Woman on the Edge of Time

“Listen, Connie, I’m in terrific shape! Look at me. I weigh one hundred seventeen—you believe it? And last week, you know what I earned on my behind?”

“Four hundred dollars,” she said wryly.

“How did you guess? Not bad, hey? Nice clothes, pretty things for my baby. Mamá keeps Nita Tuesday through Saturday and then Sunday I get her and I have her till Tuesday morning.”

“Carmel’s got her all week?”

“What other mother do I have? Sure, Carmel’s got her. It works out better.”

“Dolly, this is not good. You don’t have your baby inside, your daughter you only see weekends like an aunt, and you’re taking poison that burns out your soul.”

“Don’t be silly, Tía. You forget what the world’s like, shut up here. I’m on top now. I know what I’m doing. And last week I made four hundred dollars!”

“Dolly, please. Get me out of here! I beg you. Get me released. Talk to them!”

“Hermana, how can I do that? Luis signed the papers. I didn’t have a thing to do with it. You have to talk to Daddy about getting out.”

“Please, Dolly, do something. I beg you. Look around this ward. They’re operating on us. They’re sticking needles in our heads!”

“Yeah?” Dolly looked around vaguely. “Daddy says they’re famous doctors from a university. That they’re for real helping you so you won’t have to go in again. He says you’re going to be in a hospital in Washington Heights. I could get to see you all the time. It’s real hard to get up here, you know?”

“Dolly, you think I need an operation? Look at me.”

“Connie, am I a doctor? What do I know? At least it’s clean in here, not so depressing like last time.”

“I don’t want their help, Dolly. I want to go home! Listen—I’ll work. Tell Luis I’ll do anything! I’ll work in his sweatshop nursery. I can get temporary office jobs. Tell Luis that!”

“You shouldn’t go on feeling sorry for yourself, Connie—that’s your problem. We can rise above what we are if we have the will. Look at me! After Geraldo, that prick, left me flat, with no money and lots of debts, I didn’t cry long. I cried, sure, but then I went out and got myself a white pimp. I lost twenty-two pounds, you know? I took myself in hand and I haven’t gained a pound in weeks! I dyed my hair on my head and”—lowering her voice coquettishly—“even the hair on my thing. I say I’m of a Spanish mother and an Irish father. Sometimes I say my mother was a contessa.”

“I think that’s Italian.”

“No, it’s Spanish. Anyhow, they’re johns—what do they know? I make money hand over fist. Just last week—”

“Dolly, please, listen to me!” Connie interrupted, near despair. “They’re going to do an operation on me. You go look at that woman in the corner, the black woman, Alice. That’s what they want to do to me. At least let me come home for a weekend. To eat real food. To see you and Nita. Please, Dolly, talk to them.”

“Sure, honey. Once you’re in New York, why shouldn’t you come visit me? A weekend wouldn’t be so good, but maybe a Sunday together? It’s nice of Vic to bring me up here, but how many times can I get him to do it? He knows the value of money. He used to be a real pro ballplayer with the Cleveland Indians. A white pimp is better than a brother, Connie. It’s strictly business, but he brings good customers. Businessmen, buyers, salesmen. When you get out, I’ll get you some money and help you set up in a nice apartment. Daddy took your stuff into storage, he threw a lot of it out. But I kept some for you, pictures and stuff I know you want.”

She stood at the window watching Dolly emerge from the building and Nita break free of Vic and race toward her, hugging her around the thighs. Dolly pointed up at the window and Nita, looking puzzled, waved obediently at the building. They went off, Vic and Dolly talking at once. She stood at the window, staring long after they had disappeared.

She remembered something she had heard Dr. Redding say to Superintendent Hodges: that they had used up five thousand monkeys before they began doing these operations on patients. Used up. She had heard him say he had wanted to work with prisoners—he thought the results would be more impressive—but there had been such an uproar about three little psycho-surgical procedures at Vacaville in California that his team decided to work with mental patients. “After all,” he had said, smiling his best ironic smile, “they made a court case and a bleeding heart publicity brouhaha about three procedures, while San Francisco Children’s Hospital does hundreds with sound and thermal probes—mostly on neurotic women and intractable children—and no one says boo.”

Thus, after the five thousand monkeys, they were being used up one at a time. She marched over to Sybil. “Sybil, they’re going to finish us. It’s death, no matter what they call it.”

Sybil sat cross-legged, facing her. Her eyes questioned.

“It’s true this is a locked ward. But the hospital here has lousy security compared to our old wards. I know I could get out of here, if I could get off this ward.”

“How? We eat here, we lie here. There’s not even a porch.”