At the sound of whimpering, I saw another grey-haired woman at the end of the table crying aimlessly, and the woman beside me began muttering to herself, a senseless conversation that seemed to have no end or beginning.
‘Go out into the yard!’ This yell from another nurse announced the end of breakfast and everyone was given a threadbare shawl to walk around an enclosed courtyard. It was midwinter and bitterly cold. Added to this, the yard was north-facing and would never see the sun. The thought was like a heavy anchor, pulling my heart southward. It was all too much to bear. I froze to the spot while the others shuffled around me.
‘Get in line!’
I ignored the order. I was too weak to move.
‘Carlisle, get a companion and walk.’ I wasn’t used to being given orders and refused to obey.
‘How many times must I tell you!’ To my utter shock, this order was administered with a slap on the ear.
Suddenly, my life force came flooding back with rage. I was about to hit back, when I felt an arm slip through mine and almost drag me forward.
‘Best to do as they say,’ a voice whispered softly.
I looked to my left and saw Mary, the young woman who had spoken up for me at the table.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ I said.
‘Do you think any poor creature should end up here?’
I shook my head, but, honestly, I didn’t care about anyone else in that moment. The other women frightened me, their naked faces, devoid of any normalcy. I pulled the shawl around me tightly. I was shivering so badly with cold that my teeth were chattering wildly. I could see the other women’s lips turning purple with cold. It was inhumane.
‘Carlisle, come here.’
It had been so long since I had used my real name that it took me a moment to realise that the nurse, Patricia, was speaking to me. Thank God, I thought to myself. They’ve realised that this is all a big mistake and will release me. I pulled my arm from Mary and thanked her for her kindness, feeling sure I would never see her again.
I followed the nurse apace and once back inside, she led me to a room where I was weighed, measured and then approached by another nurse with scissors who cut my nails to the quick.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked.
‘You are to see Dr Hughes,’ she answered.
I told myself that this made perfect sense – a final examination before letting me go. For administrative purposes. Surely that was all it was.
After this perfunctory physical exam, I was led to another room. There, in a white coat, sat a man who introduced himself as Dr Hughes. Now was my chance to speak up for myself, but I found I did not know where to start.
‘Who are you?’ he asked, opening a cream-coloured folder and taking the lid off his pen.
‘I … my name is Opaline Gr—. I mean …’
‘Oh, well, that’s hardly an auspicious start, is it?’ His ability to find humour in such desperate circumstances set me on edge.
‘My name is Opaline Carlisle, but I have been living under the pseudonym of Opaline Gray in order to protect my identity from my brother, who is a violent maniac.’
There. I was clear, coherent and concise. Surely this man would see that I was sane.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Ha'penny Lane, Dublin. I run a small bookshop.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘And you are pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many men have you had intimate relations with?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sexual intercourse, Miss Carlisle.’
I felt a rage coursing through my body and took several deep breaths. This is what he wanted, to see me react.
‘Just the one,’ I replied coolly.
‘Your brother informs me that you have led an immoral lifestyle, is that so?’
I wasn’t sure what to respond, so I said nothing.
‘Do you see faces on the wall?’
‘Not at the present moment, no.’
He looked at me with a kind of scorn and I cursed myself for getting smart with him.
‘Do you hear voices?’
‘No, doctor, I do not hear voices. There is nothing wrong with me, you must see that. My brother has engineered this entire charade. He is angry with me because I refused to do his bidding and marry a man I hardly knew. This is his way of punishing me, don’t you see?’
The room fell quiet, save for the sound of his pen scratching his thoughts on to clean, white paper. I wondered where my clothes were and if there was a bus that would take me back to Dublin.
‘That will be all for now, nurse,’ he said, calling for Patricia to come back inside.
‘Can I go home now?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid it will be quite some time before you are ready to re-enter society, Miss Carlisle. If ever.’
His words were like a scripted play, something I expected to hear an actor speak in a theatre. This could not be real life.
‘You cannot be serious! This is the extent of your examination? Asking me if I see faces on the wall? Dr Hughes, you must see that I am as sane as you are.’
‘Your brother—’
‘Forget my brother! Is his word more valuable than mine?’
He said nothing, but replaced the cap on his pen. I had my answer.
I pressed my hands flat on the desk between us.
‘He is lying to you! I can prove it. I have discovered a very valuable manuscript and he wants to steal it, don’t you see?’
The doctor smirked at the nurse who had taken hold of my arms and was half-dragging me from the room.
‘Come on now, Carlisle, it’s better if you don’t struggle,’ she said.
‘Give me any test you like. I will prove that I’m not crazy!’
‘Oh, I think we know all we need to on that score, Miss Carlisle.’
‘No! Please! Where is Dr Lynch? Let me speak to him!’ I was shouting myself hoarse, my useless screams echoing down the hallway. Another nurse was bringing a patient to the doctor’s room and Patricia called to her, saying I’d have forgotten all of this in an hour. They truly believed me to be crazy and every reason I used to protest this fact only confirmed their beliefs.
I was thrown back into my filthy room and I curled myself into the corner and cried for what seemed like hours. As the room grew darker, I looked up and saw a woman sitting on the bed. How long had she been there?
‘Best to get those tears out. They won’t be much good to you in here.’
‘Mary?’
I pushed myself up from the ground, a difficult task with my pregnant belly, and I sat on the bed beside her.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked her, looking at her properly for the first time. Her hair was wild and stuck out all sides, her eyes dark and deep, but her cupid’s mouth spoke with a measured tone beyond her years.
‘Hysteria. That’s what they told me.’
Hysteria; it could have meant anything.
‘And how does it, um, manifest itself?’ I asked, realising now that we would be sharing this room.
‘I become highly emotional when my father beats me.’
‘Dear God.’
She gave me a little smile, as though humour was all she had left.