Where We Going, Daddy__ Life With Two Sons Unlike Any Other - Jean-Louis Fournier [21]
Thomas talks to his hand, he calls it Martine. He has long conversations with Martine, she must talk back but he’s the only one who hears her.
He puts on a soft little voice to say nice things to her. Sometimes he raises his voice at her, apparently not at all happy; Martine must have said something he doesn’t like, so he shouts and yells at her.
Maybe he’s annoyed with her for not being good at things?
It has to be said Martine isn’t very adept and doesn’t help him much in his everyday life, with getting dressed and eating. She’s not accurate, she knocks his glass over when he’s drinking, she fumbles, she can’t button up shirts or tie shoelaces, she often gets the shakes …
She doesn’t even know how to stroke the cat properly, her stroking is more like hitting, and the cat gets frightened and runs away.
She can’t play the piano, she can’t drive a car, she can’t even write, she’s only just up to doing abstract paintings. Maybe Martine answers back, saying it’s not her fault, she’s waiting for orders. It’s not her job to take the initiative, it’s his.
She’s just a hand.
“Hello, Thomas, it’s Daddy on the phone.”
Total silence.
I can hear very loud, labored breathing and the teacher’s voice:
“Can you hear, Thomas? It’s Daddy.”
“Hello, Thomas, do you know it’s me? It’s Daddy. How are you, Thomas?”
Silence. Just the labored breathing … Eventually Thomas starts talking. Since his voice broke it’s powerful and loud.
“Where we going, Daddy?”
He’s recognized me. We can get on with the conversation.
“How are you, Thomas?”
“Where we going, Daddy?”
“Have you done some nice pictures for Daddy and Mommy and your sister Marie?”
Silence. Just the labored breathing.
“Are we going home?”
“Have you done some nice pictures?”
“Martine.”
“How’s Martine?”
“Fench fies Fench fies Fench fies!”
“Did you have French fries? Were they good? … Do you want some French fries?”
Silence …
“Can you give Daddy a kiss? Can you say good-bye to Daddy? Can you give me a kiss?”
Silence.
I can hear the receiver dangling on its own, voices in the background. The teacher’s on the phone again, telling me Thomas has dropped the receiver, he’s gone.
I hang up.
We’d said all the important stuff.
Thomas isn’t very well. He’s jumpy in spite of the tranquilizers. He sometimes has outbursts where he’s very violent. Every now and then he has to be confined to a psychiatric hospital …
We’re going to see him next week, for lunch. It’s nearly Christmas so I told his instructor I would bring him a present, but asked her what I should get.
She told me they listen to music all day long. All sorts of music, even classical. One of the residents whose parents are musicians listens to Mozart and Berlioz. I thought of the Goldberg Variations, a score J. S. Bach wrote to soothe the neurotic Count Keyserling. There were bound to be plenty of Count Keyserlings needing soothing at the institute, J. S. Bach could only help.
I’ve bought the album for them. The instructor’s going to try the experiment.
If Bach could replace Prozac one day …
Thirty years later I’ve come across the birth announcements for Thomas and Mathieu in the bottom of a drawer. They were classic announcements; we liked things simple, no flowers or storks.
The paper has yellowed, but I have no trouble reading the beautiful typeface saying we were very happy to announce the birth of Mathieu and, later, Thomas.
Of course we were happy, it was a rare moment, a unique experience, an intense emotion, a joy you couldn’t put into words …
The disappointment measured up to it.
We are sad to inform you that Mathieu and Thomas are handicapped, their heads are full of straw, they’ll never study anything, they’ll get things wrong all their lives, Mathieu will be very unhappy and will soon leave us. Thomas, though fragile, will stay longer, growing more hunched by the day … He talks to his hand the whole time, has difficulty walking, has stopped drawing, isn’t as cheerful as he used to be, he’s stopped asking where we going, Daddy.
Maybe he’s happy where he is.