Woman On The Edge Of Time (31 page)

“Dolly, you look beautiful,” she said when she turned from the window. “You lost some weight too?”

Dolly had dyed her hair a fiery orange-red. She was dressed in a sleek green and yellow pants suit without sleeves, and she had kept on her sunglasses. “Oh, carita, it pays more if you look Anglo, you know? And they like you better skinny, the ones with money. Geraldo, that prick, left me with debts and no money. I have to break my behind hustling till I get clear of my debts.”

“Dolly, take off the shades. I can’t see your expression. It’s like talking through a wall.”

Pouting, Dolly took off her glasses, wincing at the light. A little prickle ran up Connie’s neck. “Nevertheless, darling, everything is going fine for me and mine, let me tell you. I’ve done okay without that big honcho. I work hard but the marks come running and I make better money than ever before, much better than with Geraldo. Listen, Connie—last week I made four hundred! In one week! How’s that?” Dolly’s words spilled out.

“Dolly, did you maybe bring me a little something?”

“How could I forget? I mean forget to tell you. I didn’t forget to bring for you. Now listen—I gave the old bitch at the desk thirty dollars for you in your account. Now, if you hold out your hand casual like, I’m going to slip you another five for extras. This place don’t look like no luxury hotel, but you can buy yourself a little something to take the edge off.”

She held out her hand and Dolly slipped a bill in it, folded up. “And my clothes? Did you maybe bring me some clothes?”

“Daddy, he said you were in the hospital and didn’t need street clothes. So I brought you two nightgowns, an old one you had and one of my own special ones, with real handmade black lace so you won’t be ashamed in the hospital. I wore it when I was having my operation, and it brings me down to look at it!” Dolly chattered as if nothing would ever bring her down. “Also I decided to bring you some dresses anyhow. What do men know what women need? I see you got a dress on, if you can call it that. So I brought you the turquoise and your green print and the red. You could use some new dresses, Connie. You lost so much weight, I don’t know if these will fit.”

“The turquoise, it’s from a long time ago. When I was with … Claud. It’ll fit.”

“If you give me your new size, I can get you a nice dress, the length they’re wearing now … . Listen to me—I gave the old bitch at the desk thirty dollars for you, and if you hold out your hand, I’m going to slip you another five for extras.”

“Dolly, you did that!”

Dolly was folding the bill up. “Come on, don’t you get it? Stick out your hand natural like.”

Dizzy, she stuck out her hand, and Dolly again gave her a five. Oh, well, she could use it. She stared into Dolly’s intense eyes, the pupils too big, too shiny. “What are you on?”

“Me? Like always—a little of this, a little of that.”

“You’re on more than a little of something.”

“I got to stay skinny, carita. The money is with the Anglos and they like you skinny and American-looking. It pays more if you look Anglo, you know. Sometimes I say I’m of Spanish mother and an Irish father, and that’s why I have the beautiful red hair. Even the hair on my thing, I dyed it red—Connie, you wouldn’t believe it.” She giggled.

“Is it speed?”

“A little, once in a while, to keep my weight down. Who can stand those assholes? They drive me crazy. They’re all pigs. But I’m much better off without that prick Geraldo, you know? This one, Vic, he was a real ballplayer—no joke.” She giggled again. “He played a season with die Cleveland Indians, except he was born in the Bronx like me. He’s okay, Connie, it’s purely business. He’s a good businessman. I’m not crazy about
him, but so much the better, you know? I was crazy for Geraldo, and what did I get besides a lot of trouble?”

“Is it Vic’s idea you take that poison? It’ll burn you out.”

“Listen, Connie, I’m in terrific shape! Look at me. I weigh one hundred seventeen—you believe it? And last week, you know what I earned on my behind?”

“Four hundred dollars,” she said wryly.

“How did you guess? Not bad, hey? Nice clothes, pretty things for my baby. Mamá keeps Nita Tuesday through Saturday and then Sunday I get her and I have her till Tuesday morning.”

“Carmel’s got her all week?”

“What other mother do I have? Sure, Carmel’s got her. It works out better.”

“Dolly, this is not good. You don’t have your baby inside, your daughter you only see weekends like an aunt, and you’re taking poison that burns out your soul.”

“Don’t be silly, Tía. You forget what the world’s like, shut up here. I’m on top now. I know what I’m doing. And last week I made four hundred dollars!”

“Dolly, please. Get me out of here! I beg you. Get me released. Talk to them!”

“Hermana, how can I do that? Luis signed the papers. I didn’t have a thing to do with it. You have to talk to Daddy about getting out.”

“Please, Dolly, do something. I beg you. Look around this ward. They’re operating on us. They’re sticking needles in our heads!”

“Yeah?” Dolly looked around vaguely. “Daddy says they’re famous doctors from a university. That they’re for real helping you so you won’t have to go in again. He says you’re going to be in a hospital in Washington Heights. I could get to see you all the time. It’s real hard to get up here, you know?”

“Dolly, you think I need an operation? Look at me.”

“Connie, am I a doctor? What do I know? At least it’s clean in here, not so depressing like last time.”

“I don’t want their help, Dolly. I want to go home! Listen—I’ll work. Tell Luis I’ll do anything! I’ll work in his sweatshop nursery. I can get temporary office jobs. Tell Luis that!”

“You shouldn’t go on feeling sorry for yourself, Connie—
that’s your problem. We can rise above what we are if we have the will. Look at me! After Geraldo, that prick, left me flat, with no money and lots of debts, I didn’t cry long. I cried, sure, but then I went out and got myself a white pimp. I lost twenty-two pounds, you know? I took myself in hand and I haven’t gained a pound in weeks! I dyed my hair on my head and”—lowering her voice coquettishly—“even the hair on my thing. I say I’m of a Spanish mother and an Irish father. Sometimes I say my mother was a contessa.”

“I think that’s Italian.”

“No, it’s Spanish. Anyhow, they’re johns—what do they know? I make money hand over fist. Just last week—”

“Dolly, please, listen to me!” Connie interrupted, near despair. “They’re going to do an operation on me. You go look at that woman in the corner, the black woman, Alice. That’s what they want to do to me. At least let me come home for a weekend. To eat real food. To see you and Nita. Please, Dolly, talk to them.”

“Sure, honey. Once you’re in New York, why shouldn’t you come visit me? A weekend wouldn’t be so good, but maybe a Sunday together? It’s nice of Vic to bring me up here, but how many times can I get him to do it? He knows the value of money. He used to be a real pro ballplayer with the Cleveland Indians. A white pimp is better than a brother, Connie. It’s strictly business, but he brings good customers. Businessmen, buyers, salesmen. When you get out, I’ll get you some money and help you set up in a nice apartment. Daddy took your stuff into storage, he threw a lot of it out. But I kept some for you, pictures and stuff I know you want.”

She stood at the window watching Dolly emerge from the building and Nita break free of Vic and race toward her, hugging her around the thighs. Dolly pointed up at the window and Nita, looking puzzled, waved obediently at the building. They went off, Vic and Dolly talking at once. She stood at the window, staring long after they had disappeared.

She remembered something she had heard Dr. Redding say to Superintendent Hodges: that they had used up five thousand monkeys before they began doing these operations on patients. Used up. She had heard him say he had wanted to work with prisoners—he thought the results would be more impressive—
but there had been such an uproar about three little psycho-surgical procedures at Vacaville in California that his team decided to work with mental patients. “After all,” he had said, smiling his best ironic smile, “they made a court case and a bleeding heart publicity brouhaha about three procedures, while San Francisco Children’s Hospital does hundreds with sound and thermal probes—mostly on neurotic women and intractable children—and no one says boo.”

Thus, after the five thousand monkeys, they were being used up one at a time. She marched over to Sybil. “Sybil, they’re going to finish us. It’s death, no matter what they call it.”

Sybil sat cross-legged, facing her. Her eyes questioned.

“It’s true this is a locked ward. But the hospital here has lousy security compared to our old wards. I know I could get out of here, if I could get off this ward.”

“How? We eat here, we lie here. There’s not even a porch.”

“If I made them think something’s wrong with me.”

Sybil’s hands rose and floated in the air, graceful and helpless as doves. “You could die of smallpox before they’d do anything.”

“Would you try if I did?”

Sybil looked down. She flexed her fingers, sighing. “Without money?”

“I have ten dollars. With that we could take a bus for a ways. Then we could hitchhike. Skip says women can always get a ride. Just so we get away from the hospital. People are too suspicious here.”

“We’d get picked up before we could reach a bus station.”

“It’s summer. Suppose we sleep in the woods and we walk as far as we can. They can’t watch all the bus stations in every town. Please, Sybil, if I think up a good plan?”

“Since the last series of shocks, I don’t have energy.”

Indeed, as she looked into Sybil’s face she realized how thin and how drawn Sybil was, with that inmate pallor they all shared.

“But we could help each other. We could keep each other’s courage up … . My niece won’t help; she’s too spaced out. But if we got to New York, she’d give us money, I know she would. She’d be real impressed by you, Sybil. She’s into astrology and she’d be excited about witchcraft.”

“If we’d done it sooner … when we were on L-6. I’m tired, Connie, I’m weak. They’ve drained my power. It consumes all my power just to keep out the evil vibrations on this ward.”

“If we got away we’d be safe!”

“Ten dollars! That wouldn’t get us far. We have to eat. When they caught us, we’d be ruthlessly punished!”

“Sybil, what are they going to do to us anyhow?” She gestured toward Alice’s bed.

“At least they only do it to you once.” Sybil looked down. “Is it really worse than electroshock? I still can’t remember all kinds of things I know I knew before!”

“Sybil, you’re getting to be an … old patient.” Before her she could see the chronic wards, row on row of metal beds full of drugged hopeless women. A terrible silence. “Don’t let them wear you down!”

Sybil smiled, cold as a moonbeam. “I can’t do it. I haven’t healed. My pride is hollow … . But I’ll help you.”

“They’ll punish you if you help me and I get loose.”

Sybil shrugged. “Not like they’ll punish you when they bring you back.”

“I’ll ask someone else.”

“Don’t you dare! Haven’t we been friends? Don’t you think my loyalty has some value?” Sybil drew herself up. “Perhaps if you do escape, I’ll consider it in a new light. It’s by far the most intelligent plan for you to escape first with my assistance. Then when you’re safe, you can assist me.”

That evening after lights out, she lay quietly weeping.

Maybe Luciente could help. When she reached her, Luciente was swimming in the river with Jackrabbit, both of them diving and rising and splashing. Luciente hauled herself onto the bank, her hair plastered to her head and her body naked and dripping. Connie turned quickly away as Jackrabbit too clambered up on the grass. “We’ll get dressed, Connie. Don’t hide away!” Luciente obviously thought it was funny. Jackrabbit and she dried themselves on big towels and trotted off to Luciente’s space, with herself following very slowly behind. They were laughing ahead, and she felt left out and awkward. How could
they
help?

She loitered up the path. When she opened Luciente’s door,
they were both roughly dressed and between them they were making the bed. “Our family met last night,” Jackrabbit told her. “I put in as ready for mothering and military service. But everybody decided I ought to take care of going on defense before starting to mother. I know it’s logical, but I feel a little parted. I want to mother a lot more than I feel like marching off for six months to wherever the enemy’s pestering us now.”

Luciente was eyeing her with a gather of skin between her eyes. “What’s wrong, Connie?”

When she described the ward and the project, Luciente grew still. She sat on the not quite made bed with her hands crouching on her spread knees. “So soon. It promises ill.”

“It’s bad, real bad? That’s what I thought. I’m scared.”

Jackrabbit, puzzled but interested, curled up with a pillow behind his back. Luciente frowned. “It’s that race between technology, in the service of those who control, and insurgency—those who want to change the society in our direction. In your time the physical sciences had delivered the weapons technology. But the crux, we think, is in the biological sciences. Control of genetics. Technology of brain control. Birth-to-death surveillance. Chemical control through psychoactive drugs and neurotransmitters.”

“Luciente, help me escape!” Her hand trembling, she touched Luciente’s sinewy arm. “Before they do that to me.”

Luciente shuddered. “Sticking a log in somebody’s eye to dig out an eyelash! They had not even a theory of memory! Their arrogance … amazes me.” She snorted.

“Can you help me? Please.”

“Of course we can!” Jackrabbit said, stroking her shoulder, but Luciente paced with her face screwed up.

“I can’t interfere in the past, Connie,” she said slowly. “But I can give you advice. That’s free as the wind. As we say, nobody asks for it and everybody gets it.”

“I thought I might fake a sickness scary enough to make them take me off the ward and then I could escape.”

“You’d have to be able to create and sustain a high temperature. I could teach you, but it’d take time. I must discuss these problems with my time-travel proj.” Luciente marched over to her television set, fiddled with some dials and spoke into her kenner. In a short while she was meeting with several people.
Most of them appeared on the screen as they spoke, but a couple were apparently too far from a set and spoke only through the kenner. Connie strained her ears to hear, but most of the argument was in a weird jargon, about gliding, and fast and slow marcon, flebbing, achieving nevel.