helped me get out of bed. When I stood up, I felt terribly stiff and said so.

  "That's all right," Clara said. "You won't be stiff too much longer. help you," she said. She smiled. She had a nice, friendly smile, a much nicer smile than the elderly lady could ever have, I thought. I was glad to be leaving.

  The elderly lady followed behind us as we continued out of the room, down a long corridor to the front doors of the house. I remember thinking it was a big house and there were things about it that looked familiar, but I didn't remember coming here. The elderly lady walked ahead of us and opened the ,door.

  It was still lightly drizzling out, and the cold air hit me like a slap in the face. I shuddered and Clara wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

  "There, there, now," she said. "We'll be warm soon."

  She guided me out and to the dark car that was waiting. I didn't see the driver. Clara opened the door for me and I was guided carefully into the rear of the car. Then Clara stepped back.

  "You want to say anything to her?" Clara asked the elderly lady.

  "No. Tell them be there tomorrow to make the arrangements and give them a check," she said.

  "Very good, Mrs. Logan."

  I snapped my head around. Mrs. Logan? I remembered that name, but who was she? She glared at me, her eyes beady, icy, her mouth pinched tight. I was glad when the door was closed and she was out of sight.

  Clara got in from the other side and sat beside me.

  "All right now?" she asked. I nodded. "You'll be fine," she said. "Soon, you'll be fine."

  I smiled back at her. She nodded at the driver and the car began to move away from the big house and into the rain, into the darkness that lay ahead.

  I stared for a moment and then spun around and looked back, but the lights of the house were already gone and the darkness had closed in behind me. It was as if I had walked through a door and the door had been shut tight. I wanted to go back; I wanted to open the door again, but I couldn't find my way.

  "Where are we going?" I asked Clara.

  "Someplace else," she replied. "Is that okay?"

  I thought for a moment.

  "Yes," I said. "It's okay."

  I wasn't sure why, but vaguely I realized that yes, yes, it was better to be someplace else.

  10

  My Name Is. . .

  .

  I fell asleep again in the car and didn't wake

  until the car hit a bump and jarred me from my trancelike slumber. It was very dark outside because an overcast sky kept the moon and the stars hidden. When I gazed out the window, I saw only my own reflected face in the glass, the face of someone so lost and confused, her eyes were filled with question marks and her lips frozen in a vain struggle to find some word, some thought to voice.

  I turned and looked at the woman in the nurse's uniform dozing beside me. Her eyelids fluttered as the automobile jerked and turned, but they didn't open. I gazed at the back of the driver's head and I wondered who these people were and where I was going. Should I know? Had I been told?

  I struggled with the questions, but it was as if I had fallen into an echo chamber because all I could hear were the questions coming back at me. The answers were like schools of fish swimming in the opposite direction, far, far out of reach and

  uninterested in turning back. I could only watch them disappear, their scales glimmering for a moment and then gone, perhaps forever.

  My body was sore, yet I couldn't remember why that was either. It hurt to straighten out my arms and legs and the back of my neck felt as if someone with powerful fingers had grabbed it and squeezed for hours. My eyes ached even when I kept them closed. I groaned and twisted to make myself more comfortable and the woman beside me woke with a quick jerk of her shoulders. She looked about, seemingly confused herself for a moment, and then turned to me and smiled.

  "How are you, dear?" she asked. The driver turned a little but didn't look back at us.

  "I'm sore," I said. "Why am I so sore?"

  "Don't you remember anything about what happened to you, why you are in pain?"

  I thought and thought, but it was like opening a book and finding it had only blank pages. I turned one after another and saw nothing written on any of them.

  I shook my head, my lips
trembling, my tears feeling more like smoldering ashes under my eyelids.

  "Don't worry," she said. "It will all come back to you someday."

  "It would be better for her if it don't," the driver muttered.

  "We'll be needing none of your comments," she snapped at the back of his head. "You're here to drive and nothing else," she added sternly. He cringed as if her words were actually slaps and then he grunted and drove on silently.

  Suddenly, there were lights ahead cloaked in what looked like banks of fog. As we drew closer, I strained to make out the shape of what appeared to be an entryway to an estate. It was a very tall iron gate with a wide, red brick column on each side. The light came from a large ball lamp atop each column. The driver slowed to a stop at the gate.

  "One moment, dear," the nurse said, patting me softly on the knee. She got out of the car.

  The fog twirled about us like smoke. I leaned forward to watch her poke numbers on a pad built into the side of the column on the right. The iron bars groaned loudly as the nurse returned to the car.

  "Where are we?" I asked.

  "Just relax, dear," she said in reply.

  When the gate was completely opened, we drove through and began a climb up a winding hill, climbing up out of the sea of fog.

  After the second turn, a five-story, gray brick and wood structure loomed above us, rising out of the darkness like the bow of a great ship. As we drew closer, it looked like a medieval castle because there was a large cupola at the center of the roof. On both ends there were dormers with windows that caught the reflection of the light below cast by tall pole lamps illuminating the parking lot. Most of the windows in the building were dark, but there were some dimly lit rooms on the first floor.

  When we turned into a parking space, I saw there was a cement stairway up to the front entrance. It was really too dark to see much of the grounds, but I could make out some large weeping willow trees to the right. They looked like giants with their heads bowed.

  "What is this place?" I asked. The sight of it had stirred no memory, recent or otherwise.

  "It's sort of a hospital," the nurse replied with a small, but quick smile. The driver snorted. She glared at him a moment and then turned back to me. "You'll be well looked after here," she said.