In the Clear (11 page)

She looked so sad. I wanted to tell her, “You'll start to move soon too.” But polio was tricky – we never knew how long it would take, or how much permanent damage had been done. There was no way of knowing if Cindy would regain a hand, a leg … or just one toe. But one thing we knew: she'd have to work hard.

Of course, I still didn't speak.

Thank God, Bernardo did.

Cindy's first night with us, all of us in the ward listened to her lonely cries in the dark after the nurse turned our lights out. We were separated by our cribs. But listening to her, I felt as if it were me crying. All of us in the ward were Cindy – we were all one child, paralyzed and scared, struggling to go back to our lives, determined to go back to our real, ordinary selves.

“When you stop that crying, Cindy,” B called out loudly, in order to be heard, “I'll tell you a story.”

“Tell the one about Cinderella,” Lorna said. “That's my favorite.”

“Where they race around in wheelchairs,” called Frank.

The crying stopped and we heard long sniffs.

B waited a minute and then began to tell the story. As a little girl, Cinderella, whose friends called her Cindy, had polio and was forced to live in a hospital under the care of her wicked stepsisters.

The night nurse walked down the hallway past the ward. B paused briefly. When lights were out we were supposed to be quiet and go right to sleep. Maybe the night nurse knew what we had to endure with the day shift, with Witch Wilson.

Maybe the nurse knew how much we missed our moms and dads and needed a story to get to sleep. We heard her footsteps get softer and softer, allowing B to finish the story. The prince had polio too and they raced around the ballroom in their wheelchairs. Together they chased the wicked stepsisters away and they were never allowed to bother children in hospitals again.

The next morning, however, we knew there'd be a problem. There was a bad smell – and it came from Cindy's bed.

We could hear the breakfast trolley rumbling down the hallway. No one said a word.

Maybe, I hoped, Cindy will be lucky and there will be another nurse on duty, one of the nice ones.

But no. Witch Wilson stood in the doorway. She took three bowls of cereal off the trolley and thunked them on the little table where B, Mary and I now ate, unassisted. She let down the bars of our cribs and we were expected to make our own way over to the table to feed ourselves.

Then she must have smelled it, for she stopped in the middle of the ward, sniffing the air. Her eyes darted around the room, accusing each of us until they rested on the new girl, Cindy.

“What do I smell? Someone couldn't wait?”

She stalked over to Cindy's bed and put her hands on her hips. “You'll learn. Just like everyone else here. I don't put up with this nonsense. I have five of you to feed and change and get ready for the day. All by myself, you hear? I got no time to clean up a big girl like you who can't wait. So you're going to have to learn not to do this again. Do you understand?”

Cindy began to cry again. I felt like crying too. It was awful, having the nurse yell at you for something you couldn't help.

“None of that. I don't stand for crying.”

Cindy cried loudly, “Mommy! I want my mommy!”

That did it. Witch Wilson took the crib brakes off and wheeled Cindy down to the far end of the room.

“The longer you wail, the longer you stay in there.”

And then she closed the doors of the big closet and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I got dressed and shuffled over to the table. It was impossible to eat. Bernardo, Mary and I stared at the Cream of Wheat in our bowls. It was cold and jellied, and we stirred it glumly, listening to Cindy's crying go on and on.

And then someone opened the door to our ward. The sunlight shone behind her and I could have sworn it was Glinda, the Good Witch of the East, arriving in her magical glitter.

It was Tante Marie.

She saw me and swept over to the table, bringing the light with her, surrounding the three of us where we sat, amazed, with the fresh scent of lavender.

“Oh, Paulie. C'est toi, chérie? Is it you?” She knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around me.

“I came as soon as I could. It's so good to see you.”

I was dazzled. Overwhelmed. I didn't speak. But I sure held on tight. I rubbed my nose against her soft cheek, breathing in the sweet smell of her. Tante Marie … here.

“There's an awful nurse down the hall,” she said. “Dreadful woman. Don't tell me she's yours? She didn't want to let me in. She told me I'd have to wait until Sunday, like the other visitors. Can you believe that? After coming all the way from Paris to see you?”

“Mother Mary and the Holy Ghost,” B stammered, staring at her with enormous eyes. “That must be Witch Wilson. She's our nurse all right. She's the head nurse. You're going to get thrown out – even if you are an angel.”

“Witch Wilson?” Tante Marie repeated thoughtfully. “I have no intention of being thrown out by Witch Wilson.”

She stared at our breakfast. The cereal looked like white cement. Witch Wilson never gave us milk or sugar – she said we'd just spill it if she put it on the table for us.

Then Tante Marie heard the whimpering. She stood up.

“What's that I hear? Someone crying?”

I nodded. So did Bernardo and Mary. But none of us were speaking.

She scrunched her eyebrows, perplexed. She began to walk around the room, going from crib to crib. She smiled warmly at Frank, Stan and Philip on the boys' side, then Lorna on the girls' side. There were two empty cribs where Mary and I slept, and a big empty space between them where Cindy's crib should have been.

Tante Marie stared at the empty space. Then she walked in the direction of the crying.

She stood in front of the closed closet. I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest. Would she dare open it? Someone should warn her. She wasn't allowed to do that. Witch Wilson would …

Tante Marie flung the closet door open wide. I could only see her back, which seemed to stiffen with horror for a moment. And then she went inside, close to Cindy. She knelt over and put her head near Cindy's. I could hear the calm, soft murmur of Tante Marie's voice, soothing, reassuring.

Gradually Cindy's crying turned to whimpering and then even that stopped. Tante Marie stood up again and – I couldn't believe it – she pushed Cindy's bed out of the closet.

Oh boy! There was going to be trouble!

I heard Tante Marie's voice, clear as a bell. I bet the whole hospital could. “What a strange thing, putting you in the closet. The nurse made a terrible mistake. But it won't happen again, I promise you. Never, ever again. Now let me put you right back where your bed belongs beside the other children. I'll get you cleaned up and then something good to eat.”

That's just what she did. She hummed that song all my aunts and Grand-mère sang when they got together. I had no idea what it meant. It was one of those French songs they were always singing and it sounded pretty.

Cindy's face was brightening with Tante Marie beside her. She wasn't exactly happy, but she didn't look scared anymore.

Next, Tante Marie went over to Philip. Philip was the youngest, only four. He lay paralyzed in his crib opposite Cindy. He'd been here seven months already, but could only wriggle his toes.

“I'm Pauline's aunt,” Tante Marie introduced herself. “You can call me Tante Marie. Now I want you to tell me what I can do for you.”

“Can you find my teddy?” Philip asked in a hopeful voice.

Philip's teddy had fallen out of his crib during the night and lay on the floor.

“He's right here,” Tante Marie said, picking him up, pretending she was whispering something in the teddy's ear before tucking him in tight beside Philip.

“Teddy told me he was wondering where you were all night.”

Philip laughed.

Tante Marie went around the room, introducing herself to everyone, asking what they needed. Part of me was getting mad, having to wait so long for my turn. But then I told myself to wait. She was like Christmas, coming for everybody. And I was lucky to have her for the rest of my life. I could share her a little bit with my friends.

B gave her a daring look and asked her if she could get some milk and sugar for our cereal.

“I'd be happy to,” she said.

She must have seen the look of longing in my eyes. I didn't know how much longer I could wait. She knelt down beside me and whispered in my ear, “I'll be right back, ma belle. Then it will be you and me, don't worry.”

She left the door open. We heard her heels, clicking down the hallway. Then we heard voices beginning to argue. Tante Marie's was firm and insistent.

I looked at B. He had a huge smile. “I like your Tante Marie,” he said. “I'm going to marry her when I grow up.”

If she ever comes back! I thought. What if they threw her out? It was taking too long. What was happening?

Before I could worry more, I heard her clicking heels again, and Tante Marie was back, carrying a sugar bowl and a pitcher of milk. She put them on the table for us and knelt once more between B and me. “Et voilà. I got them to heat the milk for you. It's much better hot, don't you think?”

I swear B's eyes melted. He leaned over and gave her a big, smacking kiss. “You said it, Tante Marie!”

We heard the unmistakable sound of feet stomping down the hallway. Witch Wilson's feet.

Sure enough, Witch Wilson appeared in the door way. Her eyes blazed and she pointed an accusing finger at Tante Marie. Behind her she had the doctor in tow.

“That's her. That's the one. Barged right in here when we're trying to work. She's going to make someone sick …”

Cindy let out a piercing, hysterical scream. “No! No! Don't lock me in the closet again. Please don't put me back in there.”

Quickly Tante Marie walked over and released the side of Cindy's crib. It came down with a crash. She scooped Cindy into her arms, cradling the sobbing girl with her protective warmth. “There, there. No one's ever going to lock you in the closet again, are they?”

She fired a look at Witch Wilson, a look that said everything.

The doctor was watching quietly, taking it all in.

Then B pretended to cry too. “Oh, Nurse Wilson. You won't lock me in the closet again, will you? Or take my meals away? Please, please.”

“Nurse Wilson,” the doctor said grimly, pointing to the hallway. “I'd like to see you in my office, now.”

Witch Wilson left. In disbelief, I watched her turn and leave our ward. It was like having a nightmare leave. Morning sunlight brightened the room. Yes! She was gone. In the seconds following her departure, the room gradually filled with the normal, safe sounds of our breathing – then our grumbling, hungry stomachs, all mixed with the smells of breakfast, our unwashed bodies and the dreamy scent of lavender that accompanied my Tante Marie.

B got up from the table, walked to the doorway and peered down the hallway after the doctor and Witch Wilson.

He came back into the room, shut the door and raised his hands over his head triumphantly. “Boy, is she getting it good!”

We cheered, banging our cribs or tables with cups, spoons or leg braces, whatever we could manage.

B sat down at the table again. “Am I ever hungry. Nothing like a fight to work up an appetite,” he said and poured the entire bowl of sugar, then the pitcher of hot milk, over our three small bowls of cereal.

I couldn't eat. I was watching Tante Marie, waiting. She tucked Cindy comfortably back in her bed and then, finally, finally walked toward me.

My turn.

Tante Marie knelt beside me, close, and I looked into her deep brown eyes, now only a few inches from mine.

With her fingertips, she brushed my bangs out of my eyes and whispered in my ear words that were only meant for me. “Ma belle. My beautiful, special one, Pauline. I had to save you for last. I knew I could count on you to wait so patiently. What can I do for you, chérie?”

That's when my voice finally came out of hiding. It crawled up from some place deep inside me. For the first time in ten months I spoke.

“Please, Tante Marie. Can you take me home?”

17.
T
HE
F
INAL
P
LAYOFFS,
1961

Tante Marie and I arrange ourselves at opposite ends of the window seat for the playoffs.

My blue Maple Leafs are ready for a face-off at center. The Canadiens get the puck and there's a shot on goal. Johnny Bower makes a brilliant save.

It dawns on me that my parents and new sister could be home any minute. The week – my private time with Tante Marie – will end as soon as they arrive. “I wish you could stay a few weeks longer,” I say.

“Me too,” she nods.

“It's so different when you're here. We're happier.”