Lethe (oblivio) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-09-04 22:12:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | lethe |
Who: Lethe [narrative - open if anybody wants to jump in and doesn't mind slow replyage]
Where: Fairview Nursing Home, Manhattan
When: Friday, around 6pm
Warnings: None
Mortals, Lethe had noticed, tended to grow uncomfortable around nursing homes. They were places of the forgetful and the forgotten, where grown men and women wore diapers, drank from sippy-cups, were showered and dressed and fed by others, and waited to die - or at least that was the perception. The young winced to see their elders regressed to this dependent state, unable through physical or mental infirmity to look after themselves, perhaps unable even to recognise their own kin. It made them queasy, it unsettled them, because it was a tangible reminder of what, if they lived to a ripe enough age, they would one day become. No human liked to have to contemplate the fact of his own mortality.
Lethe felt no such discomfort. Ageing was a part of living, as much a part of the natural cycle as youth and early adulthood, and as with each other stage it came with different needs and requirements. It was no better or worse than any other stage of life; it was simply different. And as for mortality, well, death shadowed mankind at every turn, from birth onward. It was just that at places like Fairview, they did not pretend it was otherwise.
And these halls were a place of power for the goddess. Every mind touched the banks of the river Lethe - that was the place where memory faltered, where things hovered on the tip of one's tongue or drifted on the silvery waters into forgetfulness - but as age and Alzheimer's eroded at man's defences, the mind would gradually subside into the shallows of the river. Not all of the residents at Fairview were so deeply submerged; some had been admitted purely because their physical ailments had left them unable to care for themselves. Most, however, waded obliviously in her shallows, their memories arrayed scattered and uneven in pools around them, feeding the river.
Lethe had clocked off for the evening, and now she made her way back through those halls, her shoulders brushing unseen fragments of half-lost memories as she moved. The exit was in sight when she heard a thin voice call out.
"Lady-- Miss--"
Lethe paused, and turned her head. There was a woman hovering uncertainly in the foyer. She was a squat creature, with wiry hair the colour of steel wool and her dumpy form was wrapped in a slightly threadbare dressing gown. Her watery brown eyes were looking straight at Lethe. It had always surprised her that while ordinary mortals could pass Lethe by without even seeing her - or else forgetting her as soon as they had - the amnesiacs and the dementia patients, humans who would struggle to recall anything else, would know her. A couple of the residents at Fairview even recognised her face. But then again, why should they not? They, above all of their kind, were familiar with the waters of the Lethe.
"Lady," the woman repeated, a frown creasing her already lined forehead as she shuffled forward, "Can you tell me, do I live here?"
Lethe smiled gently at the woman. "That right, Ruby, you live here with us."
Ruby's forehead wrinkled further, as though she were trying to puzzle out something that was just beyond her grasp. "Now, why aren't I living with my family?" She frowned. "Don't I have a mother?"
It was a question that had been asked many times before, but Lethe answered it patiently. "My dear, you're ninety-seven years old."
"Oh. So I suppose they're all dead, then."
Lethe tilted her head. "They're at peace, yes," she agreed, after a pause.
The old lady's face fell visibly, and she was quiet a moment. Then, thoughtfully, she observed, "Well, that must make me very old. Tell me, do you know how old I am?"
"You're ninety-seven, love. By human standards, that's very impressive."
"Ninety-seven? No!" Ruby echoed the words with a strain of incredulity. "That can't be right. Now, look, I was born in 1911 - see if you can work this out - October seventh, 1911. How old does that make me?"
The river-goddess' lips quirked just a fraction. "A very sprightly ninety-seven, my friend."
Ruby raised her pencilled eyebrows, looking impressed. "Ooh, well, aren't you clever! How did you work that out so fast? Did you know, did you?"
"I did."
"And you know me?"
"Very well, Ruby dear."
"Now, tell me, love, do I have a mother? Do you know where she is?"
The question was nagging at the old woman's mind, circling the surface of the cloudy waters. Lethe knew it was not going to leave her. If she wanted, she could have reached in and pulled it out, as easily as plucking an apple from a tree, and sent the thought spiralling back into the murky depths. She could even, if she concentrated, have drawn up the memory that eluded Ruby and brought the woman a brief moment of - if not exactly lucidity, then at least understanding, of a sort. Lethe did neither.
"Why don't you come with me, Ruby-love? I've made up a nice bed for you." As she suggested it, she looped an arm through the woman's. Home could wait another five minutes.
"Oh, I have a bed here, do I?"
"And a room of your very own." She started to steer Ruby away from the door, leading the mortal in the direction of her bedroom. Ruby shuffled after her obligingly, still chattering as she did.
"Now, why aren't I living with my family, girl? Don't they want me?"
"Ruby! What are you doing out here, honey?"
It was a new voice, kind but harried, and Lethe and Ruby looked up as one to see another nurse striding towards them, her frizzy auburn hair escaping from its rushed bun. Fran, Lethe remembered; that was her name.
"Oh, hello, love," Ruby greeted the woman amiably. "I was just talking to the girl."
"The…" Fran's nonplussed gaze went straight through Lethe to survey the otherwise empty foyer. "…okay. How about we get you to bed, Ruby?" She took the woman's free hand - the one not grasping Lethe's forearm.
"Oh, do I have a bed here, then?"
A smile brushing the corners of her mouth, Lethe patted the old woman's shoulder affectionately. "Goodnight, Ruby." And then, unseen, she slipped away from the pair, punched the security code into the console by the exit, and waited for the first of the two sets of sliding doors to open.