Robber Bride - Margaret Atwood [228]
The room is a mess.
“Just a minute,” says Tony. “Go over that part again. You were there at noon and the room was a mess?”
“She was always messy when she lived with me, that time, on the Island,” says Charis. “She never helped with the dishes or anything.”
“But when I was there earlier, everything was really neat,” says Tony. “The bed was made. Everything.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” says Charis. “There were pillows on the floor, the bed was a wreck. Dirty coffee cups, potato chips, clothes lying around. There was broken glass on the coffee table, the rug too. It was like there’d been a party all night.”
“You sure it was the same room?” says Tony. “Maybe she lost her temper and smashed a few glasses.”
“She must have gone back to bed,” says Roz. “After you left.”
They all consider that. Charis goes on:
The room is a mess. The flowered drapes are pulled half shut, as if they’ve been closed recently against the light. Zenia steps over the items strewn on the floor, sits down on the sofa, and picks up a cigarette from the dozen or so that are scattered around in the broken glass on the coffee table. “I know I shouldn’t smoke,” she murmurs, as if to herself, “but it hardly matters, now. Sit down, Charis. I’m glad you’ve come.”
Charis sits down in the armchair. This is not the charged confrontation she’s been imagining. Zenia isn’t trying to evade her; if anything, she seems mildly pleased that Charis is here. Charis reminds herself that what she needs is to find out about Billy, where he is, whether he’s alive or dead. But it’s hard to concentrate on Billy; she can scarcely remember what Billy used to look like, whereas Zenia is sitting right here in the room. It’s so strange to see her in the flesh, at last.
Now she’s smiling wanly. “You were so good to me,” she says. “I’ve always meant to apologize for going away like that, without saying goodbye. It was very thoughtless of me. But I was too dependent on you, I was letting you try to cure me instead of putting the energy into it myself. I just needed to get off somewhere, be alone so I could focus. It was – well, I got a sort of message, you know?”
Charis is amazed. Maybe she’s been misjudging Zenia, all these years. Or maybe Zenia has changed. People can change, they can choose, they can transform themselves. It’s a deep belief of hers. She isn’t sure what to think.
“You didn’t really have cancer,” she says finally. She doesn’t intend it as an accusation. Only she needs to be sure.
“No,” says Zenia. “Not exactly. I was sick, though. It was a spiritual illness. And I’m sick now.” She pauses, but when Charis doesn’t ask, she says, “That’s why I’m back here – for the health care system. I couldn’t afford treatment anywhere else. They’ve told me I’m dying. They’ve given me six months.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” says Charis. She’s looking at Zenia’s edges, to see what colour her light is, but she’s not getting a reading. “Is it cancer?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” says Zenia.
“It’s okay,” says Charis, because what if Zenia is telling the truth, this time? What if she really is dying? She does have a greyish tinge, around the eyes. The least Charis can do is listen.
“Well, actually, I’ve got AIDS,” says Zenia and sighs. “It’s really stupid. I had a bad habit, a few years back. I got it off a dirty needle.”
Charis gasps. This is terrible! What about Larry, then? Will he get AIDS, too? Roz! Roz! Come quickly! But what could Roz do?
“I wouldn’t mind spending a little time, somewhere peaceful,” says Zenia. “Just to get my head in order, before, you know. Some place like the Island.”
Charis feels the familiar tug, the old temptation. Maybe there’s no hope for Zenia’s body, but the body isn’t the only factor. She could have Zenia over to stay with her, the way she did before. She could help her to move towards the transition, she could put light around her, they could meditate together.…
“Or maybe I’ll just check myself out,” says Zenia softly. “Pills or something. I’m doomed anyway.