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On the way to my car, it occurred to me that the admissions officer at the convalescent home might be reluctant to give me information on Agnes Grey. If she was still a patient, I could probably get a room number and whip right in. If she'd been released, things might get trickier. Medical perso
I went back to the Vagabond, where I unzipped the duffel and removed my all-purpose dress. I gave it a shake. This faithful garment is the only dress I own, but it goes anyplace. It's black, collarless, with long sleeves and a zipper down the back, made of some slithery, miracle fabric that takes unlimited abuse. You can smush it, wad it up, sit on it, twist it, or roll it in a ball. The instant you release it, the material returns to its original state. I wasn't even sure why I'd brought it-hoping for a hot night on the town, I suppose. I tossed it on the bed, along with my (slightly scuffy) low-heeled black shoes and some black panty hose. I took a three-minute shower and redid myself. Thirteen minutes later I was back in the car, looking like a grown-up, or so I hoped.
The Rio Vista Convalescent Hospital was set in the middle of a residential area, an old two-story stucco building painted a tarnished-looking Navajo white. The property was surrounded by chain-link fence, wide gates standing open onto a parking lot. The place didn't look like any hospital I'd ever seen. The grounds were flat, unlandscaped, largely sealed over in cracked asphalt on which cars were parked. As I approached the main entrance, I could see that the brittle blacktop was limned with faded circles and squares of some obscure sort. It wasn't until I'd passed through the main doors and was standing in the foyer that I knew what I'd been looking at. A playground. This had once been a grade school. The lines had been laid out for foursquare and tetherball. The interior was nearly identical to the elementary school I'd attended. High ceilings, wood floors, the sort of lighting fixtures that look like small perfect moons. Across from me, a water fountain was still mounted on the wall, white porcelain with shiny chrome handles down low at kiddie height. Even the air smelled the same, like vegetable soup. For a moment, the past was palpable, laid over reality like a sheet of cellophane, blocking out everything. I experienced the same rush of anxiety I'd suffered every day of my youth. I hadn't liked school. I'd always been overwhelmed by the dangers I sensed. Grade school was perilous. There were endless performances: tests in spelling, geography, and math, homework assignments, pop quizzes, and workbooks. Every activity was judged and criticized, graded and reviewed. The only subject I liked was music because you could look at the book, though sometimes, of course, you were compelled to stand up and sing all by yourself, which was death. The other kids were even worse than the work itself. I was small for my age, always vulnerable to attack. My classmates were sly and treacherous, given to all sorts of wicked plots they learned from TV. And who would protect me from their villainy? Teachers were no help. If I got upset, they would stoop down to my level and their faces would fill my field of vision like rogue planets about to crash into earth. Looking back on it, I can see how I must have worried them. I was the kind of kid who, for no apparent reason, wept piteously or threw up on myself. On an especially scary day, I sometimes did both. By fifth grade, I was in trouble almost constantly. I wasn't rebellious-I was too timid for that- but I did disobey the rules. After lunch, for instance, I would hide in the girls' rest room instead of going back to class. I longed to be expelled, imagining somehow that I could be free of school forever if they'd just kick me out. All my behavior netted me were trips to the office, or endless hours in a little chair placed in the hall. A public scourging, in effect. My aunt would swoop down on the principal, an avenging angel, raising six kinds of hell that I should be subjected to such abuse. Actually, the first time I got the hall penalty, I was mortified, but after that, I liked it pretty well. It was quiet. I got to be alone. Nobody asked me questions or made me write on the board. Between classes, the other kids hardly looked at me, embarrassed on my behalf.
"Miss?"
I glanced up. A woman in a nurse's uniform was staring at me. I focused on my surroundings. I could see now that the corridor was populated with wheel-chairs. Everyone was old and broken and bent. Some stared dully at the floor and some made mewing sounds. One woman repeated endlessly the same quarrelsome request: "Someone let me out of here. Someone let me up. Someone let me out of here…"
"I'm looking for Agnes Grey."
"Patient or employee?"
"A patient. At least she was a couple of months back."
"Try administration." She indicated the offices to my right. I collected myself, blanking out the sight of the feeble and infirm. Maybe life is just a straight shot from the horrors of grade school to the horrors of the nursing home.
The administration offices were housed in makeshift quarters where the principal's office had probably been once upon a time. A portion of the large central hallway had been a
"I hope so," I said. "I'm looking for a woman named Agnes Grey. I understand she was a patient here a few months ago."
The woman hesitated briefly and then said, "May I ask what this is in co
I took a chance on the truth, never guessing how popular I was going to be as a consequence. I gave her my card and then recited my tale of Irene Gersh and how she'd asked me to determine her mother's whereabouts, ending with the oft-repeated query: "Do you happen to know where she is at this point?"
She blinked at me for a moment. Some interior process caused a transformation in her face, but I hadn't the faintest idea how it related to my request. "Would you excuse me, please?"
"Sure."
She moved into the i
This was worrisome. I usually don't get such receptions in my line of work. "Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm trying to locate a woman named Agnes Grey. I understand she was transferred here from Pioneers."
"That's correct. Mrs. Grey has been with us since early March. I'm sure you'll want to see her, so I've asked the floor supervisor to join us. She'll take you up to Mrs. Grey's room."
"Great. I'd appreciate that. Frankly, I didn't expect to find her here. I guess I thought she'd be out by now. Is she doing okay?"
"Oh my, yes. She's considerably better… quite well… but we have been concerned about continued care. We can't release a patient who has no place to go. As nearly as we can tell, Mrs. Grey doesn't have a permanent address and she's never admitted to having any next of kin. We're delighted to hear that she has relatives living in the state. I'm sure you'll want to notify Mrs. Gersh and make arrangements to have her transferred to a comparable facility in Santa Teresa."