The Memory Artists - Jeffrey Moore [99]
What’s more, JJ’s an angel of a man—kind, trusting, non-judgemental, always looking on the bright side (regarding my mom’s relapse, he said, “Sometimes a condition must worsen before bettering”). And he has a quality that means more to me than any other: loyalty. He’s set up a card table and computer beside my desk, so we share a lot of equipment. He usually talks all the time or whistles, but when he starts surfing or mixing herbal concoctions he shuts up. Sometimes there’ll be silence or near-silence for hours, apart from some occasional wind-breaking, or grunting if he’s on his headphones, after which we work together, compare notes … He’s interested in everything I do and I’m trying to learn from him, for he’s an unbiased, open-minded, knowledgeable man with a heart of Au.
February 9. JJ’s started on Mom’s insomnia and sundowning. I’ve taken her off Halderon and given her something JJ made, a frothy infusion he calls an “Earth Shake,” a hot brew of German camomile, skullcap, hops, vervain and tincture of wild oats that Mom actually liked. To me it tastes like steamed hay. Last night he gave her a biochemic tissue salt (potassium phosphate, triturated until soluble). And tonight, around ten, he gave her a long massage with mandarin oil, spending five minutes on each of the following reflexology points: 3, 4, 9, 17, 20, 52. (I know the numbers but not what they signify.)
February 10. Mom slept for ten hours! Which she so badly needed. And no wandering, no lamplighting.
February 11. Tonight JJ drew a bath with aromatic marjoram oil, which Mom loved and wouldn’t come out of until the water got cold. She now says she wants JJ to prepare her bath from now on, and doesn’t want the Bath Lady anymore! But I want to keep Sancha because … she starts with an S. But it’s probably too late. Won’t see Norval this week—he cancelled for Tuesday.
February 12. Quiet day. Nothing worth mentioning.
February 14. Inexplicably, Mom is becoming more and more silent so JJ is getting her to talk about her life through her photo albums. He seems to love imagining her past—he peppers her with questions about her childhood and then talks excitedly about his own. Yesterday he found an old tape in her bookcase, a recording my mom and I made of a “play” we’d written together called The Phantasmagorical Phantom of Firenza. We no longer have a reel-to-reel recorder to play it, so JJ went home and got his. And then actually played the damn thing. Speak, Memorex. Mom had written her part—a Florentine princess locked in a moated grange—and I had written mine: an occasionally invisible mediaeval knight-wizard who saves her with anachronistic weapons while using big words like “vagaries” and “vicissitudes.” Mom laughed and laughed, probably because JJ was rolling on the floor.
February 17. For his first ten days here, JJ spent almost the entire time in the lab, even eating sandwiches down there, which Mom prepares for him in Saran wrap and a lunch bag, like he’s going to school. He even drinks hot chocolate out of my old thermos. But now he spends most of his time upstairs—with Mom. Which is fantastic not only because she likes him a lot—she sometimes cries with laughter at his puns and cornballisms—but it gives me more time in the lab, uninterrupted and unworried.
February 18. I’ve taken the last two nights off. Tonight the three of us had Chinese take-out, rented Defending Your Life and Withnail and I, ate burnt popcorn and laughed uncontrollably—as we had the night before watching the same movies.
February 19. Mom got up early today, dressed herself elegantly, put on make-up, and was in a great mood all day. She looked totally refreshed—and energised, as if she were about to tango or belly dance at any second. JJ’s laughter therapy is obviously kicking in.
Haven’t seen Norval in a while. He’s cancelled two Tuesdays in a row—and today he just