Coping With Joseph (Short Fiction)
01st August 2006
In: Short Stories
Ingrid waited until he was asleep before gently loosening his fingers from her own and easing herself off the edge of the high old fashioned double bed. He didn't stir as a board creaked beneath her slight weight or as she fumbled with the door handle, so she considered it would be a chance to maybe get a little air and fetch a few things from the corner store. She guessed that she hadn't seen anyone for a week or more, although this time of year people mostly stayed in the warm unless there was a real need to go out. But there was a need now - a need to reassure herself that there was something other than these walls and his whispering repetative voice and his dry old hands clutching at hers.
She pulled on her good boots, glad of their thick sheepskin linings and sturdy zips. They were sure to outlast her and she imagined her daughters taking them to the charity shop after she'd gone. Someone would get a bargain. Someone always did. She wrapped a thick scarf round her head and turned up her coat collar, calling out softly as she passed the bottom of the stairs "I'm off now, Joseph. I won't be long." Not that he would have been able to hear her, even if he'd been awake. His hearing had long since deteriorated past the point where they could actually hold a conversation but it didn't stop him talking. He shared everything with her in his long rambling recollections, unaware if she commented or corrected him, or even dozed off as he wheezed on through the night during his frequent periods of insomnia. But who else was there to listen, who else would be interested in what an old man had to say when so little of it made sense? Duty was a cold word but, she had to admit, closest to the truth. She only wished that she could say she did it out of love.
The snow was deeper than she had anticipated, almost to the top of her boots in the uncleared areas, but where feet had compacted it the hard crust had frozen and made walking difficult and dangerous. She made her way cautiously, keeping close to the wall where she could. Across the road, a man balanced on a ladder struggled with a large advertisement for the food most cats prefer, the paste freezing on his brush as he tried to stick each section to the hoarding. She heard him swear as the piece he'd just put up - the head of a giant kitten wearing a Santa Claus hat - began slowly peeling off again. The rest of the street was deserted and the sky looked like there was more snow to come.
Tingleys was a warm bright fug of comforting inactivity. Mr.Tingley sat behind the counter reading the evening newspaper, a steaming mug of tea beside him, a radio playing carols in the background. He looked up as she entered, blinking at her through his bi-focals "Hello there, Mrs. Kominski. Bitter weather, isn't it? And how 's your husband - any better, is he?"
She slowly removed her gloves. "Joseph's much the same, I'm afraid, so I mustn't be too long. I'll settle the paper bill while I'm here and pick up one or two things to tide us over." She left him totalling the columns in his account book while she looked round the densely packed shelves, eventually taking down several packets of soup and some crackers thinking they would at least be light to carry. Joseph was showing no interest in his food of late and her own appetite was not what it was so cooking proper meals didn't seem worth the bother. She added two tangerines and two apples to the goods in her basket and went back to the counter to settle up.
Mr. Tingley took his time over the transaction, counting out her change twice. The smell of baking wafted from living quarters behind a door left ajar. She thought she could smell nutmeg and cinnamon. "Are you expecting the family home for Christmas, then?" He was only being sociable, she knew, but the question made her feel awkward.
"Er, no - not this year. The girls have plans of their own." She still called them girls although Suzanne was thirty eight and Helene only two years younger. The truth was that she'd told them not to come, that their father needed rest and quiet and that it would be boring for the grandchildren. They, in turn, had pointed out that teenagers had busy social lives of their own these days - student parties and suchlike - and wouldn't be coming anyway. But Ingrid had stood firm, brushing aside their sentimental protests about Christmas being a time for families and, with a deliberate show of irritation, dismissed their concerns over how well she was coping. Suzanne, always inclined to be bossy, still needed to be put in her place once in a while.
Joseph was still asleep when she got back, his low snores just audible in the hallway. She went into the kitchen and turned on the radio. They were playing Grieg's Peer Gynt and she hummed along to In the Hall of the Mountain King as she put away the groceries and began laying the supper trays. As the music gathered momentum she became aware of a banging overhead. He probably wouldn't appreciate a bit of classical stimulation even if he could hear it, she sniffed, turning the volume up. The banging gradually subsided and she took her time preparing the soup.
She pushed the door open with her foot and saw him lying on the floor, the shock causing the tray to tilt, dishes starting to slide before she recovered enough to set it down. Guilt swamped her. He'd been banging for help and she had ignored him, thinking he was just being his usual demanding self."Oh, Joseph!" she knelt beside him, felt his forehead, then shook him gently "Joseph, are you hurt?"
His eyelids flickered and he focused slowly on her face."We must leave the city," his voice cracked with urgency, he swallowed and went on "pack some things, Ingrid, your mother's jewellery and our papers...we have to go now...England, perhaps..."
Ingrid sighed and patiently manoeuvred him into a sitting position. There was no point in telling him they were already in England and had been since the summer of 1939. In his mind he was back in Vienna, listening anxiously to the news bulletins, reading the newspaper reports that anticipated war. He shivered violently although it wasn't cold in the room."Come on," she spoke as much to herself as to him "we must get you back into bed." He clung to her as she pulled him up to the level of the mattress, seeming more dependant on her than either of their girls had ever been, and that thought more than any other left her without hope.
Helene telephoned Christmas morning. Ingrid was grilling bacon while Joseph watched an old Chaplin movie on the portable TV Suzanne had given them for their last anniversary. "Yes, he's not so bad today. Quite cheerful, off and on... No, I don't think that's such a good idea, he's really not up to seeing visitors, not even for a few minutes, not yet... Well, I just can't say at the moment, dear. But it's best to give it a while before you come over... Yes, I know it's Christmas but he doesn't seem to be aware of it. He's not aware of much at all, most of the time...Now I have to go, the bacon's starting to burn...Happy Christmas to you, too. I'll speak to you again soon" A rather tearful Helene rung off and Ingrid wondered how much longer she could keep the girls from witnessing their father's condition.
When she took him his breakfast he looked directly at her and smiled."It's Christmas, Ingrid - why didn't you say something?" He gestured towards the television screen where the faces of a large congregation mouthed the words to O Little Town of Bethlehem. She reached across and turned up the sound a little.
"You haven't been well, Joseph." She said the words slowly so that he could read her lips.
He nodded, as though he accepted this as the reason for her apparent oversight, and took a bite of his breakfast. "This is good bacon - just how I like it. Thank you." And he smiled at her again as though suddenly trying to make up for all the years he'd simply taken everything as his due. She watched him clear his plate and decided she might relent and call the girls tomorrow, he was looking that much better.
She bought him a bowl of hot water, soap, towels and his safety razor and held the mirror for him while he shaved off a week's growth of grizzled stubble with short but steady strokes. "There," he said, patting his now smooth chin and neck with the towel, "will I do, do you think?" She nodded and wiped a stray fleck of foam from his pyjama collar, hardly daring to hope that this improvement might last.
Later, he asked if she would fetch the photograph album and they sat together as he thumbed through the assortment of studio portraits, wedding photos and holiday snaps. She looked at herself posing in her bridal gown - a frail waif looking much younger than her nineteen years, thin silk-stockinged calves and ankles just visible below the hem of her ballet length dress, skinny arms almost obscured by the large bouquet of lilies, white roses and trailing ferns. The camera had caught her just as she was about to smile, her eyes expectant, her mouth beginning to curve. "Ahhhh."Joseph let out a long sigh."You looked so lovely that day, everyone said so, and I knew how lucky I was - see, in this one I'm smiling like a Cheshire cat!" He pointed to a group photo from where his younger self beamed back at them. "Yes, a very lucky man." he repeated. His finger moved slowly along the line of figures, naming them aloud. "That's Ralph, my best man, he was foreman at the factory; that's Tommy - Tommy Jenkins our tea boy. He joined up soon after, Royal Marines I think it was, and got killed out East somewhere. That's Gordon Mac something-or-other, he was a Scot, had asthma and lived with his mother. Kept chickens and a goat called Lily. He gave us a dozen fresh eggs as a wedding present - do you remember?" He looked at Ingrid and noticed her face was wet. "Why are you crying?" She shrugged, smiled and dabbed at her eyes. "Don't be sad, liebkin, it's Christmas." He paused, then asked "Do you still sometimes think of the old days ... in Vienna?"
She nodded. "Yes...sometimes."
"But it was long ago, another lifetime. Yes?"
"Yes." She nodded again. "This is our home." She wasn't sure if he'd caught her last remark but he closed the album without looking at the few old sepia pictures they'd brought with them from Austria - his parents and brothers who'd been lost in the holocaust.
"When are the girls coming over to see us? They are coming, aren't they?"
"Tomorrow" she assured him.
He sank back against the pillows, his expression contented. "Ah, good. That's good. Christmas is a time for families."
THE END
She pulled on her good boots, glad of their thick sheepskin linings and sturdy zips. They were sure to outlast her and she imagined her daughters taking them to the charity shop after she'd gone. Someone would get a bargain. Someone always did. She wrapped a thick scarf round her head and turned up her coat collar, calling out softly as she passed the bottom of the stairs "I'm off now, Joseph. I won't be long." Not that he would have been able to hear her, even if he'd been awake. His hearing had long since deteriorated past the point where they could actually hold a conversation but it didn't stop him talking. He shared everything with her in his long rambling recollections, unaware if she commented or corrected him, or even dozed off as he wheezed on through the night during his frequent periods of insomnia. But who else was there to listen, who else would be interested in what an old man had to say when so little of it made sense? Duty was a cold word but, she had to admit, closest to the truth. She only wished that she could say she did it out of love.
The snow was deeper than she had anticipated, almost to the top of her boots in the uncleared areas, but where feet had compacted it the hard crust had frozen and made walking difficult and dangerous. She made her way cautiously, keeping close to the wall where she could. Across the road, a man balanced on a ladder struggled with a large advertisement for the food most cats prefer, the paste freezing on his brush as he tried to stick each section to the hoarding. She heard him swear as the piece he'd just put up - the head of a giant kitten wearing a Santa Claus hat - began slowly peeling off again. The rest of the street was deserted and the sky looked like there was more snow to come.
Tingleys was a warm bright fug of comforting inactivity. Mr.Tingley sat behind the counter reading the evening newspaper, a steaming mug of tea beside him, a radio playing carols in the background. He looked up as she entered, blinking at her through his bi-focals "Hello there, Mrs. Kominski. Bitter weather, isn't it? And how 's your husband - any better, is he?"
She slowly removed her gloves. "Joseph's much the same, I'm afraid, so I mustn't be too long. I'll settle the paper bill while I'm here and pick up one or two things to tide us over." She left him totalling the columns in his account book while she looked round the densely packed shelves, eventually taking down several packets of soup and some crackers thinking they would at least be light to carry. Joseph was showing no interest in his food of late and her own appetite was not what it was so cooking proper meals didn't seem worth the bother. She added two tangerines and two apples to the goods in her basket and went back to the counter to settle up.
Mr. Tingley took his time over the transaction, counting out her change twice. The smell of baking wafted from living quarters behind a door left ajar. She thought she could smell nutmeg and cinnamon. "Are you expecting the family home for Christmas, then?" He was only being sociable, she knew, but the question made her feel awkward.
"Er, no - not this year. The girls have plans of their own." She still called them girls although Suzanne was thirty eight and Helene only two years younger. The truth was that she'd told them not to come, that their father needed rest and quiet and that it would be boring for the grandchildren. They, in turn, had pointed out that teenagers had busy social lives of their own these days - student parties and suchlike - and wouldn't be coming anyway. But Ingrid had stood firm, brushing aside their sentimental protests about Christmas being a time for families and, with a deliberate show of irritation, dismissed their concerns over how well she was coping. Suzanne, always inclined to be bossy, still needed to be put in her place once in a while.
Joseph was still asleep when she got back, his low snores just audible in the hallway. She went into the kitchen and turned on the radio. They were playing Grieg's Peer Gynt and she hummed along to In the Hall of the Mountain King as she put away the groceries and began laying the supper trays. As the music gathered momentum she became aware of a banging overhead. He probably wouldn't appreciate a bit of classical stimulation even if he could hear it, she sniffed, turning the volume up. The banging gradually subsided and she took her time preparing the soup.
She pushed the door open with her foot and saw him lying on the floor, the shock causing the tray to tilt, dishes starting to slide before she recovered enough to set it down. Guilt swamped her. He'd been banging for help and she had ignored him, thinking he was just being his usual demanding self."Oh, Joseph!" she knelt beside him, felt his forehead, then shook him gently "Joseph, are you hurt?"
His eyelids flickered and he focused slowly on her face."We must leave the city," his voice cracked with urgency, he swallowed and went on "pack some things, Ingrid, your mother's jewellery and our papers...we have to go now...England, perhaps..."
Ingrid sighed and patiently manoeuvred him into a sitting position. There was no point in telling him they were already in England and had been since the summer of 1939. In his mind he was back in Vienna, listening anxiously to the news bulletins, reading the newspaper reports that anticipated war. He shivered violently although it wasn't cold in the room."Come on," she spoke as much to herself as to him "we must get you back into bed." He clung to her as she pulled him up to the level of the mattress, seeming more dependant on her than either of their girls had ever been, and that thought more than any other left her without hope.
Helene telephoned Christmas morning. Ingrid was grilling bacon while Joseph watched an old Chaplin movie on the portable TV Suzanne had given them for their last anniversary. "Yes, he's not so bad today. Quite cheerful, off and on... No, I don't think that's such a good idea, he's really not up to seeing visitors, not even for a few minutes, not yet... Well, I just can't say at the moment, dear. But it's best to give it a while before you come over... Yes, I know it's Christmas but he doesn't seem to be aware of it. He's not aware of much at all, most of the time...Now I have to go, the bacon's starting to burn...Happy Christmas to you, too. I'll speak to you again soon" A rather tearful Helene rung off and Ingrid wondered how much longer she could keep the girls from witnessing their father's condition.
When she took him his breakfast he looked directly at her and smiled."It's Christmas, Ingrid - why didn't you say something?" He gestured towards the television screen where the faces of a large congregation mouthed the words to O Little Town of Bethlehem. She reached across and turned up the sound a little.
"You haven't been well, Joseph." She said the words slowly so that he could read her lips.
He nodded, as though he accepted this as the reason for her apparent oversight, and took a bite of his breakfast. "This is good bacon - just how I like it. Thank you." And he smiled at her again as though suddenly trying to make up for all the years he'd simply taken everything as his due. She watched him clear his plate and decided she might relent and call the girls tomorrow, he was looking that much better.
She bought him a bowl of hot water, soap, towels and his safety razor and held the mirror for him while he shaved off a week's growth of grizzled stubble with short but steady strokes. "There," he said, patting his now smooth chin and neck with the towel, "will I do, do you think?" She nodded and wiped a stray fleck of foam from his pyjama collar, hardly daring to hope that this improvement might last.
Later, he asked if she would fetch the photograph album and they sat together as he thumbed through the assortment of studio portraits, wedding photos and holiday snaps. She looked at herself posing in her bridal gown - a frail waif looking much younger than her nineteen years, thin silk-stockinged calves and ankles just visible below the hem of her ballet length dress, skinny arms almost obscured by the large bouquet of lilies, white roses and trailing ferns. The camera had caught her just as she was about to smile, her eyes expectant, her mouth beginning to curve. "Ahhhh."Joseph let out a long sigh."You looked so lovely that day, everyone said so, and I knew how lucky I was - see, in this one I'm smiling like a Cheshire cat!" He pointed to a group photo from where his younger self beamed back at them. "Yes, a very lucky man." he repeated. His finger moved slowly along the line of figures, naming them aloud. "That's Ralph, my best man, he was foreman at the factory; that's Tommy - Tommy Jenkins our tea boy. He joined up soon after, Royal Marines I think it was, and got killed out East somewhere. That's Gordon Mac something-or-other, he was a Scot, had asthma and lived with his mother. Kept chickens and a goat called Lily. He gave us a dozen fresh eggs as a wedding present - do you remember?" He looked at Ingrid and noticed her face was wet. "Why are you crying?" She shrugged, smiled and dabbed at her eyes. "Don't be sad, liebkin, it's Christmas." He paused, then asked "Do you still sometimes think of the old days ... in Vienna?"
She nodded. "Yes...sometimes."
"But it was long ago, another lifetime. Yes?"
"Yes." She nodded again. "This is our home." She wasn't sure if he'd caught her last remark but he closed the album without looking at the few old sepia pictures they'd brought with them from Austria - his parents and brothers who'd been lost in the holocaust.
"When are the girls coming over to see us? They are coming, aren't they?"
"Tomorrow" she assured him.
He sank back against the pillows, his expression contented. "Ah, good. That's good. Christmas is a time for families."
THE END