High Tide Read Online Free PDF Page B

life and you’ll feel like a year has passed.
    Let’s look at our hands against the light, you can read so much in them.
    Sweetheart, do you have a little time for me?
    Just one night—in the heat of your embrace.
    Sweetheart—Mother tries to say it, but only a sigh comes out. So many words in one sentence just to convey one thought. Mother just can’t string them together anymore.
    Please don’t deny me warmth, she wants to say. It’s the worst thing one person can deny another.
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    Sweetheart, Mother wants to say, your face is a beautiful canopy of leaves. Full, soft, alive. That’s a good thing, Mother wants to say. It’s important for a woman to be attractive.
    â€œGran,” her granddaughter speaks suddenly, close, close by. “Gran, do you remember back when you said that a person is beautiful only once they understand themselves? Gran, right now you’re very beautiful. Yes you are, don’t shake your head, you are! You are.”
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    The light voice returns above them:
    â€œI went to the Red Cross earlier and got one of those cheap toilet chairs. See, that white thing. They rent them out, but I paid for only a month, since it’s not worth paying for a half a year. The man said so—if they’re dying, it’s not worth it. They’re dying.”
    As these words are spoken a wet towel is scrubbed back and forth over Mother’s face. Mother pulls away, squeezes her eyes shut—both the good one and the one that’s crusted over—but it’s impossible to escape the towel. It’s wet and rough.
    â€œMom, don’t say that around her.”
    â€œHer hearing is bad. And what does it matter anyway? That’s life. The day we brought her home from the hospital, another patient in her ward died. She was this tiny old woman, swore at everyone, complained, was never satisfied. That day they’d supposedly pumped a ton of fluids into her—you know, eight of those huge bags. Well, and she died anyway. She didn’t suffer long, maybe ten minutes. Her daughter had just arrived and was standing by the bed. The doctors rushed in and wanted to resuscitate her, they even brought the gurney, but there wasn’t anything to resuscitate anymore. They opened the window—for the soul to leave—and then cleared her away, bed and all. And that was it. That morning I’d even told the women working the ward—look how she’s holding her hands, crossed over her chest, she’s going to go soon! And she did.”
    Two strong hands wedge under Mother’s shoulder blades and sit her up.
    â€œOh,” Mother cries, “it hurts!”
    â€œNothing hurts, you lump. I rented the toilet chair for nothing. She doesn’t understand anything anymore. I sat her on that chair and kept her there for an hour. Nothing. No pissing, no shitting. She doesn’t get it. Just sits and dozes. For nothing! She’s lazy, just takes care of everything in the diaper. And at night she scratches at the walls, fidgets. One night around three I heard this loud thump. I wondered what it could be, so I come look and find she’s fallen out of bed. Flat on her face. Once I’d finally gotten her back up I couldn’t fall asleep until morning. I went to work completely out of it. Now I put the toilet chair against the bed so she won’t fall out. At least it’s good for something. It’s heavy, see, made of metal. It’s like having iron bars.”
    Toothless Mother smiles from behind the bars. She smiles at nothing in particular, something melted, sweet, and white beyond that faraway window. But the here and now just won’t let her be. Her palms press down onto the bars and force her to push herself up. Her body is crumpled, it doesn’t want to move. Her muscles are knotted at the thighs, her legs don’t want to stand. It’s hard for her, she doesn’t understand why she has to stand if