Mountain View
But which mountain? That is the question.
Dawn came late at winter. The old man pushed his wheeled walker into the hall, turned the lights on, and began laboriously shuffling across the floor towards the other end, nudging the walker an inch after straggling inch.
“And here we have the main entertainment area,” a prim woman in her late fifties said as she entered some time later. “It’s where we hold bingo, sing-alongs, and families can visit their relatives. Well, those who have visitors; it’s a rare occurrence these days. But this is the main day-area for those not bedridden, and where we try to herd them all the better to keep an eye on them.”
The younger woman following her looked around the hall, trying to absorb everything with her large, dark-brown eyes. Her black frizzy hair was tied in a queue, and the nametag on her crisp new nurse’s uniform read ‘Cassandra Miller,’ though she preferred everyone call her Cassie.
“And that, in a nutshell, is Mountain View Home for the Elderly. Any questions?”
“No, Ms. Mead. Will you introduce me to the residents?”
“Pfft. It’s not like they’ll remember you as soon as you walk out of the room. ISN’T IT RIGHT, MR. APOLLINARIS?” The older woman turned to the elderly man inching his walker across the hall.
Apollinaris didn’t even turn his head, just stared ahead at the door at the other end. Wisps of white hair floated around his bald pate as he clenched his toothless gums in determination to continue step by stumbling step.
“See?” said Mead. “Mr. Apollinaris has this routine, where he turns the lights on in the morning, shuffles across the hall, and turns it off from the other end in the evening. Drives me batty, but at least he gets some exercise. Well, as much exercise as he can handle; he has to stop and sit on his walker to rest more often than not. They’re all like that, minds lost to time. If you let them, they’ll talk your ear off. Sometimes they can get quite difficult. We suffer the harmless quirks, but you’ll do well to smile, wave, and ignore any of their outlandish requests.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Mead.” Cassandra ran her hands down her shirt to smooth her outfit. “I’ve had frisky gentlemen before and can handle them all quite gently but firmly.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. They’re mostly senile and have no clue what they’re talking about, and you can never be sure what’s going to come out of their mouths next. It’s their dementia speaking, and best to simply pay them no mind. Even the ones still ambulant, don’t let them fool you. The other residents, those who won’t leave their beds, are at least easier to manage. Anyway, stick to the schedule and get along with your tasks, and you’ll do just fine. Now come along and I’ll show you where the pool is. Some of our residents, Naphtali in particular, are enjoying aqua-aerobics classes.”
Cassie cast a last look around the hall. Apollinaris put the brakes on his walker’s wheels and sat down, wheezing but still staring ahead at the other side. A couple sat by a window, she knitting a small vest and he painting storm clouds in watercolours. Two men sat at a table playing checkers. A lone man tinkered with an old radio, its parts arranged on the table in front of him and a walking cane leaning against his chair. And a woman with vacant eyes slowly ate porridge, droplets of which dribbled on her chin.
“Ms. Miller!” came a cry from the corridor, and Cassie hurried out to follow Mead.
~*~
Cassie looked at the single line on the test stick in vague disappointment. She had almost given up, after so long. She chucked it in the bin, washed her hands, and went out of the bathroom.
Evan looked up as she entered the kitchen, and Cassie shook her head slightly. “Made you a sandwich,” Evan said as he handed her a packed lunch box, “and I put in some of those special tea bags.” He squeezed her shoulder, and Cassie wondered how long till he gave up on the whole idea of ever having children of their own. Gave up on her. They tried everything from IVF to herbal medicine, but nothing seemed to work.
Work, at least, had quickly settled into a busy routine. It kept Cassie moving and focusing on the residents, whose problems she could sometimes fix. “How are you doing this morning, Mr. Apollinaris?”
“Call me Saul,” the old man said. “‘Apollinaris’ sounds so formal.”
“How about we try something else today, Saul? Perhaps we could take a walk outside for a change, and enjoy the sunlight?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing in here, except I don’t need to be reminded of the fucking swans.” The old man poked a finger at his walker.
She patted the old man on his shoulder gently and moved on, having learnt when he’s about to go off on a tangent. She helped Cheri with her porridge, cleaning up the spills and dribbles. The old woman was on a cereal-only diet, not for any medical reasons but simply refusing to eat anything else. She was physically fine, but Cassie wondered if her restricted diet contributed to her deteriorated mental faculties.
Joe and June sat in their usual place next to the window. “Why not try painting some flowers, or birds?” Cassie asked Joe, looking over his shoulder at yet another thunderstorm.
The old man kept at his watercolours, but his wife commented, “Let him have his lightning bolts, dear. His days of actual glory are long past.”
“Hmph!” was Joe’s only response. Cassie wondered how she and Evan would be as an old couple, if they’d even be together. Would they drift apart, or grow as comfortable as Joe and June seemed with each other — jibes aside.
Leonard was working on another mechanical puzzle, the old man fascinated by anything metallic. He rubbed his gimp leg absentmindedly, but otherwise seemed fine. Minnie was watching some talking head on the TV shouting about the stock market. Minnie was muttering under her breath as she was taking notes. She used to be a trader, Ms. Mead had told her, though by the looks of her she hadn’t made a successful trade since the great depression. Cassie put her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “How are you doing today? Is the market going up?”
“My record’s better at stocks than playing checkers against Martin today,” Minnie said. “Would you be a dear and bring me a phone? I need to call my broker.”
“Perhaps I can get you some more graph paper for your charts?” Cassie operated within Ms. Mead’s guidelines; Minnie wasn’t to call financiers or lawyers without Mead’s supervision, as the administrator was concerned with diminishing mental capacity and squandering of funds. To Cassie’s eyes Minnie seemed like she knew more than Ms. Mead and the TV pundits put together, but she didn’t want to stand up to her boss about this.
“Graphs? I always trade on fundamentals, dear, on intrinsic value. Anyway, I want to listen to this next segment. The proposed legislation about AI will have dramatic impact on the venture capital landscape.” She turned the volume up on the TV.
Cassie turned away and saw Martin wave her over. “Play a round of checkers with me?” he asked. “Marc went out on an errand, and it gets lonely playing against myself.”
She looked around the room quickly, confirming all was well and Ms. Mead wasn’t around, and sat down. “Why not?” She smiled at Martin. There were always things that needed to be done, but as a geriatric nurse she saw her role as more than just caring for physical needs. Giving an old man’s mind some exercise would improve his life no less than physiotherapy.
The game was quick, and by Martin’s mischievous smile they both knew he had her five moves in. “Don’t feel bad,” he said, “Marc and I have been practicing this for ages. It’ll be a good game to play with your child, teach them strategy.”
Her smile was brittle as she reminded herself he didn’t know her struggles and his comment was just good-natured. “I’m sure it will be, when the time comes,” she said and stood up.
Martin put a warm hand on hers. “It will happen,” he said looking deep into her eyes. “All you need is a sandwich.”
“Wha…?”
“You’ve tried everything, didn’t you?” Martin persisted. “Been to the medicine men and seen the wise women? And yet you still can’t conceive. I’m telling you, there are other paths, and they start with a sandwich.”
Cassie pulled her hand away and straightened her uniform. “I think it’s time I checked on Virginia,” she said as she fled the hall.
~*~
Cassie was fixing her makeup in front of the big mirror when Ms. Mead walked into the restroom. Cassie didn’t know why the old man’s words got to her so, and though she thought she had it under control her manager saw through her façade.
“What is it?” Ms. Mead asked in a surprisingly gentle tone.
“Oh, it’s nothing. He didn’t mean anything. Evan and I have been trying for a child for so long, and sometimes well-meaning comments hurt, you know? Even if they’re good intentions. And then they all go off on a tangent, and telling me a sandwich can fix my problems…” Cassie let out a harsh laugh.
“Yes, well, you just ignore them, dear,” said Ms. Mead. “When the elderly get dementia, they live in a world of their own, not one you want to sink into. Just smile and move on, and certainly don’t give in to any silly requests about food outside their prescribed nutrition.”
“Which reminds me,” Cassie turned to face Mead, “should we perhaps alter Cheri’s diet? She’s only ever eating porridge, and I think perhaps some more protein might help with her deteriorating mental faculties.”
“She gets agitated and fights it. Not worth the hassle, so the nutritionist devised her an adequate whole-grain diet. Just go with what the cook makes her, it’s for everyone’s best.”
“And what about giving an iPad to Joe? He likes to paint and maybe that would help break his isolation.”
“Most definitely no electronics! Please, just stick to the routine, and don’t entertain any of their requests. They’re fragile, in mind and body, and we know what’s best for them regardless of their wild ideas.” Ms. Mead was back to her usual prim self, and her eyes and her tone signalled she won’t hear more of this, not if Cassie wanted to keep her new job.
~*~
A year passed, the seasons flashing by and only winter lingering, the earth frozen and plants dormant till it seemed the only natural state of things. Cassie and Evan hadn’t officially stopped trying for children, even though the doctors ran out of ideas and tried to gently hint that perhaps it’s time to move on. Cassie and Evan didn’t talk about giving up, but felt they’ve exhausted all options. Exhausted themselves most of all. Cassie threw herself into the care of the residents at Mountain View.
“Does Joe still talk?” She asked June, who was knitting next to her husband as usual.
“Not much. I think he can, but he resents the world, resents being stuck here. That’s why he paints the open skies.”
If Joe heard and understood his wife’s words he gave no sign, concentrating instead on the canvas in front of him.
“But why only storms?” Cassie persisted. She wanted to know her wards better, to give them warmth in the winter of their lives.
“He just loves the sky. Used to be up there every moment he could, you know.”
“Was he an aviator? Is that why he’s always drawing clouds and lightning storms?”
“Something like that.”
“I thought perhaps a different medium might help. Look, I brought an iPad even though Ms. Mead said not to. I’m sure if we could get him to paint on it eventually the device might help him start communicating again.”
Cassie started to draw a slim tablet from her cargo pants’ side pocket, but the old woman laid a gentle hand on hers and pushed it back down. “Let’s keep your electronics away, shall we? And let’s leave Joe to his watercolour storms. Anyway, how are you doing?” June changed the subject. She held up her knitting — a baby’s onesie suit — and said, “You strike me as the maternal type. Any expectation of pitter-patter of little feet?”
A sensitive subject, but Cassie felt only grandmotherly concern from the old lady. Her own parents, let alone grandparents, have passed away, and for a reason she couldn’t quite fathom the words just bubbled up. “We’ve given up. We never talk about it anymore. We tried everything. The treatments just got expensive, and we tried the herbal remedies, and nothing helped. We just… stopped.” She stared out the window lost in thought. “I know Evan loves me, but I fear we’ll grow apart. I pray to all the gods we’ll become stronger, not crumble into bitterness.”
“Ah,” said June. “Perhaps I can offer some advice? I’ve helped many women in your position, back in my day.” Cassie turned towards her, and June said, “What you need is a strong foundation, a consecrated hearth. But seeing as Virginia is on her deathbed, you should speak with Martin. He’s not the blustering macho people think. They forget who he was married to. Listen to him, follow his advice, and he’ll help you with your problem.”
Cassie scrunched her brow, but the old woman put her hand on hers, and something in the warm touch of the ancient skin dissolved the strangeness of the advice. Cassie glanced to where Martin was playing by himself, Marc gone on a trip again.
“Go,” said the old woman.
Cassie went. “Ready for me to beat you this time?” She was getting better at checkers, though she was sure he was going easy on her.
Martin smiled, waved at the chair opposite, and reset the board. They played a furious couple of rounds, Cassie concentrating hard to try and beat the old man’s strategy — and just not sure how to bring the subject up. What did June even mean? How could this elderly gentleman help her start a family?
She pushed the chair back to stand, but Martin smiled and asked, “Best out of three?” She leaned back in and helped reset the board.
That round was slower, thoughtful. “It’s a game of strategy,” Martin mused, “but people forget that ‘strategy’ isn’t just about winning. It’s just as much about your home, the prosperity of your fields, as it is about attacking.”
Cassie stared at the board, calculating her next moves and letting him ramble on. It was a while before she realised he asked her a question and was expecting an answer. “Hm? What was that?”
“I asked whether you balance war and love in your life. You can’t win one with the other, as I found out with my wife.”
That brought up June’s strange message and her own longing came flooding back. Was he doing it to distract her? She looked into Martin’s eyes, and saw gentleness, homeliness. “We’ve been trying to conceive,” she blurted before she realised she was speaking aloud, “but it seems like we’re destined to be childless.”
“Nonsense. People attribute to the fates much more than they should. You need a strong foundation with your husband. Why is no one teaching the old ways any more? Jumping straight to pills before addressing the real problem. Tell you what, you bring your husband here, and we’ll have a chat, and you’ll see some changes.”
“I’m sure he’s not —”
“Then skip him,” Martin insisted, “but bring a sandwich and we’ll sort things out. What have you got to lose, eh?”
“Sure,” she said. “Maybe on Sunday.”
She rose from her chair, and Martin grabbed her wrist. He was surprisingly strong for a man of his age. “This isn’t to be trivialised. And not just any sandwich, but one from an Italian deli, and it must contain a slice each of ham, grilled lamb, and roast beef.”
It was so oddly specific that it took Cassie by surprise. She knotted her eyebrows, but before she could respond Martin said, “The rest doesn’t really matter, but the less garnishes the better. Just those three meats are important. Makes it easier to warm up and smell delicious.”
Martin let go of her hand, but kept looking into her eyes. “Bless the foundation of married life, of hearth and field, and the fruits will follow.”
Cassie stared into his eyes for a moment, and left without a word.
Cassie’s story continues on It Takes a Village, which happens to be on special promotion this week! Definitely less than the price of the special sandwich, and much, much less than the value of what she learnt.
We do hope you enjoyed this sample, and will hurry to secure yourself a highly-discounted copy of this amazing anthology. A small, shining light of positivity in these dark times.
Our next anthology, Feast or Famine, is progressing through editing and will be published next year. And, as always, check out TheProtagonistSpeaks for the latest character interviews (or to request one, if you’re an author and like free marketing 😉).
Next time we’ll be back with another Jack short story, although in that one he’s not quite the center-stage hero he’s used to being 😉
