So that is how they do it, Sara Karen thought. They leave you alone. Kind of throw you to the water to see if you can swim. No communication, no facts, just mystifying and crap. Strictly illegal, absolute shit, as it always has been. They don’t have any ethics or responsibility, so I’d call it conning… Criminal… Illegal… So should I complain? No, I won’t, but I’ll let them know my opinion one way or another! Professional crap is worse than anything else because it means ‘no selfrespect’. And that means no ambition, and that means losing with no attitude! Sad. Submission to pessimism and depression - why? I suppose because it is easier. You don’t have to feel guilt or responsibility, but just float on… No will of your own. Strange. What kind of life is that… Is it life or mere existence in a sort of vegetal state. Processes so slow they hardly exist. No, thank you, not for me! But that is exactly what they want. That I make a mistake so they can have their pervert feeling of power in degrading me and laughing at me. Childish and vindictive. And stupid. So what am I going to do? I wish I knew… I suppose I just have to be ten times better. Alone.
She ran her fingers through her hair and unconsciously straightened her back. She looked very fierce and very beautiful.
Myrte has a neighbour, an elderly woman, eccentric and to some extent a recluse. One day she comes to greet Myrte with some pastry and flowers. So Myrte invites her in and offers tea or coffee. She accepts coffee and so they have coffee with whipcream and pastries.
This is after Roy but before girls. In between.
Myrte explains how she inherited the house and has been doing reparations. She asks where Myrte is working as she seems to do irregular hours.
M: - Oh I am a doctor, a surgeon, in the university hospital, so the irregularity.
W: - I see. Rather a strange career for a woman.
M: - Why so? Do you think women’s brains are somehow differently built or functioning?
W: - No, not indeed, but the society tends to prefere certain kind of behaviour for women, certain jobs that do not include responsibility and decisions. But surgery is interesting as a visual adaptation, craft, if you understand.
M: - How… Yes, I think I see what you mean. And I could not be a psychiatrist, no, for I need substance, real things. Heh, blood and gut… Well, the humor is rather rough, you know. Or do you?
W: - Yes, actually I do. I have been working in a hospital, the same hospital as you now, some twenty or thirty years ago as a photographer for less than two years, and I got quite a good idea of the place including humour. It is necessary when there is death around to have humour and somehow it tends to be grim.
She is a rather small and delicately built with a pretty but wrinkled face, and an amused delighted smile lights her features.
M: - That is interesting! Photography is not really a womanly field either!
W: - No, you are right and I was not a real photographer, just had a good camera and took pictures. It was a coincidence that got me there. Another - male photographer - was supposed to do the job but he fell ill and as he knew me and considered me capable he recommended me. They had no time to search for another and so I got the job. It was very interesting. No women in operating theatre those days except nurses. And me sometimes…
M: - So you know the place? And what did you do there?
W: - Yes, I know the place, and there were some doctors who prefered me to take photographs. Most did not take photos and some did it themselves. If need be. Later, when patients started to complain, it became more popular to document operations, specially if something unexpected happened. As a proof or guarantee… Those days the surgeon still was an authority beyond doubt. But things did happen even then. Neatly covered and no questions asked.
M: - Yes, things do happen and sometimes I wonder why we do the job. There are so many little mistakes in every operation and so many accusations… Nothing really serious on my behalf yet, but sooner or later something shall happen… It is inevitable.
W: - But there are aways reasons… At least if you are not under influence… (laughs)
M: - No, I don’t think I’m the type. But tell me what did you photograph?
W: - Oh mostly eczemas and such. Special growths and tumours, deformities… Sometimes even open fractures and of ripped limbs… Odd tattoos, scars, all kinds.
M: - Must have been quite a view to … I can’t imagine, but my imagination has always been nonexistent. Imagination is no good for a doctor.
W: - No, you are right - to a certain extent: a good diagnostic needs imagination, but also control. The facts rule but imagination helps to create connections and new ways… Forgive my curiosity but what kind of operations you do?
M: - What kind… At the moment fractures and orthopedic, but i’d like to specialize in neurology.
W: - That is interesting - compares with bones. (She smiles like a conspirator.)
M: - Yes, and it is a quickly developing area - New things and exploration is always exiting.
W: - Though there are things in medicine I don’t like, like the medicalisation, you know: all yous feelings are just symptoms that need to be medicated, yes, and diagnosed… Seems to be so great to have a Latin name for ordinary sorrow…
M: - That’s just what I meant with psychiatry, not my piece of bread. It is just too mystifying and I’m too concrete. It always makes me feel sick when I think of children and .. well, for example Ritalin… Children should not be given such medication. They should have people and loving care… Nobody cares and nobody has time for children…
W: - Oh people always think that when they have this or that… But the grass is not greener on the other side. We should better understand the value of time and how to use it… You don’t get it back, neither time nor children… You know I did some photos of children too. Those deformed, born with some ghastly faults like anenkefalus or spina bifida.
M: - Have you actually seen an anenkefalus? I thought they were so rare…
W: - Actually I have seen and photographed three separate cases. It was really odd, but during two years there were three born and one lived for a whole week with just basic care.
M: - Gosh, that’s unbelievable! Do you know if there was a reason?
W: - It was speculated, but nothing definite - a rare coincidence. They were from different places, of different ages… No, nothing special. Really bad luck for those poor women and their families. I don’t think the babies suffered though…
M: - How did we come to this morbidity?
W: - My fault, dear, and my reminiscing. The hospital was such a complex and vast place - must be still more so today! I remember in the beginning how I had to wander round searching for different wards… It really is like a huge body the lifelines in tunnels underneath and the ward’s up in storeys. Everything, archives, laboratories, obduction room… And the animals in that building near the bomb shelter - there were sheep!
M: - Really? I don’t know at all about such. Animal testing, of course. Have some more coffee and there is cream too!
W: - Just a little, then I have to be going! You are delightful, dear and I hope to see you drinking coffee in my kitchen some day! I still have those films!
M: - How come? I’d imagine they’d belong to the hospital?
W: - Oh that was interesting: they made copies! I have the copyrights but they have the right to use and print them, with my permission - that was the law then. Nowadays I suppose they own everything. And I even used my own camera!
My way is the old way, the way things were done before time was born. And that is… No agreement ever held. I remember them all, the boys that knew everything. They were so sure, so right, so cocky… Well, most of them are dead now. I never was their servant, even if that was the meaning. No, I serve only one, truth, if it exists, or even if it does not exist. The idea of truth is a necessary goal, hypothetically. Keeps everything in perspective. The old way is the way of body, not the way of words. The way of wholeness, not just ideas. You have to live things through, yes, until they are a part of you. No fear, it is only life I am talking about, life, love,loyalties… death in the end… You are loyal to yourself, no compromise in that, no self betrayal. And you are loyal to your children… That can be argued, of course, to what extent. And what about love, marriage, country… That I know nothing about, nothing at all. Never met a man to love, just masters and social bullies. Pity, though. The way of all flesh. Not bad. So far. I’m still alive and kicking. And intend to stay.
No money, no food, just unpaid bills,poverty and stupid hope… No way.
This society is based on human rights. Do you have them? Well, rather few do. No, you just concentrate in your own hopes and dreams, and remember, that no-one is right, no-one knows any better than you, and love your work, not unconditionally, but with healthy criticism.
Oana stared at the stuff in front of her and thought she was raving mad. Quiet smile crept to the left side of her face and she felt happy curiosity. She’d have a mug of coffee before starting, or actually she could bring the coffee here and start with it…
Yes, this could be a series. I’ve known it all along, but as I don’t like tv I have denied it in my conscious mind. But a series is an idea, not tv! Just have to overcome the connections and start from a clean table…
A series, yes - of four girls, - the brilliant brain of Sara Karen and also her puritan view of justice, - the ability of putting to practice of Myrte, her operational and strategic thinking, - the field of interest and study of Penny, still young and curious open mind, biochemistry and neurobiology, chemical meddling with brains, - and then the practical, emphatic Oana.
There is the pilot, where they get together. Myrte does her revenge and SK has practiced her justice by executing the sleek torturer. They have the house as an operational bade, and each part, or two hours (?) could be a different case starting from something one of them has noticed, seen or experienced, and dealing with moral, justice and abuse of human beings. By medicine or medication, or deception in study or such.
They have sinned, Myrte and SK, so they easily recognize the patterns of lies and deception, and then they hunt, relentlessly. The series could bring up some very important sides concerning ‘mind medication’ and careless or intentionally wrong…. Especially concerning children: Ritalin and other pills are widely used to control behaviour earlier claSsified as curious, intelligent, creative but normal, and why, - because the kids are so stressing, demanding…
How did it go… “The weak revenge, the strong forgive and the intelligent take no notice…”
At that time life seemed to be like a strong black current and we all were floating in the water as best we could…
And Myrte was a pool in the stream, or rather the house was, and we all drifted there one way or the other. We were horribly hurt and suffering and vindictive, and Myrte, - well, in a way she gave us life and shelter, but one could also say she used us… I don’t know…
R - Your opinion of me changed rather radically, why?
M - You ask? You are a hypocrite and a traitor of the worst kind….
R - You mean Laura and the kids? Everybody does that, and you know it. Don’t be naive!
M - It is my right to be naive, rather naive than overpowering and conning… That somehow is the most distasteful of all. Life of lies, why? Why can’t you even try? Your kids? They’ll know, and it’ll make them fail too. Nothing to respect, nothing to achieve, nothing… That is you! Nothing…
R - I was always on a better mood after I had done something. Laura liked it. And the boys too.
M - So that’s your defense? Easier to slip than stay and use honest methods? Fair play?
R - I suppose that’s how it started, and it was really easier!
I did not want to quarrel or drink or eat or become a sportsman… I have always had my way with people, and they like me - nothing wrong in being social, is there?
M - Being social does not mean deceiving the wife. No, promises of that level are meant to be kept!
R - It just happened, one night, you know. Yes, you know because that is what you do all the time!
M - No, I don’t.
R - Yes, you do! You spend nights with me as randomly as I do! And I bet you’d spend nights with some other pleasing guy when I’m away…
M - Yes, that is true, but there is a slight difference: I have not promised anyone to remain faithful - and that is a big difference! I’m not betraying anyone, not even myself! Responsibility is undivided and I do acknowledge that as a fact! Betraying a trust is as severe as if someone would deliberately make a mistake or sabotage a surgery!
R - Now you are mixing everything…
M - Hah! But now is your viagra time! You swallow and all is well, and just think of the alternative…
She puts the pill in his mouth and gives him a sip of water, and obediently he swallows.
Myrte came to the room. Silently. He was sleeping. On the old matrass with the wool blanket drawn close but not covering his body. She felt a thug in her guts.
Slowly she advanced closer, het feet bare and making no sound. She heard him breathing. His face was so innocent, beautiful, and she knelt beside him. With her mouth slightly open she ran her finger on his lips, warm and yielding. Her vulva contracted. She felt the wanting as sheer physical pain through her body, convulsing and plain, need of flesh, touch… His mouth was warm, opening, receiving her finger, sucking it. She gasped and started to take off her clothes.
He kept his eyes shut and his body deftly responded to her every move and touch. She loved the taste of his sweat, his involuntary jerks, his subdued rage and desperation… Cool indifferent light gazed the room afterwards…
Myrte kills her lover, betrayed by him, in cold blood and calculating rage torturing him for weeks slowly to his death. During the slow torture Roy begins to change. He starts to enjoy it, her undivided attention, the way she makes love to him every day time after time with the help of viagra if not otherwise. He wants it and submitting is his way to love her. He accepts the death by her hand and swears to be her eager and trustworthy servant in all her needs now and ever after.
She them buries him in the appleorchard west of the house, and plants a tree on his grave. Yet he does not leave her mind, but tortures her imagination at nights, and during the long dark evenings of the autumn and winter. She plays music in her dimly lit room, and dances watching the shadows and reflections move. She is chained to the idea of a man who loved her slowly erasing the memory of betrayer and starting to enjoy her ‘dreamlover’. The dead guy lives with her in the house: She has conversations with his wraith and even manages to see his habitus as transparent image while he walks with her and talks with her, and even once watches her making love with an other guy. He is her consolation on lonely mornings…
So she is not willing or able to meet any new people, least of all willing men, and accepts that knowing that Roy would slowly fade and vanish by time. In the library she meets Sara Karen, young dark slip of a woman with all the world’s sorrow in her eyes… exploring music for the first time, and then again next day exploring books. The second coincidential meeting makes them both smile quite involuntarily, and they start to discuss. First the books and stories, emotions… they go to have a glass of wine and continue, and meet again.
'At that time life seemed to be like a strong black current and we all were floating in the water as best we could…'
And Myrte was a pool in the stream, or rather the house was. And they all drifted there one way or the other. First in moved Sara Karen, who wanted a change to her life. She got the upstairs long corner room with a lot of windows and light. She had few pieces of furniture and a lot of books, and slowly with great care she built her room to suit her personal needs. In the end it was a fascinating surroundings with subdued color range of off-white, shades of grey and some black, and enchanting atmosphere of femininity. Sara also dressed mainly in grey, white and black, a slender figure with an iron will behind the delicate features.
Myrte inherits a house and moves into it in spring planning to stay perhaps just for the summer, because the house is old and hopelessly large and unpractical. Myrte has qualified as a doctor of medicine some years before and gets a job, a really good job as a younger surgeon in the local university hospital. She is specializing in surgery so this is just what is needed! And the house just outside the town is perfectly situated and on a peaceful spot: no neighbours to be seen.
The house is fairly empty, just some random furniture, old and some rather queer. She thinks the house is beautiful with a large verandah and a lot of big windows, and chooses one of the rooms for her bedroom. And also as a livingroom/workspace - the other room in use is the big kitchen and the hall and bathroom. The rest can stay unoccupied and cold, no need for more. The house needs renovation, - labour camp for the rest of her life and a black hole for money, she deducts and buys a little red car. Lovely spring so far.
And in the weekend Myrte meets the man of her life. Handsome and clever with a sense of humour - unknown specimen! He has a bike and a shearling raf pilot jacket, cute dark eyes and slightly curling dark hair… The guy is in the house already during the next weekend and the big old bed gets to enjoy a good airing. They hardly bother to get up except for work or a romantic bath with some wine. Even eating happens in bed with a tray! Eclectic ecstacy, that by the end of the week makes Myrte feel a bit sick. No, not that - she is on the pill, but such euphoria just can’t go on for long, and she is subconsciously afraid of withdrawal symptoms.
She met Roy in the hospital restaurant, they sat in the same table and he is a technician checking the chemistry equipment at the physiology department. He is there just occasionally and lives in another city some 200 km away. He comes regularly to check the machines and also installs the new ones as he knows the system. This time his job will take some days, and off he goes again. Next day they meet again in the restaurant and he asks her out. They have a walk and a little supper in a chinese restaurant before ending in her house. Myrte finds it a bit surprising that she accepts him so quickly, but he has some charm.
After the week together the guy Roy clears off promising to return in a short while. Myrte googles him but finds just the expected and ordinary. In the hospital she has a spare moment and runs his name through the system and archive. And there is some catch - nothing specially wrong with Roy, just a broken arm and a cut by a rusty iron plate, but the search links to two women, both married to Roy, and the other also divorced, and a daughter with Roy she has. The other seems still to be married with him and they have two sons. Myrte checks the address and decides not to fight the facts.
Again she spends the weekend with Roy and this time they have some paint and brushes along. She doesn’t talk or ask anything from him of his family just observing him silently. It becomes obvious that he has no intention to reveal his other life to Myrte. Apart from that he seems to be balanced and sincere. During the next weekend she tells him she ‘has to go to see a friend in another town and if they could see again the next weekend’, and he agrees to this. But she lied and goes to check his address that he shares with the wife and family. There is the enthusiastic father playing with his children.
In the evening Myrte is enjoying some tea and a book full of suspense, when Roy’s bike rumbles to the yard. Passionately stormy sex and he is gone. Myrte’s sleep is deep and peaceful. Roy makes it his habit to visit her at night and a couple of weeks pass…