Waiting For Sarah Read Free

pretending he was out.
    Occasionally he stayed in bed all day, doing nothing, and Norma would come home to find him curled up in a fetal position under the covers, or lying — still in his pajamas — with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He had very little to say, never asking his aunt how she was or how her workday had gone, nothing. He had no interest in anybody or anything.
    The walls of the apartment were becoming badly marked with scuffs and scrapes from the wheelchair and he was forever dropping glasses and plates. Norma pretended not to notice; according to the therapists it was all a part of Mike’s adjustment.
    He continued in this way for several months. When Norma’s friends came to the apartment for coffee and gossip Mike went to his room and closed the door. Sometimes Norma visited with other residents of the building, leaving a telephone number for Mike in case he needed her. He never did, even though he usually fell once or twice a day, in the bathroom usually, or sometimes from his wheelchair in the kitchen as he reached up to cupboards or shelves, then rescued himself with loud and angry curses.
    She surprised him one evening by inviting a friend, a pastor from the church. Mike knew what she was up to all right; this was obviously his aunt’s attempt to smuggle in a dose of spiritual guidance. The pastor’s name was Samuel Butterworth, and he tried to get Mike to talk about himself and the accident. He had silver-gray hair, wore small, round glasses and had the kind of twinkling blue eyes that invited confidences. Mike refused to talk to him, turning his back rudely and wheeling away to his room.
    Another evening Norma invited the woman from across the hall for herb tea. Mrs. Dhaliwal — Norma called her Dolly — had been Norma’s friend for many years, ever since (Norma later explained to Mike) it had fallen to Norma to deal with co-op neighbors’ complaints against the Dhaliwal family concerning the strong smell of curry on the third floor.
    Dolly Dhaliwal was short and plump and wore a bright flowing sari, mostly green and red, and brought with her not only the herb tea and a plate of sticky cakes but also a painted wooden box containing cards,dice, coins, incense, tiny bottles of oils, medallions, glass pyramids and other esoteric articles, all with the intention of foretelling Norma’s future.
    Mike, attracted to the cakes like a wasp to jam, stayed for tea. The aroma of the tea caused the apartment to smell like an eastern temple. Dolly began, not with Norma, but with Mike, surprising him by grasping his right palm, raising it to within a few inches of her sharp brown nose and staring down into it for several seconds. Then she said, “You have a yellow and green aura about you; lines here are full of joy. I see a wonderful future for you. Someone will come and bring you great happiness. You will see. It will be soon.”
    Mike didn’t believe in clairvoyance or prophecy or any of Mrs. Dhaliwal’s arts. It was all rubbish as far as he was concerned. “Thanks for the valuable information, Mrs. Dhaliwal,” he said, not bothering to conceal the sneer in his voice. “It’s good to know what a wonderful future I’ve got coming.” He took the last cake from the plate on the table and went off to his room.
    Later, after Mrs. Dhaliwal had gone, Norma was angry. “You were not very polite.”
    â€œI don’t believe all that fortune-telling stuff; it’s stupid.”
    â€œIt’s just for fun. There’s no harm in it.”
    â€œIt’s phony. Except for the cakes; they were okay.”
    â€œYou took too many.”
    He shrugged. “So what. Lighten up.”
    â€œYou don’t have to be so discourteous to my friends, Mike. That’s all I’ll say. The matter’s now closed.”
    â€œHow did you solve the problem of the curry smell?”
    â€œDolly solved it