The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) (6 page)

“Don’t you have children?” I asked.

Ms. Clarisse looked at me, squinting her eyes. Her body language changed, her expression grew stiff, and her mouth started to quiver. The room fell silent, I feel like my presence is beginning to suffocate her. These are obvious signs of mental pain. Instead of venting out, she gulped those thoughts and gazed at her frail body. My heart began to sink, I recognized this in myself. She’s suppressing her pain.

“Take my food today, I’m not hungry.” she let out. “I’d like to be alone.”

I took the quietly walked out of her bedroom. Ms. Clarisse’s behavior changed the instant I asked about her children. It’s uncommon for someone to quickly revert to a misery state like that. Even so, to witness it, bothered me.

When I returned the tray to the kitchen, a cook saw my mellow state, and asked me if the tyrant has finally lost attacked. By a miracle she didn’t, but I remained disturbed. I told the cook about my mentioning of her children drove Ms. Clarisse to dismiss me. The cook nodded knowingly, and told me about a rumor concerning Ms. Clarisse.

“Her own family has cut her off from their lives.”

“What do you mean cut off?” I asked.

“You don’t know?” said the cook. “She’s been living at Gilia for three years now, and has not received a single visitor.”

The next morning was my day off, but Bradley called me in to work. He said Ms. Clarisse had an accident, and was urgently admitted to the hospital. My thoughts immediately returned to the overnight attendants who Ms. Clarisse says neglect her. Without proof, I can’t believe any attendant would put any resident in danger.

“I know you’re off today but we need you. The doctors can’t stand her. With you around, they have a better chance of her cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” I repeated.

“She doesn’t want to see anyone. Every time the doctor walks in, she’s on her phone calling that lawyer of hers.”

“Lawyer?” I resounded.

“Oh you haven’t met him yet. His name is Mr. Müller, he belongs to the Company Five, a chain of private, successful high-profile lawyers. Be on your best behavior around him. With that, are you coming or what?”

If Ms. Clarisse is throwing a tantrum at the hospital, what makes him think I can work a miracle? Ms. Clarisse may not want to see me after I asked her if she had children. I don’t want to risk upsetting her again. Bradley offered to pay me overtime, hinting an extra bonus. When I asked him the details of the accident, Bradley dismissed them. He just wants to know if I’m going to work or not. My only concern is her new partner in crime, Mr. Müller. I’m afraid that he’ll be just as intimidating as Ms. Clarisse. My husband never comes home on my days off, working is a much better option than being home alone.

When I arrived at the hospital, my first goal was to ask about the cause of her accident. The nurse who led me to her room told me it was assumed that Ms. Clarisse had broken her wrist and hip trying to get out of bed. This type of fracture is common for the elderly, but these accidents rarely happen in Gilia. After finding her room, the nurse immediately excused herself.

Her room lingered in darkness, the curtains have been shut, blocking any light from entering. Ms. Clarisse looks less intimidating at a hospital, than at the Gilia. I scoot a seat beside her bed, and watched her sleep. Her head tilted sideways facing me, her mouth remained half open. There’s no makeup on her pale skin, none of her belonging are here. No one bothered to fetched her anything—not even the attendants who were supposed to care for her on my days off. The cast on her wrist laid stretched out on the bed, just staring at it brought me an unappealing ache.

My co-workers do neglect Ms. Clarisse. This could have been prevented, but I have become ignorant to accept it. The night I ran into Ms. Clarisse’s room, I always found the attendants wrong behavior as a violation of company policy. Bradley wouldn’t allow that kind of treatment to fall on anyone—especially Ms. Clarisse. When I return from my days off, I have to pick up all of the slack the attendants didn’t do. Why does Ms. Clarisse put up with them, why doesn’t she fire them? Everyone says she can fire anyone with the snap of her finger, but that isn’t so. How ironic that the most feared senior in Gilia is indirectly being mistreated.

I returned from my thoughts and found Ms. Clarisse awake—staring at me. I gave her a smile but her expression remained empty.

“What are you doing here?” she wheezed.

“I’m working.” I reply with a smile.

“But you’re off today. Wait—don’t tell me, Bradley called you.”

Something about her doesn’t feel right. The dark bags under her eyes, and the heavy lines on her face isn’t one of her normal grumpy days—she’s depressed. I hoped that my being here will bring back to her infamous nature, but she’s only silent. While I tried to think of a way to spark a conversation, my attention caught a small sparkle. A gold ring reflected a small diamond nestled on her wedding finger. Of all the days I saw her, I only just took notice of a generic ring belonging to Ms. Clarisse—a rich, and wealthy woman. If she’s married, then she must have children, but where are they? Finally, I looked around, seeing no flowers, no balloons, and no signs of any visitors. I gulped the hard truth. The rumors are real.

“You can go home, I’m fine.”

Startled, I remained in my post. She looked at me and nodded her head to the exit. I gripped the arm chair for support, and informed her that I wasn’t planning on leaving.

“Excuse me?” she sparked.

“I’m not leaving.”

“And why the hell not?”

“You specifically chose me to be your attendant, you should at least let me fulfilling that task.”

Her eyes mystified and a smile lurked on Ms. Clarisse’s face—a smile I have never seen.

“Now I see.” she started. “There is a little someone under that weak, timid, personality of yours.”

It sounds like a compliment, I think. She continued.

“Even if I did pick you out of the crowd, I expected you’d be anything but fond of me.”

“So far, you haven’t given me any reason not to.” I boldly reply.

Ms. Clarisse suddenly asked for iced water. I took this as a good sign and immediately fetched for the nurse. After returning to her room, I took out my notepad from my bag.

“Is there anything you want to me bring from Gilia? Your makeup perhaps—you wear it every day.”

“How did you know I like to wear makeup? You pick up fast child.”

I froze, trying to find an answer to my sudden comment. Ms. Clarisse dismissed it, and mentioned a list of things she wanted me to bring—her makeup included. Given the circumstance of her accident, it’s probably a good thing for Mr. Clarisse to be at a hospital. I can no longer trust the attendants who are randomly assigned to her. A doctor knocked on the side of the wall, he looks startled to see me. Ms. Clarisse didn’t invite him in, instead, she’s looking at me—waiting for me to make a move.

“Come in.” I said.

My fingers crossed, hoping Ms. Clarisse won’t throw a fit. Her expression changed when the doctor entered, her eyebrows started furrowing, and her teeth started to show. The only thing that’s left, is for her to start barking.

“I thought Mr. Müller was here.” stuttered the frightened doctor.

“I didn’t know he was coming.” I answered. “What can I help you with—”

My voiced died, nurse rolled in a wheelchair. The pieces I ignored are starting to come together.

“The electric wheelchair Mr. Müller ordered has arrived. A specialist will be visiting within the next few days for fall prevention, and mobility exercises. I talked with her family doctor, and we decided that your inter-trochanteric fracture is a regular fracture that must be treated with a compression hip screw. While that is pending for approval, we will be doing more examinations to prepare you for surgery—”

“I don’t need to prepare for anything!” Ms. Clarisse suddenly shouted. “Get out—get out!”

The doctor lowers his chart, and leads the stiff nurse out of the room. I have been too preoccupied on the cast on Ms. Clarisse’s arm that I completely forgot about her fractured hip. The nurse mentioned Ms. Clarisse fell, trying to get off her bed. She must have landed on her hip after using her falling arm to catch herself—thus breaking her wrist. The overnight attendants quickly returned to my mind, disappointment and anger is starting to build up in me.

“What are you going to do about those attendants?” I inquired. “If you needed help with anything, they were supposed to be there to assist you. They’re not doing their job, and look where it led you.”

“You’re upset?” she asked.

“Yes!” I sparked “You need to report them to Bradley.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“But that’s what you’re known for doing.” I said.

“When have I fired anyone?” she defended. “Sure, I’m the reason they quit, but Bradley does the firing. He doesn’t have to, but he does—thinks it will make me like him more.”

“What they’re doing is wrong.” I commented. “And you’re still going to pretend it never happened and do nothing about it?”

Admittedly, I don’t know if my rash comments was the correct thing say. As her attendant, I should know my limits to express my opinions. Ms. Clarisse should be telling me to mind my own business, but she’s saying nothing. The room kept silent, her eyes looked away. She must be somewhere else in her mind, roaming through the memories of her past.

“Getting those fools fired won’t alleviate my pain.” she whispered. “It’s because I’m old, and when you’re old, nobody cares about you anymore. I was never raised to prepare for my current age, and to make matters worse, the government robs us of our natural born rights by caging us in profit-driven senior homes. My entire life changed when I got old, it’s supposed to shift not change like it has. Take this accident for example, even in this mess, my own family doctor can’t visit me because he’s afraid of my children.”

She raises the arm with the broken wrist, the white cast, now in front of her. Her fingers tried to wiggle, instead, it caused her whole arm to shake. Her eyes then fixated on her wedding ring, the sight, relaxed her wrinkled face. That one ring, swept away the stress in her eyes.

“You know, my husband took my last name.” she said, changing the subject. “My family made him because he was poor. They felt his last name would burden me. Regardless of what my family and peers thought, I loved him. He was a passionate man, driven to prove the whole world that I was destined to marry him. He swore to my family that he would become as successful as they are. It took him 20 years to finally be regarded as what society likes to call a ‘respectable man’. He loved me, and I still love him.”

Ms. Clarisse’s arms lingered in the air. Now I understand why the inexpensive ring remains faithfully in her finger. Suddenly her arms rested, and she looks at me. She comments that because I am a woman, I am destined to understand the struggles of womanhood. When I asked her what she meant by that, she stopped me, and told me to listen.

“The most miraculous thing that can happen to a woman is to give birth. In every labor a mother is reborn. Like a cocoon, we shed all we thought life was about, and become anew. Our eyes, and the way we perceive life is altered.

That’s how I felt when I had Troy, my first child. I swore to myself that I would do anything to protect him. I was willing to give my life for him. I wanted to be a guardian, and that was my mistake.”

“Aren’t you supposed to do that to your kids?” I said. Ms. Clarisse didn’t answer my question. She was in a trance and continued.

“After Troy, I had Ana and Ben. My husband—rest his soul, was an outstanding father figure. Yes, we spoiled them rotten—but we didn’t care. I thought our love was worth more than any of our possessions. When I realized I was getting older, and my children had become adults, these frail hands of mine, began wrinkle year after year. Look at me, I am no longer fit enough to be anything, much less their guardian.”

Ms. Clarisse shut her eyes and slowly shook her head. Her lips tightened and frowned.

“In our old age, my husband and I hardly saw them, Troy was busy running the company, Ana got married, and Ben was nowhere to be found. Parkinson’s disease wasn’t enough, before he passed away, my husband became gravely ill. Instead of preserving their last moments with their father, our children argued among each other over the inheritance and the company. On his death bed, our children didn’t show up. They were somehow disgusted by a dying old man, and refused to pay their respects. Their absence hurt my husband tremendously—he swore they were just waiting for him to die, just so they could receive his inheritance. In my denial, I attacked his accusations. I assured him our children loved him more than they reveal. Without him knowing, I contacted and tried to persuade our children to visit him. Each passing day, my husband sincerely waited, hopeful for that matter. Then one night, he passed away. Not having him around made me very depressed. I couldn’t hold it together—it’s hard to enjoy life without seeing the man who spent it with you. After his death, I didn’t want to be alone. I thought I was going to live with Troy, the one that made me feel so alive when I first held him in my arms.”