The Door (29 page)

"Come off it," she said. "You don't actually imagine she'd stay with you? Emerence will live only while she believes she has her own home. Shouldn't we be thinking about what's going to happen when she finds out the truth? She hasn't heard it yet. It's very good of you all to share the work out amongst yourselves, but have you actually asked her if she wants to be supported in this way? The writer lady will take her in. Good. And she'll provide for her. But is that the solution she wants? Does Emerence want someone else to keep her? Has she agreed to that?"

Adélka was sniffling away and dabbing at her eyes, but otherwise everyone was silent. I was the most silent of all. From the outset I had been alarmed by what Sutu was saying.

"What are you playing at here?" Sutu continued. "You know her. She's not going to stay with anyone, anywhere. Once they send her home and she finds out about her flat, you'd better watch out. She's already quite strong, so you'd better hide that axe. She went after the ambulance men, and once she's home, we're next, whether it's the doctor, or the writer lady, or the Lieutenant Colonel — whoever let them set fire to her furniture. Emerence doesn't want any kind of life. She needs her own life, and she doesn't have that any more."

The meeting broke up, leaving everyone depressed. Adélka was so shaken she was incapable of protest. Sutu packed her things up and left. I left too. We had got nowhere. Mrs Brodarics kept the tenants back and, with the help of the handyman's wife, drew up a plan for Emerence's replacement on a sheet of lined paper. I was touchy and irritable for the rest of the day and I didn't sleep well either, like someone terrified of some unforeseen change for the worse. I really did expect trouble — either something new or a twist of the old — and not without cause. A week later Mr Brodarics, who had been chosen at the tenants' meeting to act as caretaker in Emerence's absence, phoned in some distress to tell me that Sutu had called on him and announced that if her turn ever came, and the tenants wished it, she would be happy to give up the stall, hand back the permit and take full responsibility for Emerence's round of jobs — everything that went with the position. So what was my verdict? What did I say to that?

I had always analysed the night at Gethsemane from Jesus' point of view, but now for the first time it occurred to me how it must have felt for John say, or Philip, when they realised that the man who'd accompanied them on their journey, whose powers they understood better than anyone — they had after all seen Lazarus and Jairus' daughter raised to life — and from whom they had, until the very last moment, drawn both strength beyond understanding and the certainty of life eternal, had been betrayed. Mr Brodarics asked me again, what did I say to that? Nothing. It was shameful, a disgrace. I put the receiver down. Sutu had the nerve to apply! Sutu, who was a hopeless case until Emerence, with the help of the Lieutenant Colonel, got her the stall. Sutu, whom she had fed and given clothes when she found her wardrobe bare. Well then, now anything was possible! But I wasn't just angry, I was beginning to panic. Mr Brodarics had resisted her offer for the time being, but if Emerence returned home unable to work the residents would sooner or later have to act. They couldn't stand in for her for the rest of her life. They were either very old, or running around performing countless tasks themselves. They almost all had second jobs; there was no-one who could be reached at any hour to deal with snow, or a burst pipe, the postman or the chimney sweep; and the authorities weren't going to accommodate themselves to the personal schedule of whichever tenant happened to be on duty. Either Emerence would make a full recovery and do everything she had done before, or she would have to vacate the villa and stay, perhaps, with us, since she would have to give up the flat with the job. My God, what would I do with her, if she couldn't walk, or take charge of things, wash, cook, go shopping or dash about with the christening bowl? What on earth was I going to do?

The next day, at the hospital, I was told the chief doctor wanted to see me. I already knew what he wanted to say. He resembled a certain kind of critic. Those who play by the unwritten rules of the craft toss in something inconsequential, some faint praise, for the writer to chew over like an old dog, then shoot him while he gnaws on his bone. With a shining face he extolled Emerence's amazing ability to heal, the strength with which, after the initial wave of depression, she had begun to fight for her life, the positive results, the kilograms of pure muscle she had gained. Was I aware that cataracts were forming in both her eyes? No? No matter, it was just a sign of age. It hadn't bothered her so far because she never read, and she would still be able to watch television. I was waiting for the gunshot, and it came.

"I must ask you to start getting her used to the idea that she must leave and go home. In any case, it's what she now most wants. She talks about it, and longs to be in her garden. She says she's missed the early part of summer; and it's her favourite time of the year. I know that the truth has been kept from her. That was wise. She would never had got better if she'd known everything from the start. But now she has her strength back, and in my judgement she'd be able to face the facts. So would you be kind enough to ask the Lieutenant Colonel to get things ready in the flat, because we're sending the old woman home?"

"Not yet," I replied. "It isn't possible yet. We haven't made any decision about her future. The flat is just as it was after the decontamination. Nothing's been done; we have to give it further thought. We can't do what you are asking. It's unthinkable."

"Not at all," the doctor replied. "It's not even worth arguing about. I'm keeping her here for one more week, and you can sort things out during that time. Do bear in mind that she will need help with everything. But as for walking, she won't be up to that for the foreseeable future, if ever. However, we won't leave her without state help. We've spoken to the local council about it. You'll have to organise someone to do the shopping and cooking for her, because she can't get out of bed. And she'll need a bedpan. But the district nurse will be there for the injections, and to bathe her and change the bed. If you can't sort things out among her family and friends, then obviously the Lieutenant Colonel will find a suitable place for her. But from all the sympathy and affection we've seen, we feel sure someone will take her in."

It was like listening to Sutu. The same conviction.

"But, doctor, what will happen if she doesn't want to live with anyone?" The moment the words were out I realised what nonsense I was talking:
doesn't want, doesn't wish, won't, might object.
How could she? Everyone knew that from now on things would only ever happen to Emerence. Nothing would depend on Emerence, except death.

The doctor gazed at me benevolently, as if he hadn't heard my last foolish remark. He stood up and grasped me by the hand.

"Let us understand one another. I don't let her go with a light heart. Everyone here likes her, and so do I. Her constitution is a gerontological miracle, and so is her mind. She's an unusual case. But I can't keep the bed from someone whom we can put back on their feet, and the old woman, I am sorry to say, will most probably remain paralysed. We can't keep her here until she dies. Believe me, as it is we've done more for her than for anyone else. And there's something else. This is perhaps the most important thing of all."

I waited for the second shot. The nice juicy bone had fallen from its mouth, but the animal was still alive. And what I heard next was indeed the most important item of all.

"Don't put her in the situation where the ambulance men take her to a room she's never seen before, freshly painted and filled with brand-new furniture, and then move her somewhere else because she can't stay on her own. At this moment she's strong enough to take it, so tell her the truth: the hatchet, the decontamination, everything. You must tell her. And tell her here, where I can treat her. Don't let her get back home and hunt for her old furniture and her cats. I've already discussed this with the neighbours, and they tell me she's closest to you, and that you are the one to tell her. After all, it was you who set everything in motion. And you're the one she has to thank for her life. If you hadn't got her to open her door, she would have been dead within forty-eight hours."

Yes, I thought, she can truly thank me for this life we've rescued her into; for the lost or dead cats who eased her loneliness; for the cherished belongings that went up in smoke; and for the generous offer by the residents to share the tasks — which they so obviously can't keep up in the long term. Emerence would never go into a home, not if they killed her. Only her own will do. But after all that's happened, where is that? She won't be happy with us. She needs her own things, her private belongings, about her. And how would I fit a paralysed patient, needing constant attention, into our lives? And since it's the only option, when would I have time to bring her the bedpan, wash her, cook for her, keep her from getting bedsores? The district nurse won't come every day, and what shall I do when I have to be away from home? And what will my husband do? Will she even come if I ask her? She'll reject the idea straight away, but then where will she go? There's no room with anyone else. Józsi's boy won't have her. The Lieutenant Colonel is now married for the second time. There's no other way. She can only come to us.

I set off home, wondering all the while what I should do if she raised objections when I invited her. I didn't even look in on her but hurried off to talk things over with my husband. It was clear that something was afoot at Emerence's villa. People were swarming round a parked goods truck in the street outside. I went along to see what was happening. They were painting the walls of her kitchen and renovating the porch. The boarding had been removed and someone was fitting a door in place of the damaged one. Women were busy scrubbing — the Lieutenant Colonel's brigade of convicts. So the work was under way. I carried on to our apartment to use the phone. The Lieutenant Colonel couldn't understand what was bothering me now. The door was in place; the painting done and the floor freshly scrubbed, the furniture would be arriving in a few days and the whitewash was drying fast in the summer heat. So what was the problem? Why all this desperation?

What was the problem? Couldn't anyone see? I told him about Sutu's betrayal. This did shake him, but he immediately insisted that the law would protect Emerence. They couldn't drive her out of her flat. They couldn't even pressure her to move out, because it was only an assumption that she wouldn't ever again be fit to work. And anyway, the committee would have to wait two years, since that was the rule governing sick leave. And a great deal could happen in two years. She might recover, or the poor thing might die. Until then, the neighbours would have to cope with things the way they were, and he'd make sure there was a district nurse. So what was I worrying about? Everything was under control. We'd got over the critical period. Everyone had the right to get ill. What he was asking was, would I see through what I had begun? Emerence was still alive because I had added the weight of her trust in me to the neighbours' touchingly beautiful lies, but there was no longer any need for them. I should now crown my achievement, soften the bad news with the good, and explain that what had been lost had taken a new form, that the old home and the new one were one and the same, and were waiting to receive her.

So he didn't grasp my meaning either; or perhaps he couldn't. We were dealing in such different currencies. Emerence's dictionary featured
filth, scene, scandal, laughing stock of the street
and
shame.
His contained
law, order, solutions, solidarity, effective measures.
Both phrasebooks were accurate, it was just that they were in different languages. So, could he at least do this: would he explain to Emerence what really happened? I hadn't been there, I'd gone off to the TV studio; she knew who'd stayed, and who hadn't.

"I'm not afraid of doing that," he replied. "Emerence is a wise woman. You underestimate her if you are scared to tell her that you saved her, not for a hopeless defeat, but for this strangely happy ending — because that's what it is. I'll tell her everything, this afternoon. Don't say a word to Sutu, there's no need even to greet her. I'll tell Emerence about her betrayal, don't you worry. That'll get her going better than any medicine. Her anger might even get her back on her feet. What Sutu's in for, if she dares show her face, will be something special. Anyway, I'll see to all that, but I have to say I am disappointed in you. It's just lucky you kept your nerve until this last and final phase."

I had of course endured hours similar to what I went through that afternoon. I was filled with the same tension I'd experienced when my husband underwent lung surgery, or the night before my parents were buried. I lay where my mother had slept, with a Viola who never once stirred. Somewhere around six o'clock Adélka called in to tell me, with a worried look on her face, that I wouldn't believe it, but they wouldn't let her in to see Emerence. She had no idea what had happened. There was a sign outside her door banning visitors, and when she spoke to the nurse about taking her soup in she was asked to take it away. Emerence didn't want anything, and for the time being she was not to be visited. The handyman's wife hadn't been let in either, and she'd also come away with a bag full of things. So the axe has struck, I thought, now I can go. I dragged myself to my feet. On the street outside our door Sutu, obviously driven by some innate work ethic, was sweeping like someone in a dream. There was no suggestion of guilt in her face when she noticed me, rather a look of deep thought. Perhaps she had heard from Adélka about the new visiting restrictions and was wondering whether what had happened would help or hinder her cause, much as she'd done when she put her cards on the table on Emerence's porch.

Along the road leading to the hospital I met two of the neighbours making their way back with their christening bowls. The women were worried that Emerence must have taken a turn for the worse. The sky was a dark steel-grey, a cold front had blown in and the wind was tearing at the branches in the avenue; perhaps she was sensitive to it and that was why the nurses had shut her away from everyone. They hadn't guarded her so strictly even when the poor thing seemed to be dying. So I should go on up — perhaps they would tell me the truth.