As Lida’s car breezed into the parking lot of the nursing home, she noticed a
few letters had fallen off the sign. At first glance, she thought the bottom of
it read “noir living.” Her stomach sank. Then the “o” and “i” rearranged
themselves back in the proper order where the “s” and “e” of “senior” had fallen
away. She didn’t really want to be here for her final high school volunteer
credit. Still, it was better than picking up trash along the highway. Roadside
beautification projects were the worst.
She was fifteen minutes late which was unusual and annoying. She’d had trouble finding the place. Her car’s navigation system had gotten confused by all the new neighborhoods. Something was wrong with the last auto-installed update. The complex was nearly hidden among old trees. Lida remembered riding her bike to the middle school just down the road before her father’s job had moved again. Back then, all these streets had been two-way, not green-spaces crisscrossed with alternative transportation routes. She hadn’t known this facility was even back here. Allison had said there was an old Civil Defense bunker tucked away somewhere nearby, too, but Lida had never believed her.
The sky was a hazy tan that dimmed the sun like fog. All her social media pages said it was from layer of fine Saharan dust blowing across the Atlantic. It looked surreal but it made for a pretty sunrise. Maybe it was a sign that she was really meant to be here. With her father’s transient work schedule, she always felt alone, a leaf on the wind blowing from place to place until nowhere felt like home. At first she’d been excited that they’d ended up back here. But Allison was the only friend who let her back in. Kind of.
The parking lot was almost empty. Lida instructed the car to claim a spot near the front door. At least it didn’t try to park in the handicapped zone again this time. It was a known issue with this version of the operating system, but her father said a general recall would cost too much. She plugged the car into the charging post, hoping the solar cells had been maintained, and went inside.
She was greeted by a male nurse in teal scrubs sitting behind a counter. She hoped they would give her scrubs. As long as they weren’t pink, and didn’t have any cutesy little animals on them. He filled his out nicely. His green-bordered electronic badge read “Salvatore.” An exotic name that matched his tanned forearms and sun bleached hair. He was cute and maybe five years older than she was.
“May I help you?” he asked in a mild, Mediterranean accent. “If you are visiting a resident, you will need to sign in.” He tapped a clipboard on the counter with a ballpoint pen. Who still used those? She expected a tablet and a stylus like even most low-end restaurants had. It was like this place had dropped back in time.
She glanced at the paper. Not many names. Good. Maybe that meant she wouldn’t have much to do. How hard could a summer of this be? She stood up a little straighter, smiled and pulled her hair back over one ear. “I was told I report to Mrs. Quinn.”
He gave her a quick once over, taking in her sneakers, jeans and maroon t-shirt but not lingering like she hoped he might. “And you are?”
“Lida Lorenz,” she said, resettling her purse on her shoulder. He just stared at her politely until she added, “Your new community service volunteer.”
A kind of recognition dawned in his eyes. His professional smile turned brittle. “You’ll find her at the nursing station in B Wing.”
“And which way is that?” Lida asked when he didn’t offer any more information.
“Through there and around the corner.” He pointed to the doors to his left. “Mrs. Quinn is the only one in white.”
Lida wanted to flirt but his attention had already wandered. No one took her seriously anyway. Just another mandatory high school volunteer, and not a cute one like Allison. She hoped everyone else was nicer. Bad enough she was forced to perform two summers of community service before she could graduate.
As she passed through the double doors from the lobby, the smell of the place nearly overwhelmed her. A sharp, acrid scent like a mix of industrial cleaners and grandmotherly decay. Yuck. How could people stand it? She stopped at a water fountain to dab on some perfume. She didn’t want to go through the day smelling like janitorial old age. The people here deserved something more pleasant to brighten their day.
The hall was lined with shadow boxes framing large, neon colored butterflies, their beauty frozen in their final moment. Poor creatures, sacrificed for someone else’s sense of need. Every room she passed had a television blaring, sometimes two in conflict. Lida wondered how much attention any of the residents really got. Entertained by a steady stream of game shows while served by imported guest workers and conscripted volunteers, there was the irony in how much their service to the nation was valued. But it was the only way to balance the budget and keep their taxes low her father said.
When Lida rounded the corner, she was confronted by a gauntlet. Nearly a dozen men and women, most in wheelchairs, lined the hall between her and the nurses’ station. Some of them murmured to themselves, others repeatedly asked for help, both kinds mumbling the same words over and over again like a prayer. Two young nurses, maybe a couple years older than she was, were chatting over steaming beverage cups, ignoring the patients until one scuttled up to the counter.
“We’ll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Mikkelsen,” the blond nurse in bright pink scrubs said, not looking directly at the woman.
Her dark haired companion in blue wave patterned scrubs told another patient who started forward, “Mrs. Browning, you know it’s not time for that.”
Both had distinct accents. The blond sounded like that Russian model from Lida’s favorite streaming comedy, the brunette like all the islanders she’d met on the Caribbean cruise with her parents last Christmas.
The press of patients was daunting. But Lida hitched up her purse and tried to snake her way through the congregation, dodging one way then another as they vied for her attention and converged to block her way. An overripe aroma of geriatric vinegar assaulted her nose even through her perfume. She felt sorry for them but didn’t know what she could do.
Somehow, she made it to the clear space around the horseshoe counter untouched, almost as if the nurses’ station was the safe zone in a slow-moving game of tag. Before she could introduce herself, she heard the circular squeak of a wheelchair approaching from behind then felt an insistent set of tugs on her shirt like a young child demanding her attention. “Miss… Miss…”
“Mr. Bahr, you leave that poor girl alone,” the Caribbean nurse admonished. “Unless you need something, get to your room. Otherwise, back against the wall and wait with the rest.”
Like a sulky child, the old man dropped the corner of Lida’s shirt. She watched him retreat down the hall muttering, his wheelchair screaking the entire way.
A sturdy woman in a white uniform and tightly squeaking white shoes strode past him the other way with barely a glance. Her short, mousy brown hair that had just begun to grey to tarnished steel. As she approached the counter, the patients parted around her as if driven back by her wake. Her red bordered electronic badge that contrasted against her formidable bust read, “M. Quinn, R.N.”
“Lizabeth, get these patients sorted.” the woman instructed the Caribbean nurse in a lilting accent of her own, “I want this hallway clear before PT and OT arrive.”
Next, she turned to the Russian nurse, “Sara, I’m surprised you have time for chatting. I’m sure that means when I look in on A Wing, I’ll find all your duties done.”
Finally, she fixed her sea-gray stare on Lida. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m Nymphalida Lorenz, your new…”
“I know who you are, Ms. Lorenz,” the older woman snapped. “I also know you were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”
“I had trouble finding…”
“That’s not my concern,” Mrs. Quinn cut her off. “You’re here for a community service credit, though God only knows why the administrator thinks this is a good idea. But if you’re late again, I’ll report you.”
“But I didn’t…”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re here to work. Tomorrow, see that you come on time and prepared. That means a scrub top and either scrub bottoms or white pants. Just like the orientation packet says.”
“No one gave me an…”
“And wash off that perfume. Some of our residents have allergies.”
“Sara,” Mrs. Quinn addressed the blond nurse again, “give Ms. Lorenz a quick tour of the facility. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get her a badge. She can help you in A Wing today. And see if you can find her something more suitable to wear.”
“Ok, ladies, chop, chop.” Mrs. Quinn clapped her hands like an elementary school teacher shooing errant children in from recess. “We don’t have all morning. Oh, and don’t let me catch either of you without your badges again. Out and above the waist, those are the rules. Infractions won’t help you at your naturalization hearings.”
Both women sheepishly pulled their badges from their pockets and clipped them to their collars. Lizabeth circled around the desk and began tending the gathered patients, the green border of her badge lighting up briefly with each one she approached as it recorded their interaction, just like Lida’s school ID. They probably used the same color code, too. Green for guest worker, red for naturalized citizen, and blue for native born. Their monitoring seemed to be the only modern touch in the entire facility.
Sara guided Lida back the way she’d come. “I’ll show you where you can lock up your purse.” She gave Lida’s torso a critical once over. “I think I have an old top in my locker that might fit.”
---
Mrs. Quinn kept Lida running the rest of the morning. Each time she’d tried to sneak a break, she found the older woman hovering behind her. Like she had a GPS tracker on Lida and knew exactly how much time she had on her hands at any given moment. All three women assigned Lida scutwork errands they could have easily run themselves. A community service credit wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
By late morning, both wings had begun to calm down. On her way back from dropping off another set of obsolete paper files, Lida snuck into the break room to catch her breath. She found Sara and Lizabeth chatting over an early, impromptu lunch. Sara absently thumbed through a glossy magazine. Lizabeth studied an old-fashioned newspaper, like Lida’s grandfather used to read. She didn’t know anyone still printed those anymore. Neither of them much more than glanced up when she entered. Like her mother and father nearly every morning at breakfast.
Lida pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her social media pages to see what her friends were doing. It had to be something more interesting than this. How had she gotten stuck with this assignment? She’d been late to class that day, too, because of the car, and all the choice slots had been taken. She should have written out an independent study outline like Allison. Her community service counselor had tried to convince her she would actually be helping people here. He almost made it sound appealing. Another condescending lie like all adults told, though Lida had really wanted to believe him.
“Some sky this morning,” Sara said to no one in particular. “The radio said it’s dust from Africa but I don’t believe that can be true.”
“Mmm,” Lida answered. She didn’t bother to correct the other woman. No one ever listened to her anyway.
“That top looks good on you,” Sara said a moment later.
Lida glanced up from her phone, surprised. “Does it?”
“It looks better on you than it ever did on me,” Sara replied, her eyes still on an ad with impossibly shapely and happy women laughing in a gym. “Keep it. It’s out of style this year anyway.”
Before Lida could say thank you, Sara began browsing an article with a bored expression that said her gesture was nothing but just that.
Lizabeth noisily folded up her newspaper then sighed and asked Sara. “So what does your afternoon look like?”
“I have to check on Mr. Wu.” Sara rolled her eyes, flipping another page.
“Which one is Mr. Wu?” Lida asked. She wondered if he was one of the patients around nurses’ station that morning.
“You haven’t shown her?” Lizabeth shot a dark look at Sara.
“I haven’t had time,” Sara protested, finally looking up. “This is the first break I’ve had.”
“All those clocks in his room,” Lizabeth shook her head, “not one of them right or running…”
“And the cat in the garden?” Sara interjected. “Every time he sees it, he calls it a different name.”
“It’s dark magic.” Lizabeth shivered, then admonished Lida, “Stay away from that one, child. He’s infected with the time virus.”
“Time virus?” Lida rolled the words around, uncomfortable with what they might mean. Hadn’t Allison shared an underground shockumenatary about something like that back in middle school? A secret anti-aging experiment conducted on military volunteers? Some sort of bio-engineered virus that threw a switch in cells. The video had claimed there was an uncertain age threshold where the treatment would no longer work and unwanted side-effects on those who had survived. Most seemed to drift through time, their memories unanchored. One moment they believed they were sixty, the next sixteen. See, immortality wasn’t all sparkly vampires, Allison had said. When Lida had asked her father if everyone would live forever now, he had said none of it was real or it would have made cable news. Besides, the government couldn’t afford it after the riots over retirement benefits and the debt. The price of a volunteer economy.
“At least he’s not violent,” Sara added. “And his poor wife. Can you imagine him volunteering her as a test subject? Maybe it is best he doesn’t remember.”
“Don’t listen to their foolishness, Ms. Lorenz.” They all looked up to find Mrs. Quinn standing just inside the break room door. Somehow, she’d entered without any of them noticing. “He’s no different than any other patient. We’re a VA facility. We don’t get to pick and choose. Speaking of which, ladies, let’s get back to work.”
---
By mid-afternoon, Lida needed some fresh air. The stench of cafeteria lunches still roiled her stomach. Almost as bad as the underlying odor of the rest of the facility. She wondered if it would cling to her clothes like the smell of grease had during her mandatory work-study internship in fast food for her work ethic class.
On her way back from yet another errand that any modern computer network would have made obsolete, Lida ducked into the facility’s large central courtyard. It had once been a manicured garden where the residents could experience a little nature. Now, it was overgrown with weeds and tiny wildflowers sampled by yellow butterflies. Like a haven or a sanctuary. A prefect place to hide.
She really needed coffee but they didn’t have a single-serve machine in the break room, just some disgusting sludge in a communal pot. She wished she could slip out for a mocha but didn’t know where to get one nearby. Plus she didn’t think Mrs. Quinn would understand even if she brought one back for her.
Instead, Lida pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her messages, then ran through her sites again looking for little red numbers. Less than a half dozen. She began posting a quick series of updates, copying them across platforms. Her being here wasn’t really helping anyone.
She jumped when something brushed against her leg. A Siamese cat meowed for attention as it looked up at her. Lida ignored it, turning back to her phone. It stood on its hind legs and rubbed against her knee. Then it headbutted her shin with a hollow thunk.
“Felicia,” a man’s voice scolded from deeper in the garden. “Leave her be. Can’t you see she wants to be alone?”
Lida looked up, confused whether the man was talking to her or the cat. He stood ten feet away, neatly dressed in casual clothes. He wasn’t young but didn’t look old either. Definitely not a nurse. A visitor, maybe?
He made a high-pitched noise by sucking air through his teeth. The cat ran to him.
“You must forgive my Sandra Day,” he said, petting the cat’s head and scratching behind its ears. “The sun-bleached sun fades to moonrise against a brushed platinum sky.” He looked upward then smiled at her apologetically. “The color of ashes instead of its normal blood. It’s confusing.”
A patient? He didn’t sound quite right, but was he dangerous? Lida didn’t think so. The way he spoke reminded her of her grandfather after his stroke. Even if he couldn’t get the right words out, there was still an intelligence trapped inside. If only she could interpret this man’s strange poetry.
“Are you ok?” she asked. “Is there someone I should call?”
“No one knows I’m here.” He reached down and scooped the cat into his arms. The Siamese didn’t seem to mind. “I’m infected, but I’m not contagious.”
“Infected with what?” Lida was torn. Part of her wanted to back away but another part of her wanted to hear his answer.
“Time virus,” the man said as he stroked the contented cat. So it was real. “It was the only way to save her.”
“The cat?” Lida asked, confused. A therapy cat maybe. She’d seen online videos of those but no one had mentioned the facility had one.
“Pristina doesn’t want to live forever,” he answered, scratching beneath the cat’s chin. “Do you girl?” The Siamese began purring as rough as an ancient combustion engine, the kind they’d outlawed when Lida was a child. The man cocked his head. “This place is run by the military, you know.”
Lida nodded. “You’re a veteran?”
“I did my duty to bring us to a new country. We both agreed. ‘Soldiers fight and soldiers die. Soldiers live to wonder why.’”
“I’m sorry.” Lida reached out to touch his arm. She was sure he was harmless. She felt sorry for him. “Is there anything you need? I’ll be here every day for a while.”
He shrugged. “When I’m hungry, I eat. When I’m tired, I sleep. Otherwise, I just am.”
“Are you hungry now?” Lida asked, hoping there was something she could do to help, even if it was small. “I can take you to the cafeteria.”
He shook his head. “I’ve eaten all my children. It’s just me and Jasmine, now.”
“Then why don’t I help you back to your room,” she said, not quite sure what else to do.
He paused as if considering then nodded once as he deposited the cat back on the path. He didn’t look unsteady, but Lida offered him an arm as she used to do with her grandfather when she’d take him out for coffee. He smiled wanly as he slipped his arm over hers, a touchstone for balance not support.
Outside the wide, faux-wood institutional door marked 47A, the name “Wu, Wei” was printed on the tiny display screen, parenthetically marked “Unoccupied” in red below. So this was Mr. Wu. He didn’t seem crazy, just maybe a little lonely. Sometimes people only needed someone to listen.
“They know when I come or go,” he said as he stood before the door, then snuck an exaggerated peek at her collar and smiled. “But they don’t know who comes in with me unless they have a badge.”
Lida took that as an invitation and followed him inside. She wasn’t ready to get back to meaningless make-work anyway. Besides, she liked him. When she spoke, he looked at her like he was really listening, like he was truly interested in what she had to say. Nobody had ever treated her that way before. Most people were only waiting for their turn to talk.
The room was heavily shadowed with thick draperies drawn against the outside light. It was configured as a studio, not much bigger than her room at home, with small living area adjacent to a recessed, curtained off sleeping nook created by the wide-mouthed bathroom. Opposite, a no-stove kitchenette with a dining bar looked out on the curtained wall.
Nestled among the cabinets, a microwave flashed either noon or midnight, like a constantly blinking reminder of a long forgotten appointment. It had to be old to be independent and disconnected. Lida wondered if it even worked. Every appliance she’d ever seen was on the network and self-setting except on the rare occasions when the satellites were down.
“Sit, sit.” Mr. Wu said, waving her through to the main room as he diverted into the kitchenette. “Guests require tea.”
As Lida entered his living space, she saw several more clocks displaying static, unmoving time. These were truly ancient, all gears with two hands meant to rotate around a dial, just like she remembered being taught by a grandmotherly volunteer in daycare and had rarely seeing since. But all their pendulums were still, their springs unwound, their hands at different angles.
A wall clock, a freestanding grandfather, a carriage clock, a dark wood cuckoo with its distinctive pinecone weights and chains, silver and gold pocket watches, a pre-quartz Timex wristwatch without a band, a kitschy, windup travel alarm cube no larger than an inch on every side. The kind of clocks she’d only seen at her grandparents’, at elderly neighbors’, on documentaries and in antiques stores.
They were interspersed between black, lacquered frames with old photographs, ink and glossy paper, not even digital never mind moving. A few were even black and white.
The rest of the furnishings were sparse, two backless, wooden barstools, a rustic coffee table with matching end tables beside a pair of bentwood and leather swivel chairs. The back of an ivory kimono hung on the wall behind them, delicately embroidered with a swarm of lavender butterflies rising from tree-lined mountains like a wisp of smoke.
A small easel stood facing the wall of draperies. Its tray held a set of sable brushes with a stone basin on one end stained with ink, the kind she remembered from art camp that you grind and mix yourself. The easel held a canvas with a brushstroke cat curled up in a stylized hollow of bamboo. Lida drew open the curtains a hand-width to find they concealed a floor to ceiling window that looked out onto a clump of bamboo in the garden. The room warmed as a beam of dappled light spilled in.
Mr. Wu hummed in the kitchenette as he clinked his way through assembling a tea service. A low tone from an electric kettle indicated the water had boiled. The sound of pouring followed.
He emerged a moment later carrying a wooden tray containing two handleless, ceramic mugs, an iron tea pot, a strainer and mismatched containers for sugar, cream and tea. The blue and gray glaze on the mugs reminded Lida of mountains against the sky.
Mr. Wu carefully set the tray on the coffee table. He motioned for Lida to sit as he began preparing the tea. He set about the task as if performing a familiar choreographed ballet, his manner precise yet effortless. He moved slowly but purposefully, completely focused and unrushed.
A moment later, he extended a steaming mug toward Lida with both hands. He showed no sign of even the slightest tremor. If anything, he moved more fluidly than she did. The mug was warm as she grasped it. Mr. Wu flicked a hand toward the sugar and creamer on the tray.
Normally, Lida would have swirled a heaping spoonful of sugar into the mug as if it were coffee. The only tea she’d ever had was brewed from a bag that came out of a large, cardboard box at her grandmother’s. It always tasted bitter. This smelled different, mellower. It was pale green rather than ditch water brown.
Mr. Wu watched her, unmoving. She opted to take an unadorned sip. It was surprisingly smooth yet full of subtle flavor that sugar might have destroyed. Nutty with a hint of plum, not bitter at all. Lida smiled and nodded. Mr. Wu smiled back and picked up his own mug in response.
A silence settled over them for a moment as they each enjoyed their tea. Mr. Wu didn’t seem bothered so neither was Lida. Most people saw silences as awkward, unnatural moments meant to be filled. She studied the nearby photographs.
“Is that your wife?” Lida pointed to the picture of a woman in a kimono that appeared to be the same one on the wall. “She’s beautiful.”
“The lady of the lake.” Mr. Wu smiled warmly. “The lord of the ring.”
“She’s dead now, isn’t she?” Lida said quietly.
He nodded gravely. “Two fish chasing each other’s tail, one black, one white, each on opposite sides of an ever-curving line. One defines the other and can never swim alone.”
“What happened to her?” she asked, only thinking after the words were out that perhaps she shouldn’t have.
“I did.” Mr. Wu didn’t sound perturbed, just honest and forthright. “Without me, she would never have volunteered.”
“Was she infected with the time virus, too?” Lida turned the mug nervously in her hand.
He nodded. “Too late to save her. Only me. The present is a finely honed razor slicing past from future. She had passed beyond the threshold I will ever stand before. Forever Chronos, I have no past, no future, only an eternal now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lida said, adding as reflex, “I wish there was something I could do.”
After a long, evaluating pause, Mr. Wu finally said, “Light is razor sharp yet shadows shine like polished silver. But even shadows fade as clouds obscure the sun.” He eyed her oddly and whispered, “Help me fade.”
A deeper silence settled over them. Lida felt self-conscious like she was suddenly on display. Like the days she’d sat with her grandmother in her perfectly ordered living room, a child struggling not to squirm.
A moment later, Mr. Wu set down his mug, walked into the alcove with the bed and pulled the curtain shut behind him. Lida could hear him moving, out of sight. Eventually the sound of his rustling stopped. She could still hear his slow, even breathing.
Lida remained in her chair. She knew she should leave, knew she should get back to work before someone came looking. But the tears welling in her eyes kept her frozen in place. The other nurses thought Mr. Wu was crazy. Lida knew he wasn’t crazy; he was just trapped by the time virus in a life that was barely an existence. She’d seen it with her grandfather.
She sat for a long time, staring down at the cooling mug, the warm, welcoming tea turning bitter in her hands. She didn’t know how much time had passed. Finally, when she noticed Mr. Wu’s breathing had become muted as if he’d fallen asleep, she rose. She carefully set her own mug next to his. She walked quietly, purposefully just as she’d seen him do.
At the curtain, she paused, uncertain. She wasn’t ready to be alone. Was this what he really wanted? Was that what he’d really said? As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she’d come here to make a difference. Mr. Wu’s plea echoed in her ears, words her grandfather had never said but always seemed poised to. Help me fade.
Quietly, she slipped through the curtain and stepped inside.
---
Lida was used to failing, as was everyone around her. Now, she would have to find another volunteer position before she could graduate. Maybe she’d talk to Allison.
On her way out, she stopped before the wall clock. She knew she shouldn’t linger. Sara could come at any minute to check on Mr. Wu. When she found him, there would be an investigation that would likely end with Lida’s dismissal, or worse if she was seen. At least she’d helped someone even if that meant she was once again alone.
She noticed a clear, plastic push pin a quarter inch from the framing around the pendulum, just off to one side. She slid the bottom of the clock snug up against it so that it was no longer quite level. She set the hands to the time on her phone then flicked the pendulum with a finger.
The mechanism was ticking rhythmically as the door clicked shut behind her.
She was fifteen minutes late which was unusual and annoying. She’d had trouble finding the place. Her car’s navigation system had gotten confused by all the new neighborhoods. Something was wrong with the last auto-installed update. The complex was nearly hidden among old trees. Lida remembered riding her bike to the middle school just down the road before her father’s job had moved again. Back then, all these streets had been two-way, not green-spaces crisscrossed with alternative transportation routes. She hadn’t known this facility was even back here. Allison had said there was an old Civil Defense bunker tucked away somewhere nearby, too, but Lida had never believed her.
The sky was a hazy tan that dimmed the sun like fog. All her social media pages said it was from layer of fine Saharan dust blowing across the Atlantic. It looked surreal but it made for a pretty sunrise. Maybe it was a sign that she was really meant to be here. With her father’s transient work schedule, she always felt alone, a leaf on the wind blowing from place to place until nowhere felt like home. At first she’d been excited that they’d ended up back here. But Allison was the only friend who let her back in. Kind of.
The parking lot was almost empty. Lida instructed the car to claim a spot near the front door. At least it didn’t try to park in the handicapped zone again this time. It was a known issue with this version of the operating system, but her father said a general recall would cost too much. She plugged the car into the charging post, hoping the solar cells had been maintained, and went inside.
She was greeted by a male nurse in teal scrubs sitting behind a counter. She hoped they would give her scrubs. As long as they weren’t pink, and didn’t have any cutesy little animals on them. He filled his out nicely. His green-bordered electronic badge read “Salvatore.” An exotic name that matched his tanned forearms and sun bleached hair. He was cute and maybe five years older than she was.
“May I help you?” he asked in a mild, Mediterranean accent. “If you are visiting a resident, you will need to sign in.” He tapped a clipboard on the counter with a ballpoint pen. Who still used those? She expected a tablet and a stylus like even most low-end restaurants had. It was like this place had dropped back in time.
She glanced at the paper. Not many names. Good. Maybe that meant she wouldn’t have much to do. How hard could a summer of this be? She stood up a little straighter, smiled and pulled her hair back over one ear. “I was told I report to Mrs. Quinn.”
He gave her a quick once over, taking in her sneakers, jeans and maroon t-shirt but not lingering like she hoped he might. “And you are?”
“Lida Lorenz,” she said, resettling her purse on her shoulder. He just stared at her politely until she added, “Your new community service volunteer.”
A kind of recognition dawned in his eyes. His professional smile turned brittle. “You’ll find her at the nursing station in B Wing.”
“And which way is that?” Lida asked when he didn’t offer any more information.
“Through there and around the corner.” He pointed to the doors to his left. “Mrs. Quinn is the only one in white.”
Lida wanted to flirt but his attention had already wandered. No one took her seriously anyway. Just another mandatory high school volunteer, and not a cute one like Allison. She hoped everyone else was nicer. Bad enough she was forced to perform two summers of community service before she could graduate.
As she passed through the double doors from the lobby, the smell of the place nearly overwhelmed her. A sharp, acrid scent like a mix of industrial cleaners and grandmotherly decay. Yuck. How could people stand it? She stopped at a water fountain to dab on some perfume. She didn’t want to go through the day smelling like janitorial old age. The people here deserved something more pleasant to brighten their day.
The hall was lined with shadow boxes framing large, neon colored butterflies, their beauty frozen in their final moment. Poor creatures, sacrificed for someone else’s sense of need. Every room she passed had a television blaring, sometimes two in conflict. Lida wondered how much attention any of the residents really got. Entertained by a steady stream of game shows while served by imported guest workers and conscripted volunteers, there was the irony in how much their service to the nation was valued. But it was the only way to balance the budget and keep their taxes low her father said.
When Lida rounded the corner, she was confronted by a gauntlet. Nearly a dozen men and women, most in wheelchairs, lined the hall between her and the nurses’ station. Some of them murmured to themselves, others repeatedly asked for help, both kinds mumbling the same words over and over again like a prayer. Two young nurses, maybe a couple years older than she was, were chatting over steaming beverage cups, ignoring the patients until one scuttled up to the counter.
“We’ll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Mikkelsen,” the blond nurse in bright pink scrubs said, not looking directly at the woman.
Her dark haired companion in blue wave patterned scrubs told another patient who started forward, “Mrs. Browning, you know it’s not time for that.”
Both had distinct accents. The blond sounded like that Russian model from Lida’s favorite streaming comedy, the brunette like all the islanders she’d met on the Caribbean cruise with her parents last Christmas.
The press of patients was daunting. But Lida hitched up her purse and tried to snake her way through the congregation, dodging one way then another as they vied for her attention and converged to block her way. An overripe aroma of geriatric vinegar assaulted her nose even through her perfume. She felt sorry for them but didn’t know what she could do.
Somehow, she made it to the clear space around the horseshoe counter untouched, almost as if the nurses’ station was the safe zone in a slow-moving game of tag. Before she could introduce herself, she heard the circular squeak of a wheelchair approaching from behind then felt an insistent set of tugs on her shirt like a young child demanding her attention. “Miss… Miss…”
“Mr. Bahr, you leave that poor girl alone,” the Caribbean nurse admonished. “Unless you need something, get to your room. Otherwise, back against the wall and wait with the rest.”
Like a sulky child, the old man dropped the corner of Lida’s shirt. She watched him retreat down the hall muttering, his wheelchair screaking the entire way.
A sturdy woman in a white uniform and tightly squeaking white shoes strode past him the other way with barely a glance. Her short, mousy brown hair that had just begun to grey to tarnished steel. As she approached the counter, the patients parted around her as if driven back by her wake. Her red bordered electronic badge that contrasted against her formidable bust read, “M. Quinn, R.N.”
“Lizabeth, get these patients sorted.” the woman instructed the Caribbean nurse in a lilting accent of her own, “I want this hallway clear before PT and OT arrive.”
Next, she turned to the Russian nurse, “Sara, I’m surprised you have time for chatting. I’m sure that means when I look in on A Wing, I’ll find all your duties done.”
Finally, she fixed her sea-gray stare on Lida. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m Nymphalida Lorenz, your new…”
“I know who you are, Ms. Lorenz,” the older woman snapped. “I also know you were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”
“I had trouble finding…”
“That’s not my concern,” Mrs. Quinn cut her off. “You’re here for a community service credit, though God only knows why the administrator thinks this is a good idea. But if you’re late again, I’ll report you.”
“But I didn’t…”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re here to work. Tomorrow, see that you come on time and prepared. That means a scrub top and either scrub bottoms or white pants. Just like the orientation packet says.”
“No one gave me an…”
“And wash off that perfume. Some of our residents have allergies.”
“Sara,” Mrs. Quinn addressed the blond nurse again, “give Ms. Lorenz a quick tour of the facility. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get her a badge. She can help you in A Wing today. And see if you can find her something more suitable to wear.”
“Ok, ladies, chop, chop.” Mrs. Quinn clapped her hands like an elementary school teacher shooing errant children in from recess. “We don’t have all morning. Oh, and don’t let me catch either of you without your badges again. Out and above the waist, those are the rules. Infractions won’t help you at your naturalization hearings.”
Both women sheepishly pulled their badges from their pockets and clipped them to their collars. Lizabeth circled around the desk and began tending the gathered patients, the green border of her badge lighting up briefly with each one she approached as it recorded their interaction, just like Lida’s school ID. They probably used the same color code, too. Green for guest worker, red for naturalized citizen, and blue for native born. Their monitoring seemed to be the only modern touch in the entire facility.
Sara guided Lida back the way she’d come. “I’ll show you where you can lock up your purse.” She gave Lida’s torso a critical once over. “I think I have an old top in my locker that might fit.”
---
Mrs. Quinn kept Lida running the rest of the morning. Each time she’d tried to sneak a break, she found the older woman hovering behind her. Like she had a GPS tracker on Lida and knew exactly how much time she had on her hands at any given moment. All three women assigned Lida scutwork errands they could have easily run themselves. A community service credit wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
By late morning, both wings had begun to calm down. On her way back from dropping off another set of obsolete paper files, Lida snuck into the break room to catch her breath. She found Sara and Lizabeth chatting over an early, impromptu lunch. Sara absently thumbed through a glossy magazine. Lizabeth studied an old-fashioned newspaper, like Lida’s grandfather used to read. She didn’t know anyone still printed those anymore. Neither of them much more than glanced up when she entered. Like her mother and father nearly every morning at breakfast.
Lida pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her social media pages to see what her friends were doing. It had to be something more interesting than this. How had she gotten stuck with this assignment? She’d been late to class that day, too, because of the car, and all the choice slots had been taken. She should have written out an independent study outline like Allison. Her community service counselor had tried to convince her she would actually be helping people here. He almost made it sound appealing. Another condescending lie like all adults told, though Lida had really wanted to believe him.
“Some sky this morning,” Sara said to no one in particular. “The radio said it’s dust from Africa but I don’t believe that can be true.”
“Mmm,” Lida answered. She didn’t bother to correct the other woman. No one ever listened to her anyway.
“That top looks good on you,” Sara said a moment later.
Lida glanced up from her phone, surprised. “Does it?”
“It looks better on you than it ever did on me,” Sara replied, her eyes still on an ad with impossibly shapely and happy women laughing in a gym. “Keep it. It’s out of style this year anyway.”
Before Lida could say thank you, Sara began browsing an article with a bored expression that said her gesture was nothing but just that.
Lizabeth noisily folded up her newspaper then sighed and asked Sara. “So what does your afternoon look like?”
“I have to check on Mr. Wu.” Sara rolled her eyes, flipping another page.
“Which one is Mr. Wu?” Lida asked. She wondered if he was one of the patients around nurses’ station that morning.
“You haven’t shown her?” Lizabeth shot a dark look at Sara.
“I haven’t had time,” Sara protested, finally looking up. “This is the first break I’ve had.”
“All those clocks in his room,” Lizabeth shook her head, “not one of them right or running…”
“And the cat in the garden?” Sara interjected. “Every time he sees it, he calls it a different name.”
“It’s dark magic.” Lizabeth shivered, then admonished Lida, “Stay away from that one, child. He’s infected with the time virus.”
“Time virus?” Lida rolled the words around, uncomfortable with what they might mean. Hadn’t Allison shared an underground shockumenatary about something like that back in middle school? A secret anti-aging experiment conducted on military volunteers? Some sort of bio-engineered virus that threw a switch in cells. The video had claimed there was an uncertain age threshold where the treatment would no longer work and unwanted side-effects on those who had survived. Most seemed to drift through time, their memories unanchored. One moment they believed they were sixty, the next sixteen. See, immortality wasn’t all sparkly vampires, Allison had said. When Lida had asked her father if everyone would live forever now, he had said none of it was real or it would have made cable news. Besides, the government couldn’t afford it after the riots over retirement benefits and the debt. The price of a volunteer economy.
“At least he’s not violent,” Sara added. “And his poor wife. Can you imagine him volunteering her as a test subject? Maybe it is best he doesn’t remember.”
“Don’t listen to their foolishness, Ms. Lorenz.” They all looked up to find Mrs. Quinn standing just inside the break room door. Somehow, she’d entered without any of them noticing. “He’s no different than any other patient. We’re a VA facility. We don’t get to pick and choose. Speaking of which, ladies, let’s get back to work.”
---
By mid-afternoon, Lida needed some fresh air. The stench of cafeteria lunches still roiled her stomach. Almost as bad as the underlying odor of the rest of the facility. She wondered if it would cling to her clothes like the smell of grease had during her mandatory work-study internship in fast food for her work ethic class.
On her way back from yet another errand that any modern computer network would have made obsolete, Lida ducked into the facility’s large central courtyard. It had once been a manicured garden where the residents could experience a little nature. Now, it was overgrown with weeds and tiny wildflowers sampled by yellow butterflies. Like a haven or a sanctuary. A prefect place to hide.
She really needed coffee but they didn’t have a single-serve machine in the break room, just some disgusting sludge in a communal pot. She wished she could slip out for a mocha but didn’t know where to get one nearby. Plus she didn’t think Mrs. Quinn would understand even if she brought one back for her.
Instead, Lida pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her messages, then ran through her sites again looking for little red numbers. Less than a half dozen. She began posting a quick series of updates, copying them across platforms. Her being here wasn’t really helping anyone.
She jumped when something brushed against her leg. A Siamese cat meowed for attention as it looked up at her. Lida ignored it, turning back to her phone. It stood on its hind legs and rubbed against her knee. Then it headbutted her shin with a hollow thunk.
“Felicia,” a man’s voice scolded from deeper in the garden. “Leave her be. Can’t you see she wants to be alone?”
Lida looked up, confused whether the man was talking to her or the cat. He stood ten feet away, neatly dressed in casual clothes. He wasn’t young but didn’t look old either. Definitely not a nurse. A visitor, maybe?
He made a high-pitched noise by sucking air through his teeth. The cat ran to him.
“You must forgive my Sandra Day,” he said, petting the cat’s head and scratching behind its ears. “The sun-bleached sun fades to moonrise against a brushed platinum sky.” He looked upward then smiled at her apologetically. “The color of ashes instead of its normal blood. It’s confusing.”
A patient? He didn’t sound quite right, but was he dangerous? Lida didn’t think so. The way he spoke reminded her of her grandfather after his stroke. Even if he couldn’t get the right words out, there was still an intelligence trapped inside. If only she could interpret this man’s strange poetry.
“Are you ok?” she asked. “Is there someone I should call?”
“No one knows I’m here.” He reached down and scooped the cat into his arms. The Siamese didn’t seem to mind. “I’m infected, but I’m not contagious.”
“Infected with what?” Lida was torn. Part of her wanted to back away but another part of her wanted to hear his answer.
“Time virus,” the man said as he stroked the contented cat. So it was real. “It was the only way to save her.”
“The cat?” Lida asked, confused. A therapy cat maybe. She’d seen online videos of those but no one had mentioned the facility had one.
“Pristina doesn’t want to live forever,” he answered, scratching beneath the cat’s chin. “Do you girl?” The Siamese began purring as rough as an ancient combustion engine, the kind they’d outlawed when Lida was a child. The man cocked his head. “This place is run by the military, you know.”
Lida nodded. “You’re a veteran?”
“I did my duty to bring us to a new country. We both agreed. ‘Soldiers fight and soldiers die. Soldiers live to wonder why.’”
“I’m sorry.” Lida reached out to touch his arm. She was sure he was harmless. She felt sorry for him. “Is there anything you need? I’ll be here every day for a while.”
He shrugged. “When I’m hungry, I eat. When I’m tired, I sleep. Otherwise, I just am.”
“Are you hungry now?” Lida asked, hoping there was something she could do to help, even if it was small. “I can take you to the cafeteria.”
He shook his head. “I’ve eaten all my children. It’s just me and Jasmine, now.”
“Then why don’t I help you back to your room,” she said, not quite sure what else to do.
He paused as if considering then nodded once as he deposited the cat back on the path. He didn’t look unsteady, but Lida offered him an arm as she used to do with her grandfather when she’d take him out for coffee. He smiled wanly as he slipped his arm over hers, a touchstone for balance not support.
Outside the wide, faux-wood institutional door marked 47A, the name “Wu, Wei” was printed on the tiny display screen, parenthetically marked “Unoccupied” in red below. So this was Mr. Wu. He didn’t seem crazy, just maybe a little lonely. Sometimes people only needed someone to listen.
“They know when I come or go,” he said as he stood before the door, then snuck an exaggerated peek at her collar and smiled. “But they don’t know who comes in with me unless they have a badge.”
Lida took that as an invitation and followed him inside. She wasn’t ready to get back to meaningless make-work anyway. Besides, she liked him. When she spoke, he looked at her like he was really listening, like he was truly interested in what she had to say. Nobody had ever treated her that way before. Most people were only waiting for their turn to talk.
The room was heavily shadowed with thick draperies drawn against the outside light. It was configured as a studio, not much bigger than her room at home, with small living area adjacent to a recessed, curtained off sleeping nook created by the wide-mouthed bathroom. Opposite, a no-stove kitchenette with a dining bar looked out on the curtained wall.
Nestled among the cabinets, a microwave flashed either noon or midnight, like a constantly blinking reminder of a long forgotten appointment. It had to be old to be independent and disconnected. Lida wondered if it even worked. Every appliance she’d ever seen was on the network and self-setting except on the rare occasions when the satellites were down.
“Sit, sit.” Mr. Wu said, waving her through to the main room as he diverted into the kitchenette. “Guests require tea.”
As Lida entered his living space, she saw several more clocks displaying static, unmoving time. These were truly ancient, all gears with two hands meant to rotate around a dial, just like she remembered being taught by a grandmotherly volunteer in daycare and had rarely seeing since. But all their pendulums were still, their springs unwound, their hands at different angles.
A wall clock, a freestanding grandfather, a carriage clock, a dark wood cuckoo with its distinctive pinecone weights and chains, silver and gold pocket watches, a pre-quartz Timex wristwatch without a band, a kitschy, windup travel alarm cube no larger than an inch on every side. The kind of clocks she’d only seen at her grandparents’, at elderly neighbors’, on documentaries and in antiques stores.
They were interspersed between black, lacquered frames with old photographs, ink and glossy paper, not even digital never mind moving. A few were even black and white.
The rest of the furnishings were sparse, two backless, wooden barstools, a rustic coffee table with matching end tables beside a pair of bentwood and leather swivel chairs. The back of an ivory kimono hung on the wall behind them, delicately embroidered with a swarm of lavender butterflies rising from tree-lined mountains like a wisp of smoke.
A small easel stood facing the wall of draperies. Its tray held a set of sable brushes with a stone basin on one end stained with ink, the kind she remembered from art camp that you grind and mix yourself. The easel held a canvas with a brushstroke cat curled up in a stylized hollow of bamboo. Lida drew open the curtains a hand-width to find they concealed a floor to ceiling window that looked out onto a clump of bamboo in the garden. The room warmed as a beam of dappled light spilled in.
Mr. Wu hummed in the kitchenette as he clinked his way through assembling a tea service. A low tone from an electric kettle indicated the water had boiled. The sound of pouring followed.
He emerged a moment later carrying a wooden tray containing two handleless, ceramic mugs, an iron tea pot, a strainer and mismatched containers for sugar, cream and tea. The blue and gray glaze on the mugs reminded Lida of mountains against the sky.
Mr. Wu carefully set the tray on the coffee table. He motioned for Lida to sit as he began preparing the tea. He set about the task as if performing a familiar choreographed ballet, his manner precise yet effortless. He moved slowly but purposefully, completely focused and unrushed.
A moment later, he extended a steaming mug toward Lida with both hands. He showed no sign of even the slightest tremor. If anything, he moved more fluidly than she did. The mug was warm as she grasped it. Mr. Wu flicked a hand toward the sugar and creamer on the tray.
Normally, Lida would have swirled a heaping spoonful of sugar into the mug as if it were coffee. The only tea she’d ever had was brewed from a bag that came out of a large, cardboard box at her grandmother’s. It always tasted bitter. This smelled different, mellower. It was pale green rather than ditch water brown.
Mr. Wu watched her, unmoving. She opted to take an unadorned sip. It was surprisingly smooth yet full of subtle flavor that sugar might have destroyed. Nutty with a hint of plum, not bitter at all. Lida smiled and nodded. Mr. Wu smiled back and picked up his own mug in response.
A silence settled over them for a moment as they each enjoyed their tea. Mr. Wu didn’t seem bothered so neither was Lida. Most people saw silences as awkward, unnatural moments meant to be filled. She studied the nearby photographs.
“Is that your wife?” Lida pointed to the picture of a woman in a kimono that appeared to be the same one on the wall. “She’s beautiful.”
“The lady of the lake.” Mr. Wu smiled warmly. “The lord of the ring.”
“She’s dead now, isn’t she?” Lida said quietly.
He nodded gravely. “Two fish chasing each other’s tail, one black, one white, each on opposite sides of an ever-curving line. One defines the other and can never swim alone.”
“What happened to her?” she asked, only thinking after the words were out that perhaps she shouldn’t have.
“I did.” Mr. Wu didn’t sound perturbed, just honest and forthright. “Without me, she would never have volunteered.”
“Was she infected with the time virus, too?” Lida turned the mug nervously in her hand.
He nodded. “Too late to save her. Only me. The present is a finely honed razor slicing past from future. She had passed beyond the threshold I will ever stand before. Forever Chronos, I have no past, no future, only an eternal now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lida said, adding as reflex, “I wish there was something I could do.”
After a long, evaluating pause, Mr. Wu finally said, “Light is razor sharp yet shadows shine like polished silver. But even shadows fade as clouds obscure the sun.” He eyed her oddly and whispered, “Help me fade.”
A deeper silence settled over them. Lida felt self-conscious like she was suddenly on display. Like the days she’d sat with her grandmother in her perfectly ordered living room, a child struggling not to squirm.
A moment later, Mr. Wu set down his mug, walked into the alcove with the bed and pulled the curtain shut behind him. Lida could hear him moving, out of sight. Eventually the sound of his rustling stopped. She could still hear his slow, even breathing.
Lida remained in her chair. She knew she should leave, knew she should get back to work before someone came looking. But the tears welling in her eyes kept her frozen in place. The other nurses thought Mr. Wu was crazy. Lida knew he wasn’t crazy; he was just trapped by the time virus in a life that was barely an existence. She’d seen it with her grandfather.
She sat for a long time, staring down at the cooling mug, the warm, welcoming tea turning bitter in her hands. She didn’t know how much time had passed. Finally, when she noticed Mr. Wu’s breathing had become muted as if he’d fallen asleep, she rose. She carefully set her own mug next to his. She walked quietly, purposefully just as she’d seen him do.
At the curtain, she paused, uncertain. She wasn’t ready to be alone. Was this what he really wanted? Was that what he’d really said? As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she’d come here to make a difference. Mr. Wu’s plea echoed in her ears, words her grandfather had never said but always seemed poised to. Help me fade.
Quietly, she slipped through the curtain and stepped inside.
---
Lida was used to failing, as was everyone around her. Now, she would have to find another volunteer position before she could graduate. Maybe she’d talk to Allison.
On her way out, she stopped before the wall clock. She knew she shouldn’t linger. Sara could come at any minute to check on Mr. Wu. When she found him, there would be an investigation that would likely end with Lida’s dismissal, or worse if she was seen. At least she’d helped someone even if that meant she was once again alone.
She noticed a clear, plastic push pin a quarter inch from the framing around the pendulum, just off to one side. She slid the bottom of the clock snug up against it so that it was no longer quite level. She set the hands to the time on her phone then flicked the pendulum with a finger.
The mechanism was ticking rhythmically as the door clicked shut behind her.
© 2014 Edward P. Morgan III
