What the hell game is she playing?
“I said, may I come in?” she repeats.
“Of course,” I sputter.
“Thank you kindly,” she says coming in and standing at the foot of my bed. “Now, would you like me to open the blinds and let the good Lord’s sun shine in on you, or would you rather sit here in pitch darkness all day long?”
“Oh, go ahead and open them. And stop it with that nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense, Mr. Jankowski,” she says, going to the window and opening the blinds. “Not a bit of it. I’d never thought of it that way before, and I thank you for opening my eyes.”
Is she making fun of me? I narrow my eyes, examining her face for clues.
“Now, am I correct in thinking you’d like breakfast in your room?”
I don’t answer, as I’m still undecided as to whether I smell a rat. You’d think they’d have that preference written on my chart by now, but they ask me the same damned question every morning. Of course I would rather take my breakfast in the dining room. Taking it in my bed makes me feel like an invalid. But breakfast follows the early-morning diaper change, and the smell of feces fills the hallway and makes me retch. It’s not until an hour or two after each and every one of the incapacitated folks has been cleaned, fed, and parked outside their doors that it’s safe to poke your head out.
“Now, Mr. Jankowski—if you expect people to try to do things your way, you’re going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.”
“Yes. Please. I’ll have it in here,” I say.
“All right, then. Would you like your shower before or after breakfast?”
“What makes you think I need a shower?” I say, thoroughly offended, even though I’m not at all sure I don’t need a shower.
“Because this is the day your people visit,” she says, flashing that big smile again. “And because I thought you’d like to be nice and fresh for your outing this afternoon.”
My outing? Ah, yes! The circus. I must say, waking up two days in a row and having the prospect of a visit to the circus ahead of me has been nice.
“I think I’ll take it before breakfast if you don’t mind,” I say pleasantly.
ONE OF THE greatest indignities about being old is that people insist on helping you with things like bathing and going to the washroom.
I don’t in fact require help with either, but they’re all so afraid I’m going to slip and break my hip again that I get a chaperone whether I like it or not. I always insist on walking into the washroom myself, but there’s always someone there, just in case, and for some reason it’s always a woman. I make whoever it is turn around while I drop my drawers and sit, and then I send her outside until I’m finished.
Bathing is even more embarrassing, because I have to strip down to my birthday suit in front of a nurse. Now, there are some things that never die, so even though I’m in my nineties my sap sometimes rises. I can’t help it. They always pretend not to notice. They’re trained that way, I suppose, although pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing. It means they consider me nothing more than a harmless old man sporting a harmless old penis that still gets uppity once in a while. Although if one of them took it seriously and tried to do something about it, the shock would probably kill me.
Rosemary helps me into the shower stall. “There, now you just hold on to that bar over there—”
“I know, I know. I’ve had showers before,” I say, grabbing the bar and easing myself onto the bath chair. Rosemary runs the shower head down the pole so I can reach it.
“How’s that for temperature, Mr. Jankowski?” she asks, waving her hand in and out of the stream and keeping her gaze discreetly averted.
“Fine. Just give me some shampoo and go outside, will you?”
“Why, Mr. Jankowski, you are in a mood today, aren’t you?” She opens the shampoo and squeezes a few drops onto my palm. It’s all I need. I’ve only got about a dozen hairs left.
“You give me a shout if you need anything,” she says, pulling the curtain across. “I’ll be right out here.”
“Hrrrmph,” I say.
Once she’s gone I quite enjoy my shower. I take the shower head from its mount and spray my body from up close, aiming it over my shoulders and down my back and then over each of my skinny limbs. I even hold my head back with my eyes shut and let the spray hit my face full on. I pretend it’s a tropical shower, shaking my head and reveling in it. I even enjoy the feel of it down there, on that shriveled pink snake that fathered five children so long ago.