16 April 2012: Scene VII

VII

“What do you think?”

            “What do I think?” Ben replied, only aware of Gabe’s voice but not the words while he had been preparing him for the day during the past hour. 

“You think they have a chance?”

“A chance?” he replied, perplexed.  The pounding headache that developed after he left the sunroom was making it increasingly difficult for him to think clearly.  Was he really being asked what he thought of Gabe’s and Beth’s chances of staying together?

“Yeah.”

 “A chance at what?”

“The pennant.”

 “Who are you talking about?” he asked.  

“The Cubs.”

“Oh.”

“Who did you think I was talking about?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re not very talkative this morning.”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll be fine once I get more coffee.”

“Why don’t you go get some now?”

“We’re almost done.” 

Ben rolled Gabe over on to his side and tucked the large body sling beneath him, then rolled him the other way, and pulled it through, readying him for being lifted out of bed.

“So,” Gabe continued, allowing for a short pause to draw Ben back into his one-sided conversation. “You think they can go all the way?”

“I suppose.”

“Yeah, but they’ll probably blow it.  Just like they always do.”

“Probably.”

There were days like these when Gabe just wanted to prattle on giving little regard to Ben’s contribution to their morning chat.  Sometimes he joined in and enjoyed the banter as they moved from one seemingly unrelated topic to another.  Though, as it was with every movement or action of Gabe’s, he always tried to monitor them closely in case they were indicating a sign of something abnormal. 

As he pulled the sling fully out and made sure it was in its proper position, his thoughts quickly abandoned the Cubs and went back to bouncing back and forth between Beth and Alexa and the painting in the sunroom and when and if an appropriate time would emerge for him to bring up the subject of the latter.

“You know what I’ve never been able to quite understand?” Gabe said, not really waiting for an answer.  “Overunity.”

The word grabbed Ben’s attention as he wondered, even with Gabe’s incredible ability to change subjects, how he got from Wriggly Field to perpetual motion in one heartbeat.

“I mean, I know what it is, but I could never figure out how the term came to being.”

As he slipped the straps of the sling over the hooks on the horizontal bar of the Hoyer Lift, Ben peered closely into his charge’s eyes for any unusual ocular movements.

“Overunity.  It sounds as if it’s a branch of the Unitarians, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure which has a better chance; the Cubs winning the pennant or the invention of a true perpetual motion device.”

Gabe’s eyes looked fine and he pushed the button to raise him off the bed.  The mention of the generator reminded Ben to follow up on checking with a pawn shop for a compact metal detector. 

“You can buy plans for making one online,” he said as he swung in mid-air. 

Some self-doubt filled Ben as he pulled the Lift away from the bed and entertained the idea of a drug interaction.  He glanced over to the bedside table and eyed the closed pill containers, trying to recall what he had given Gabe that morning.

“All you need is a multimeter, a soldering iron and a brass rotor. Only forty-nine dollars and you’ll get the full details.”

 The second-guessing grew stronger as he couldn’t even remember the process of administering anything to Gabe that morning.  Suddenly, the lift began tilting.

“Whoa,” Gabe said as he began his fall.

Ben stepped quickly from behind the unit and bear-hugged Gabe in mid-fall. After a moment’s pause, with what seemed little effort, he lifted Gabe up and shouldered the Hoyer back into an upright position.            

“What happened?”

Still keeping a firm hold on Gabe, Ben looked down at the floor and the stabilizers of the unit.  “I forgot to spread the legs,” he said, stepping on the lever to widen the Hoyer’s stance; only then did he relax his grasp but still kept a reassuring hand on the sling.

 “That’s not like you.”

“No.  Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Ben continued to hold onto the sling, keeping it still and waiting for Gabe to recompose himself before he finished lowering him into his wheelchair.

“I didn’t know you could move so quickly.”

“No way you were going to hit the floor,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as Gabe. 

“Everything all right?” Beth asked, appearing in the doorway.

There was an awkward silence that Gabe wasn’t privy to, as Beth and Ben shared glances.

“We were just having a little fun,” Gabe said. 

Ben broke their eye contact and moved the Lift so that Gabe now hung above the seat of the wheelchair.

 “I’m heading out.  I have some errands to run.”

“All right,” Gabe said, as he was being lowered.

“Anyone need anything?”

Again, like this morning, her softer tone surprised Ben as a note of resentment always was tied to the question she reluctantly asked whenever she left.

“No, we’re good,” Gabe answered. 

“Thank you.  No,” Ben added.

She lingered in the doorway and watched him unhooking her soon-to-be ex-husband from the lift.  Ben looked up and, again, their eyes locked for a long couple of seconds before she finally turned to leave.  He watched her walk down the hallway and then move out of view into the living room. 

The bedroom remained very quiet while Ben worked on getting Gabe’s shirt on and then secured him into his chair.  The near-fall was unsettling for both of them and Ben was doing his best to make Gabe feel at ease.  He took his time as he pulled an arm through the shirt sleeve and allowed the touch of his hands and fingers to rest a bit longer on Gabe’s.  Though he may be paralyzed, and Ben’s touches may barely be detected, he tried to convey that sense of royalty one feels when a tailor takes measurements and making note of figures that are one’s very own; thirty seconds of over-indulgence, Ben liked to call it.

 “Done?”  Gabe asked, after his face had been wiped with a damp wash cloth and a brush made a quick pass through his hair.

“Ready.”

Gabe turned his wheelchair to head to the kitchen for breakfast while Ben lagged behind, went over to the night stand and opened the small lids that covered the day’s pills allotment.   He viewed not only that day’s pills but the other compartments as well.  Everything seemed in order and the sight of the empty compartments jogged his memory as he finally pictured himself giving Gabe that day’s medication.  He paused another moment before leaving the room, closed his eyes and tried to enjoy a few moments of alone time.  Alexa quickly filled his thoughts and he wondered how expensive it was to run a DNA test. 

“Ben?” Gabe called from the kitchen.

“Yeah.  Coming.”

*************

 “The magnetofunk.  Have you heard of that?” Gabe asked, as he watched the steam rising from the eggs Ben was making for the two of them.  A few words regarding the breakfast menu were exchanged since they had entered the kitchen, but otherwise Ben busied himself with the meal preparation and Gabe sat quietly, watching his caregiver cook. 

“No,”  he replied, his eyes widening at how seamlessly Gabe picked up the thread of the conversation he had been conducting in the bedroom. 

“I think that’s right,” Gabe continued.  It’s a device the Germans had in World War Two that messed with the Allies magnetic compasses so that they couldn’t find a secret base the Germans had in the Artic.  You haven’t heard of it?”

“No.”

“Mag-net-o-funk,” Gabe said slowly, putting special emphasis on the last syllable.  “Rather than flying on a true course, it caused the planes to fly in a curve around the base.”

“Never heard of it.” 

“Der funk is German for radio.”

“Oh.” 

Ben loaded their breakfast on a tray and carried it to the sunroom.  Gabe parked himself next to the table and Ben sat where he always did, to Gabe’s right so that when he fed him, there was the painting staring squarely across from him.  He cut up the eggs and scooped a piece on a spoon with some grits and offered it to Gabe.  As Gabe chewed, he ate his own breakfast and worked on his fourth cup of coffee of the morning.

“Good eggs,” Gabe said.

“They’re just eggs.”

“Well, they’re good eggs.”

“Thanks.”

Breakfast, like all meals, moved at a very casual pace; like it should be, Ben thought.  He listened quietly to talk of cold and hot fusion, which somehow led to people’s fear of being tracked on their various Apple devices. 

“What?  Don’t they know that the government can’t already track whomever they want?” Gabe said, which seemed to put that topic to rest.

 Staring at the painting, as he had most of breakfast, Ben thought of all those people on the missing file sites and I’m sure there were plenty of parents who wished it was that easy to locate someone. 

“Had enough?” he asked, feeding Gabe the last bit of grits that was on his plate.

 “Yes.”

Ben took the cloth napkin that was tucked in Gabe’ shirt and gently dabbed at his mouth and chin.  He pushed the breakfast plates toward the center of the table and with his coffee mug in his hands, leaned back in his chair.  His headache had subsided considerably, Gabe was sitting contentedly staring out the window and the time finally seemed right; he grabbed the moment before it was too late.

“Didn’t you say you knew the woman who painted that?”

“Painted what?”

“The painting there on the wall.”

Gabe reached for the joystick and turned his wheelchair to better look at the picture.

“Yes, I knew her.”

“What was her name?”  Ben asked, as casually as possible.

Gabe sat quietly for a moment, thinking.  “What was her name?” His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips as he worked hard to remember.  Ben wasn’t surprised by the memory lapse as the numerous medications Gabe took conspired to make recall very difficult, especially names. Patiently, Ben waited, continuing to study Gabe’s face for anything out of the ordinary.

“Is it on the canvas?”

Ben got out of his chair, walked over to the painting and knelt down to get a better look.  “Hard to make out.  Looks like Allie something.”

“Alexa!”  Gabe said excitedly.  “Alexa Fern.”

“Ah.”  Ben remained stooped, investigating the signature as if to confirm that the name mentioned matched the scrawl.  “Did you know her well?” he asked, standing and moving back to get a better look at the painting.

“Somewhat.”

“Interesting painting,” he said, still standing with his arms folding and staring at the piece.

“You think?”

“A bit loud for my taste, but interesting.”

“A bit noisy for me, too.”

“It is?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then, why do you have it in here?”

“Well, there’s something very special about it.  Something very unique.”

A mischievous smile slowly crept across Gabe’s face as he looked up at Ben. 

“What?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Ben looked back at the painting composed of a multitude of black lines which, in some places, reminded him of bar codes on packages.  Seeing Gabe’s cunning expression, he wondered if the best thing to do was to just call the police and report the skeleton.  He hated to admit that perhaps he had totally blown it and misread Gabe.  Or, rather, he had read the wheelchair bound Gabe correctly but didn’t have a clue of the pre-mishap Gabe; it was not uncommon for such a traumatic accident, combined with the drugs, to severely alter a person’s personality. 

“Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

“Go stand next to it.”

Ben hesitated, looking back and forth between the painting and Gabe.

“Go on.”

The picture hung on the wall with a small round end table below it and two upholstered chairs on either side.  Ben walked over and stood in front of the table where he was a moment ago when he examined the signature.

“Like this?”

“No.  On the right.  Go behind the chair.”

He hesitated again, wondering how much he wanted to continue to humor Gabe.

“You need to be next to it, pressed against the wall.”

Expecting some prank to be pulled, he pulled the chair out and slid behind it, up against the wall, his shoulder touching the frame of the painting.

“Okay.  Now what?”

“Look at the painting.”

Ben turned.

“Your head has to be closer to the wall.”

He moved closer, looking more at the wall beyond than at the painting.

“Do you see it?”

“See what?”

“You might need to be back a bit further.” 

The feeling of waiting to have a chair pulled out from beneath him faded and an old trust re-emerged.  Ben changed from staring aimlessly to actually looking at the painting.

“Just keep adjusting your view.”

He moved his head slightly forward and backward and sideways in relation to the painting and to the wall.  And, then…

“Oh, my god.”

“You see it?” Gabe asked with a smile.

“Yes.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

Ben kept looking, moving his head ever so faintly to keep the image of the nude female that emerged from the canvas in focus.

“How did she do that?”  he asked, stepping away, trying to see the figure within the lines that made up the guitarist caricature.

“It’s like magic.”

“Yes.”

Ben stepped back to the side, taking in the secret once more of the portrait that reminded him of a Picasso nude from his cubist period.

“Are all her paintings like this?”

“No.  I think just a few.”

Turning away from the picture, he looked at Gabe and watched the glee that was in his eyes a moment ago disappear.

“Does Beth know about this?” he asked, thinking of her staring at the painting that morning.

“No.”

“You didn’t want to tell her?”

Gabe sat quietly, immersing himself into the painting.

“Alexa painted that just for me,” he finally said.  “It was our secret.”  He looked up and locked eyes with Ben, silently making a pact of confidentiality.

“Does anyone else know?”

“You’re the only one.”

Their gaze lingered a moment longer and Ben looked back at the painting.  His thoughts did a complete turn-about as he now contemplated how he could surreptitiously confer with a lawyer about the circumstances of which Gabe seemed to have no memory. 

“We were involved for about a year,” he seemed to say out of the blue. 

“When was that?”

Gabe thought for a moment, numbers and years came to him as slowly as names.  “About three years ago.”

“Did Beth know?”

“She knew something was going on but didn’t know it was with Alexa.  She connected the dots later but never said anything.”

“Connected Alexa with the painting?”

Gabe nodded.

“And, she left it up on the wall?”

“She asked me to take it down but I was being an ass and said I liked it there.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t take a knife to it.”

“I am too.”

They fell into another silence, their gaze on the painting with Ben’s thoughts trailing back to attorneys.  The most logical one was the lawyer who represented Gabe at his trial, who was even friends with Gabe and had even come to visit him several times since the accident.  But, perhaps consulting with someone with no connection was the better route.

  “The ironic thing,” Gabe said, “is that I was planning to take the painting down just before I had my accident.  A peace offering of sorts.”

“You still could.”

“I know.  But, now, there is something comforting coming in here and seeing it.  Knowing its secret.  I don’t feel like I want to give that up.”

“Another place in the house.”

“There really is nowhere else it would fit.”

All these secrets were making Ben dizzy.  Just how much should he press Gabe into taking an action that might prevent an impending shaking up of the household?  Perhaps Gabe didn’t really care.  Perhaps, even if he did take the painting down, it would be too little, too late.  And, perhaps their marital problems just wasn’t any of his damn business.  Yet, there he was up to his knees in crap by concealing the whereabouts of a skeleton that Gabe knew personally and the shit was rising by the hour.  Loyalty made for a strange bedfellow at times.

“I wonder where she is now,” Gabe said.

“Who?”

“Alexa.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“A few months before the accident.  There was an event downtown where several artists were displaying their work.  Alexa was one of them.”

“Did you talk with her?”

“Not really.  I was with Beth .  We made a quick stop by her booth and moved on.”

“Beth already know she was the one?”

“She put it together after that.”

“And you didn’t see or talk to her after that?” 

“No.” 

Ben was formulating his next question but he looked over and saw Gabe’s head was lowered and his eyes closed. The action was easy to interpret as an avoidance tactic but Ben was used to him falling asleep in mid-conversation at least once a day.

He picked up his mug, downed the rest of the cold coffee and collected the dishes to take back to the kitchen.  Eager to sneak in a quick visit to Molly while Gabe slept, he placed a monitor on the table in the sunroom so that he could hear him when he woke.  Out the door and a few steps down the walkway, he heard a cough through the monitor.

“Ben?” he heard a moment later.

Ben pressed the button on his unit so that Gabe could hear him.

“Yeah.  I’m headed down to see Molly.  I’ll be right back.”

“Did you pick up Max?”

Max? he thought to himself, trying to remember if he was supposed to pick up someone from the airport.  “Who?”

“Max.  The dog.”

Ben lowered his head, closed his eyes and, with an elbow of one arm resting on the other arm, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ben? Are you there?”

No, I’m not here, he muttered to himself and the monitor on mute.

Copyright © 2012 Philip Zweig