Both Feet in the Past
“You can’t make me! I won’t!” Billy Marchant’s tone was hysterical and his eyes housed defiance. He thrashed about, flailing wildly at anyone who came near, and he was stronger than his thin frame presaged. Eventually three burly police officers dragged him into the van.
***
Sergeant Dawn and Doctor Sorenson spoke in low tones. “He’s been admitted here before but he responded well to treatment.”
“So it seems. There is no reason he shouldn’t live normally in the community provided he keeps up his medication.”
“Well, we can’t police that, of course.”
“Of course not…”
***
“Mr. Marchant, back with us again, I see…” The doc’s tone was friendly.
“You can’t keep me here!”
“Oh, but we can. You’re a danger to yourself and others so the police have asked for another assessment. What was the chainsaw for?”
Billy Marchant folded his arms.
“The chainsaw, Mr. Marchant? Can I call you Billy? What was it for?”
Marchant sat sullenly silent.
“Okay. Obviously you don’t want to deal with this now. We’ll wait until you’re ready. Nurse Fellows and the officer will see you to the ward, see you settled. Get him a wheelchair, Fellows, and see that he’s fed.”
***
“What’s wrong with his legs?” asked ward manager O’Malley.
“Elective non-ambulance, it says on his file.”
“Non-ambulance. I like that,” he chuckled. “Is this is the one who thinks he’s Napoleon?”
“No, apparently he thinks he’s a Polish soldier fighting in the Napoleonic war–name of Lolek Borisov. Real name’s Marchant.”
“’Cept he won’t march, eh? What are we to call him?”
“Billy, I think. No point in reinforcing a delusion…”
“All right. We’ll put Billy in the side room with Ferdynand Novak. They should get along fine.”
“Marchant only thinks he’s Polish.”
“It’s the only bed that’s free, okay?”
“Sorenson said he’s to be kept sedated for now.”
Fellows was used to O’Malley’s slipshod attitude but one of these days something was sure to blow.
***
It was after lunch next day by the time Sorenson did his rounds. “How’s our patient, Fellows? Responding well to treatment?”
“That’s just it. He seemed to be. He’d calmed down, was fine, walking a bit around the ward, which we were glad to see, then suddenly he legged it! About an hour ago.”
“Legged it? He wouldn’t even walk to the ward yesterday–said I couldn’t make him. Wasn’t he sedated?”
“Until this morning, yes, just as you said. Anyway, he’s gone. We’ve called the police. They’re checking his house…”
***
“Doctor, I think you’d better take this call in my office. They’d like you to attend at General straight away.”
“General? I’m a consultant psychiatrist, not… Who is this…? Marchant? Yes… I know him… Oh dear God, no! Both legs? …a chainsaw? I’ll be there right away.”
“Doctor,” called Ferdynand from the doorway, “is regarding Lolek, yes?
“What is this client doing here? Are you totally incapable of running things properly on this ward?”
“He tell me he is going to do this thing. Is because of the war, you see. His both legs freeze in the war… It hurt so bad… so bad… and he no want walk no more so he cut them off but he born with the same legs, over and over…”
“He told you all this?”
“Yes, Doctor. In my home tongue, too!”
That is weirdly wonderful, Oonah.
Comment by jennifer walmsley — October 16, 2009 @ 2:40 pm
Good story, but being Polish and having grown up around many Polish people whose second language is English, I can get a bit picky. Borisov is NOT a Polish name, and a Polish immigrant would not say “home tongue”, among other things. Just nitpicking on accuracy, I like the whole idea and the story overall.
Comment by Clevinger — April 19, 2011 @ 1:52 am