Woman on the Edge of Time - Marge Piercy [79]
“Right away? That’s heartless. One in, one out!”
“Why heartless? In a week traditionally, when we are caught up on work and sleep, we discuss into which family the child should be born and who are to be mothers. We begin by meditating on the dead.”
“It just seems … cheap somehow. No funeral, no undertaker. Just shovel them in.”
“Connie, your old way appears barbaric to us, trying to keep the rotting body. To pretend we are not made of elements ancient as the earth, that we do not owe those elements back to the web of all living … For us a good death is one come in the fullness of age, without much pain and in clear mind. A full life is a used life! Person should be tired … . You should sit in on the wake with us! You’ll see. It feels beautiful, it feels good. You’ll see what beauty Jackrabbit makes—person and Bolivar spectacle together. Bolivar is a ritual maker. I myself will perform tonight with my drums—which we should scamp over and get after we set up at the meetinghouse.”
“Something is wrong!” She felt a threat shaking her. “Let go, Luciente. Let me go!”
“With haste, Connie!” Luciente stepped back and Connie faded through into the chair in the dim day room. Nurse Wright was slapping her to and fro till her jaw ached.
“Please … don’t!”
“Thought you’d … withdrawn.”
“I feel real funny today. I think I slept or passed out. The medication … I felt real funny after I took it today.”
Nurse Wright was a motherly woman in her fifties, but overworked. She had given up and just drifted along in the ward, leaning heavily on her attendants. Connie liked her but felt she couldn’t be relied on. Nurse Wright peered into her eyes. “Ummm. I’ll mention it to the doctor. Maybe you’re on the wrong dosage.”
“I think I’m kind of sensitive to drugs, maybe,” she said meekly. She was still shuddering with the force of the transition. Her heart pounded wildly and Nurse Wright, taking her by the wrist, pursed her lips at the pulse.
“I’ll mention it to the doctor. You may be on too high a dosage, or maybe not. He’ll say in the end. Now, on your feet.”
She rose shakily. “I feel funny.”
“Come along now. It’s time to get in line for your supper.”
NINE
“They’re moving us all on a special ward,” Skip said. “Here in the medical building.”
“Who says?” Connie asked. Rumors had galloped back and forth through their little group for two weeks.
“Fats, the friendly attendant. He says pretty soon we’ll all be moved onto a ward fixed up for us.”
“Men and women both? A locked ward?” Even if it was locked, at least she could get to be on the same ward as Sybil again.
“I think locked.” Skip pulled a long face. “They don’t act like they’re fixing to turn us loose. I got a funny letter from my father, saying they’re real proud I’ve been picked to be in a pilot project for special attention, and they hope I’ll cooperate and get well. That we’re lucky to have such a famous doctor, written up in Time magazine.”
“Redding?”
“The same. But they’re even more bowled over by a Dr. Argent, who’s head of some institute.”
“Dr. Argent? There’s nobody around here like that.”
“Beats me. What bothers me is that the hospital’s been after them to sign a permission for something.”
She hugged herself, trying to summon up the nerve. Skip had his own clothes, he always seemed to have a little cash, even cigarettes. “Skip … could you loan me a little to call my niece in New York City? I haven’t had a visit since I got here. I know if I talk to her, I can get her to bring me some money and some of my clothes. They’re ashamed, and they’re pretending I don’t exist since they sent me up.”
“My folks guilt-trip over sending me to the state hospital. They don’t come either, but they deposit an allowance.” Skip fished out a pouch he wore under his shirt. He had made it in Occupational Therapy. She longed for OT privileges but couldn’t get them because Mrs. Richard had put down bad things in her record. OT was just an hour every other week (the