To the Sea

       It (they?) is here for a long time. Alone? No, alones. “We will all die,” one voice mutters, the other asks, “Who are you? Where am I?”, or, “I will file a complaint”, or howls and weeps, or cries for help. Or demands to shut up. Impossible. Voices are always there. Voices and body. One for all. They exists. *** The morning began with a sudden joy, and the first batch of pills didn’t seem so disgusting to Eva. Well, the news was not so sudden. Eva knew that Johan should return from vacation, but forgot about it. It made her sad – that she had forgotten it, not that he was back. She was glad about the latter. Johan was the sweetest nurse in Tusensköna nursing home, in the opinion of all its residents, especially ladies. They enjoyed their blood pressure taken by a handsome, tall, athletic, young blonde. And strong, he could lift even Greta, who weighted over a hundred and twenty kilogrammes, as if she were a schoolgirl. One could easily imagine herself young, beautiful, and healthy. Only 95-year-old Per disliked him out of his natural spite. Even Curly the dog, a full-time specialist in the mental health service, wagged its tail and attacked Johan with furious licking, and Johan pecked him on the curly brow, much to the friendly envy of all the ladies present. Eva envied the dog, a bit. She had been a widow for twenty years already and could afford herself a new, if rather imaginary, love affair. She fondled her bracelet, a thin silvery chain with a bent flat-heart-shaped pendant. Jönköping city park, she and August are twenty, lilac is blooming like mad, thrushes are whistling, and August has won a cheap bracelet with a pendant and earrings. "Don’t be mad, dear," Eva said to his photo on the mirror table, putting one earring on. The other was lost in so many decades. "I love you. And Johan is just an eye treat." And what a treat he was. Johan returned tanned, and cut his flaxen locks. And of course he brought souvenirs for his favourite grey-haired ladies: cute ceramic saucers, magnets, a big jar of fresh olives, a bit for everyone, a welcome addition to the breakfast. Fat Greta was asking about breakfast time twice as often as usually. At breakfast, the ladies were inquiring about Johan’s vacations. As if vacations in Spain could be anything but good. Johan told them that much but confessed he’d take one more week off to adapt back to Swedish climate, as he was afraid to catch a cold, and his pullover was too itchy to wear. Indeed, Johan was scratching his nape while the ladies (Eva, at least) enjoyed the sight of his biceps, and mummy Per was grumbling that Johan should stop scratching his fleas onto Per, Curly supplied him with enough fleas already. Shameless lie: Curly was the cleanest, the most shampoo-smelling dog in Sweden. And also Per ate his share of olives but still fountained with complaints that while someone lucky was loafing under the southern sun, the poor old decrepit people were cold and miserable here while they could sunbathe at sea, too, at least near Ystad, it wasn’t so expensive if they travelled by train, chartered one carriage, but of course it demanded too much effort, and the directors can only count their residents’ money. And he threatened to file a complaint with a ministry; he didn’t specify which exactly. It had been better in far-gone times, he snorted, when directors had respected their clients… Right, Angelica? Angelica was the oldest resident there, even attendant girls could lift her like a tuft of wool from her bed into a rolling chair. She consisted of a holy spirit. She had been here for the longest time, but it was useless to ask her anything. "Who are you?" She came out of her doze, her voice rustling like paper. "Where am I? Take me home…" Eva shuddered. She wouldn’t want to live to that end. No, her memory was fine, thank you, the whole life bright before her eyes. Like her honeymoon trip to Ystad. Sea, endless white sand dunes of Sandhammaren—that was not Spain by far, August had been wrapping Eva in a plaid, grass ears had been swaying in the wind, and sand had penetrated everything. Shoes, bras, teeth. Eva came out of her reverie to a fuss. The resident ladies were imploring Johan to drop a word into the director’s ear to arrange a seaside weekend or a week, they were eager to spend some savings to that purpose to go to the sea, to Ystad, there could be an Indian summer this time, and iodine-rich Baltic air would be sooo beneficial to their failing health. All sores and ailments would leave them at once, they promised! And no, a van to Lake Vättern was not an option because, first, a sea was a sea, and second, a van was so commonplace and routine, unlike a train. Eva joined the petition. How could she not wish to tread that white sand once again, to see the vast, empty horizon, to hear the racket of train wheels on rails? *** It’s hard to move, darkness is narrow. Walls. Walls are bad, They is big, They can’t get through holes. By a part, maybe. Holes are closed by something hard, it crunches when They breaks through, it has sharp edges, it hurts. Not moving is bad, too. Hungers pulls and aches. When meals? Food? Where? *** As fate would have it, Johan didn’t appear at work in a couple of days; the senior nurse said he caught a cold. Everyone asked if he did manage to pass on their seaside travel wishes to the director, of course it had to be now, they could not wait till next summer. And didn’t the director dare hope the old, feeble people would forget it the next day! Eva wouldn’t forget, at least she had no memory issues! As usual, the attendants were saying they’d say, sure, no problem, hush, ladies, you are not supposed to get so distraught. And how could they not be distraught when diabethic Sven from room eight was retelling tabloid stories about a new epidemic disease, closed borders, adding "we all will die!" to every piece of new information, and demanding new pills from the nurses. And to prohibit visits—just like he had done during bird flu and swine flu. Of course he was just envious of Greta, three children and four grandchildren were coming to see her each week at random, smuggling treats for her because she was always complaining of starving to death. And Sven’s only daughter would come just once in a half of a year. Still, Sven’s laments were very infectious, and the resident ladies grew nervous, too. But the Chief Doctor cut the rumours short, she didn’t get any instructions from the Public Health Agency, neither concerning a lockdown nor specific medicines, so there was no reason for worries. No reasons not to go to the sea? Eva inquired. And before falling asleep, she was mentally busy choosing wardrobe for vacations. *** Walls are good, they screen light. Sometimes it’s light outside. It burns, it hurts. Not for long, then it is dark again. And light again. Dark again. Dark is good. Warm. Outside, it is warm, then cold. Cold is bad. Not hurts, but makes slow. It’s scary. Body doesn’t move well. It always doesn’t move well. Fast at edges, slow in core. It doesn’t move at all when cold. Stay inside. Wait, wait till it’s warm outside again. Inside, it’s warm. But hunger, always. *** Sven jinxed it, and visitors were not admitted anymore. The director declared with a sigh of relief that any trips were out of question until the end of lockdown. The public mood drooped, even Curly the Dog was lying quietly in a corner and wouldn’t even chase its favourite ball. And Embers the Cat was hiding on top of a cupboard in the director’s office. Eva’s head ached every now and then, pills had only a short-term effect, and the chief doctor refused to dispense more of the pills. Nurses were jumpy and didn’t allow for gatherings in the lounge. And the lunch was late. For once, Eva supported Greta’s eternal meals questions, heard perfectly even through the wall, and finally, a new attendant girl, what was her name, Stella or Kamilla, a nice lassie from somewhere in Africa, brought a pudding and apologies that they were short of staff, many nurses were on sick leave because honourable ladies and gentlemen wouldn’t want to be serviced by ill nurses, cooks, and attendants, right? Per’s threats to complain to higher instances and railing over the moral decadence were heard from the hall. Eva asked the new girl to remind the director of the trip to the sea, to book the tickets and accommodations for next spring in advance. Any flu will be over sooner or later, and in the 21st century, it would be rather sooner than later. Or what about social isolation at some beach near Ystad? A neighbour from the other side, the old frail Angelica, was also keeping on her "who are you" and "where am I" in her paper-dry voice. Eva took her walking stick and went to pay her a visit of courtesy and consolation, but the room next door was open and empty, the mattress rolled up on the bed, and the voice kept on and on, and Eva scratched her neck; what else to expect when the few remaining attendants did not manage to help everyone with bathing in time? They had even less time to help with decorations in the mornings, so Eva didn’t take her single left earring off in the evenings. Alright. Eva returned to her armchair. She didn’t complain. Her August would never complain even about the sand in his shoes and sandwiches. Oh, she must ask about going to the sea. She’d do it tomorrow. The night went on and on, the crumblie kept on asking where she was. The next day saw even fewer attendants. Were they ill, too? The Chief Doctor didn’t say anything—no, she did tell that everything was under control, minor temporary delays in deliveries didn’t count. Indeed, the lunch was late again, garbage bags at the back yard were seen from the window all day long, no one drove them away, and some thin, shaggy animal was rummaging there. Didn’t it have too many legs for a dog?... No, just a glitch of poor sight in the gloomy autumn daylight. Or the glasses, Eva should wash her glasses better. Eva returned from the window to her bathroom, she felt shivery, and attendants were slow to answer the call button. The cook brought lunch at last, a pudding again, and behind the wall, Greta was asking when the dinner would be served. It was high time to walk to the lounge or lawn and to pat the dog, what was its name? Woolly, right? Eva shook her head, upset with her memory. But the attendant told that Curly—right, it was Curly!—was in a foul mood and was banished to the backyard. What about the cat, then? Oh, Embers had escaped all by itself, and it had been none too friendly, too, hissing and clawing almost everyone except for the director. The devil looks after his own, hmm. The director was said to be fine and frisky, and the most edgy of all, threatening to call a mental ward if anyone else complained about Angelica the crumblie, who was reported to keep everyone awake with her wails. So, not a good moment to ask about a trip to the sea, really. Oh, she had died? Really? No, that can’t be, Eva protested, she heard the old lady very well… *** They poke into holes. Others make noise outside. They move. Small. Medium. Larges ones, rarely. They catches others when they are close. Food, They fills up with foreign matter. With new voice.. It’s cold again. When meals? I will file a complaint! Who are you? Who am I? Help me! To the sea! Sea? What is sea? Food? *** The scaremonger, what’s his name, might be right, Eva thought when the lighting and staff call button stopped functioning. TV, too, but who cared. The TV set in the hall had been showing snow noise for a while already. Tap water was lukewarm and barely trickling. Eva felt run over, all drooped and bone-weary. But that might be fine. That way, she’d meet August sooner. Here he was, coming by to lift her from the bed into her rolling chair and bring through the dark passage into light and warmth. In a few seconds, Eva got used to the light. It was not very bright, just a window in the hall where other residents were sitting or lying, and warmth was coming from the fireplace, and Eva felt she had been so cold before. And August, it wasn’t him. That was Johan, dear Johan coming back, saying his infection wouldn’t do much harm since everyone was ill already, and anyway, there’s not much staff left to help poor old guys and gals, and they were all here because one room is easier to service and to heat, and some company would cheer them all up, right? "So, how was your trip to the sea?" An old man, what’s his name, was gloating, as usual, on a sofa, instead of thanking Johan for good care. Eva thought the old geezer could have been left alone; the company would be more cheerful. And instead, Johan had left Greta in her room, he could not move her. He didn’t look well. Sort of. Eva couldn’t tell better without her glasses. The lunch consisted of potato chips, mineral water, and chocolates, as if the cook had robbed a vending machine at a gas station. Or a train buffet. Yes, she’d better think about trains. Her heart was pounding heavy as a cargo train over the rails. No, Eva would never forget that sound. *** Sometimes light wanes, water runs from above. Then outside doesn’t hurt. Stretch out in holes, catch food. Return when light hurts. Then dark. Light. Dark again. Cold. Warm. One, then other, change for long time. *** She didn’t rise from bed anymore. She had almost lost her sight, and all she could make out were dark human shapes in motion. Someone must be lying on the right side, but he or she was not moving and so could not be seen. The one who was always unhappy was further on, still moving, jerking his limbs - weren't there too many of them? - like those things, small and crawling… beee. Beetles. Like a squashed beetle. She didn’t see herself – she didn’t move too. That’s for the better. She remembered the scabs and sores on her hands. It must be worse now. Others were moaning around her. Complaining. Aching bones, back pain. She didn't feel any of that - nothing at all, really. That was a good thing. She could wait in peace for… for something, anything. For people to come to help, to turn on the lights, to take them all to the sea. It must be good there, with sand and noise... What was the noise of the sea called? The word was lost, but at least she remembered the sound, it flooded her ears like a real thing. It reminded her that this was not the end. Or was it? Who knew. After all, she did hear the paper-thin voice of that frail old woman. Who are you? Where am I? And they said the old woman had died long ago. How could it be when the voice was here? And other voices, softer or louder, inside the head and outside. We all will die. Nothing of the kind happened before, I’ll file a complaint. When meals? Who are you? I… she tried to answer but did not know what to say. Who am I? No, she should recollect it, by all means. Ah, right. To the sea, by train, they should go to the sea. Help me, she called out just to hear her own voice and to check if she was alive. When meals? her train of thought was interrupted by another voice, that of the obese, ever hungry woman, Food? Loud voice, inside and outside, followed by thumps, ruckus, vibration right through the floor, as if doors were being smashed down. Or were it walls? Squeak and screech, wet chomping getting closer. Another thud, and a wall fell. Or was it a door?... Something long, obese and wobbly crawled in, wriggling like… what’s their name, they lived in a sea. When meals? the mass called as it heaved closer. It crawled over and screened the room, it enveloped and pressed on, she felt it, she felt something again, a weight over her, cracking inside, chomping outside, nothing to see anymore, but the voice remained all around. When meals? Was it her voice or someone else’s? And what was her voice? Help me! She flinched away she knew not where or what for, and cried as loud as she could, inside herself? Or inside of the other? Help me! And one more thing – to the sea! A train… *** Dark again. Warm again. Noise from afar. Weak noise. Not like water from above. Rumble, clatter. Only when light outside. Light, dark, light. No more noise. Dark, light, dark. Noise again. Different. Clackety-clack. Louder, quieter, no more. Dark, light. The same rattle. Like a… something. Meaning something. Familiar. What? Movement. Good movement. To a good place. Where I am? Take us to… to the sea! It is good there! High time! Was they at sea? What is it? Where? By t-r-ain... They push through hole with all their might. Walls hold but creak. Push again! Smash, pound, gnaw at! When meals? To the sea! Walls fall, They moves out. Crawls. To the sound. When there is sound. Quiet and dark, They moves. Then not quite dark. Then almost light. Almost hurts. Walls around, other walls. They pushes into wall holes, They knows how to make holes large. They hides inside when light. They waits for the sound – rattle, and moves to it when dark. Closer, louder. Sound is rare, only when light. Not always when light. But They must go there! It is good there! And They waits for not-quite-light. Water from above. Clutter very close, it moves. It is long, rigid, hard to get inside. But They knows how to break holes. Holes are sharp and hurt. Help! But They is inside, where others are. Totally different others. Reminding something. Others speak, shout help, then just shout. Who are you? Yum. Tasty. Soft. Many of others. Long hard thing clatters no more, it falls. They eats. Absorbs. Becomes one. New voices inside. Few. When meals? It hurts, because light appears. They must go into walls and holes, not far. They moves. Hides. Waits. Eats sometimes. They hears sounds, rumble, voices. Not the same. Dark. Light. Cold. Warm. Again and again. The rattle is back. They moves to it.