Chapter Thirty Eight
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky. Number 38. The Red Reticule.
Before Chapter Thirty Eight
The Epilogue will be posted sometime this week.
Murder, the Great Matter, the neighbors, Susan and even Jane are involved in the life of Mrs. Geesky. In a way, many had a relationship with Mrs. Geesky. Did each relationship impact the end of her life?
Relationships are considered at a minimum of one person with another person. In other words, there is you and the other. But that does not explain what occurs between yourself and the other. It is the space between one and the other that is often overlooked and often not considered. We tend to focus on the phenomenal world and not on the noumenon.
What does anyone really know of the other?
We mostly form ideas and opinions based on our senses - we form an opinion or understanding of the other. This approach is basically self-centered.
IF we go beyond the phenomenal world of material things, we see from an unadorned, yet higher plain. Mostly, however, we do not see the other from a higher place in our relationship with the other. The reason is that WE WANT SOMETHING THAT WE WANT FROM THE OTHER. Study yourself. Notice how you want something that you want from the other!
To form relationships around the noumenon is rare. It requires that you and the other know a spiritual source that is mutually understood.
In this story we saw Jane want something that she wanted from Mrs. Geesky.
The neighbors wanted something that they wanted from Mr.s Geesky to the point they wanted to scare her into subsmission to get what they wanted. (Have you ever threatened anyone to get what you wanted?)
We see Mrs. Geesky right at the beginning admit to the murder of her baby sister. She saw this as help for her parents. She wanted something to help her parents so that she would get what she wanted.
Susan wants nothing from anyone who may show up in her shop. She is with the other with nothing in it for her. She listens, offers what she has to offer freely to whomever shows up.
Chapter Thirty Eight - The Morning After
Unsteady on her feet but not confused Susan observes the silence of the dead and decides to text Jane from the hospice waiting room. Before she walks away, alone, she paws through her pockets looking for what might be a helping hand besides her own.
‘Jane is watching Loretta and waiting to hear from me.’ Susan assures herself as she prepares to wait for one of the armed guards to escort her back through the tunnel to the dome-ceilinged lobby.
‘Getting ready to leave hospital. Can u meet me at the shop?’
First, the shwoosh sound followed by more silence. More waiting. Susan leans back on one of the old lumpy couches in the hospice waiting room and closes her eyes. The muscles in her back seem to descend to a once occupied place along her spine; her breath runs along the front of her body pulling her shoulders downward.
‘She died. She’s dead.’ Susan goes back over it and begins to see an image of her own chest where light and the shadows of light outline what she thinks are her lungs and ribs. When her phone buzzes in her hand the image slips away and disappears.
‘Yes. I’ll meet u there. What time?’
‘Time?’ Susan sits forward on the low seat of the couch puzzled by the detachment to time that slipped away with the shadowy outline of her chest. She turns toward the misted windows. Searching for some appearance outside that resembles time. She hears a familiar voice behind her say, “Ma’am? The guard is on her way.”
Startled, she jumps shaking her head up and down. “How long have I been here?” She blurts out before Phoebe retreats.
“All night ma’am. All night.” The nurse spies at Susan and spots she is fatigued. “Maybe a quick cup of tea before you leave?”
Susan discovers more of her ground and waves off the suggestion. “No. Thank you. Someone is meeting me.”
“OK, ma’am.”
With her phone in hand she texts Jane.
‘2 hours. Bring Loretta and food. Please.’
‘Ok. Coffee?’
Susan exhales. ‘no coffee 4 me.’
‘ok food. No tea 4 me. send a text when u r close.’
‘ok.’
Phoebe returns unnoticed and in a soft careful voice announces. “Ma’am the guard was in the morgue. She’s come for you.”
Susan gets up and thanks the nurse. “Thank you. Yes. Thank you.” Before she can say more the nurse assures her they will take care of things from here.
The guard is waiting at the bottom of the stairs and explains to her that she will go first. Emptied out, Susan remains silent and follows.
The tunnel is colder. The condensation on the walls and ceiling more pronounced. The caged lights above are dimmed.
“Watch your step.” The guard cautions. “It’s a bit slippery. At this hour the hospital tries to save money and turns off some of the overheads.”
Susan signals she understands then asks, “How are the roads?”
“I don’t know ma’am. I have been here all night. The storm is over. But the parking lot still looks a mess. But don’t worry. Someone will get your car out for you.”
Susan wraps her coat around her chest and pulls the collar up across her ears.
The guard straightens her gear as she turns and leads Susan out of the tunnel.
When they reach the lobby doors the guard reassures Susan to ask for help from one of the valets as she pushes open the door. The lobby is nearly empty. The few volunteers behind the information counter look up for a moment as Susan stands in front of the tunnel doors. ‘They know.’ Susan senses as they lowered their eyes.
There are more black mats and orange traffic cones scattered under the rounded ornate ceiling. The cathedral fashioned lobby is harsh and unkind compared to the darkness outside. Everything is under inspection below the high placed lights overhead. The cracks, the wear and tear of age and the dried drab marks along the black and white parquet floor stand out in the tiring bare light. Susan lifts her head upward and strains to see the elaborate sculptures settled and tucked in above.
With a deep inhale she moves towards the exit doors and feels happy to be alive. She wants to hurry, to get on the road, to get back to her shop and Loretta and Jane. Seized by this sudden shift to leave she realizes, ‘I’m famished.’
The snow, even the ice seems less a threat and surmountable. Before she exits through to the porte-cochere she stops and turns and looks back at the two doors. ‘There’s a tunnel through those two doors that leads to the County morgue and hospice.’
‘A colossal pile of snow!’ Susan exclaims to herself. ‘The parking lot is covered in a cold icy paste.’ But the air is clear and offers itself to her. The valet with the missing front teeth motions for her with his hand as she removes a glove and rummies through her pocket for the smeared inky slip of paper. ‘He’s been here all night.’ She thinks as she hands him the unreadable stub. Stay put he motions with his hands letting her know he knows where he put her car. ‘The roads look shoveled and salted.’ She observes hoping her trip home would be smooth sailing.
The shop is dark. Cold. Susan pushes and shoves her body against the frozen back door to loosen the clenched ice along the wood frame.
“God.” She mutters aloud as she runs her gloved hand along the back wall in search of the light switch.
“Oh God.” Along with her accursed cry, she shakes her shoulders and stomps one foot after the other as she decides to leave her coat and boots on. ‘My fingers are frozen stiff,’ she sympathizes with her old speckled beet hand as she hunts for the overhead wall switch in her office. “Ugh!” She groans as the light bears down against the dull cold dawn gloom. Hassled by the brightness she stumbles toward the table lamp and pulls the hanging light cord. “Ah. That’s better.” Pleased with herself she turns off the overhead. Before she goes to put the kettle on she sits down and texts Jane in some superstitious hope.
‘Arrived safely at the shop. Come now. Hungry.’
‘On my way.’
With expectation she gets up and turns up the heat. ‘Tea? Yes. Tea.’ Without delay she turns the kettle on and sets out a rose style, gold trimmed teacup and saucer. ‘Oh. Milk. Hope I have some milk.’ The old radiators begin to clang and rattle as the heat rises together with a distinct smell of burnt dust. In an effort to revive herself she pats her still chilled hands along her arms. When she finds the milk in the fridge in the office closet the carton is open but it is not soured. Composure returns enough for her not to pace with hunger.
There in the lamp light, in the old black leather chair with a cup of milky hot tea and the sound and smell of the steam from the radiators Susan waits. Another silence comes, this one calmer and closer. With each sip and click she alights on a thought, an image….sometimes a feeling until she rests her mind on the couch across from her.
‘She left the letter.’ The image settles in her eye as she sees it there jutted up and folded alone. Susan is used to her thoughts and watches them come and go. Some things are less keen to show form, others are zealous and razor sharp. All of them alleged; Mrs. Geesky’s so-called murder confession, the suspected guilt of Mrs. Baines and never saying good bye to Samuel in the hospital. Less and less, there are those combative ones of for and against.
It all is a possibility as she opens her eyes and imagines each one sitting across from her; closing her eyes they disappear.
‘Wounded people,’ she works out, ‘pick their wounds thinking it will heal them – it becomes a ritual, a way of life. Making them nearly unreachable.’ She blinks. The light from the lamp still overtakes the light through the window.
‘With Mrs. Geesky it was the worse. She was unreachable. Whatever makes us accessible was missing for her.’ Susan latches onto her views trying to distinguish what happened. We were both each one’s other. She there, me here. The space between was damaged. Her drawbridge was long ago destroyed. The moat filled with such strange things. She was both dangerous and remote.
When she swallows the last of her tea she reflects on a glistening trail of thoughts across her mind. A revealing telltale forms. ‘I never read the whole of Les Mis,’ she confesses with amusement. ‘Who has? And yet, I know what’s important. I know the turn of it, the crux of the matter.’
Before she continues, she rubs her sore aching fingers one finger at a time. The chill lessens, helping her old skin return to a pale opaque color. She decides to use the bathroom behind the lavender door, to run hot water on them. Her reflection in the mirror is tired and gray. She brushes her white, wavy hair with the fingers of her hands then washes her face to revive her red rimmed eyes. ‘I’m famished.’ She reminds herself as she returns to her office, to Les Mis. Before she sits back down into her old shape in the worn leather, she hears a voice.
“Hey! Open up! My hands are full. Hey! We are at the backdoor.”
The solitude ends with a grunt from Susan as she jumps up to help Jane at the backdoor. There’s a clamor of knocks and pushes against the iced door jamb accompanied by warnings from Jane’s voice to Loretta to stay seated.
“Oh, my goodness!” Susan meets them with surprise as she opens the door. “What on earth did you buy?” She asks as she looks at the stacks of white takeout trays balanced with one arm against Jane’s camelhair coat. “Take something!” Jane insists. “Anything. There’s coffee in the bag and Loretta’s leash is tangle around my wrist.”
“OK. OK.” As a rule Loretta is obedient and Susan is calm. Both of them are hungry and anxious.
Once unleashed Jane reminds Susan. “Well….you said you were hungry.”
“I am. I am.” Susan confirms.
“You better be. I have three entrees. Big Boy pancakes and sausage. Scrambled eggs, bacon. Hash browns. English muffin. NO butter. I ordered a triple burger with everything. I almost got you a milk shake.”
Once in the hallway Loretta greets Susan with yipping and twirling around her legs and then a long run and sniff through the shop.
“Well, she’s happy to see you.” Jane says as if Loretta was the only one feeling glad.
“You are, too.” Susan speaks the obvious. Both women are glad to be together.
Susan makes offers to heat Jane’s coffee in the microwave in the office and suggests they eat in the waiting room.
“Has Loretta eaten?”
“No. I…. I….”
“Don’t worry, I keep food for her here.’
Once Loretta is fed Susan begins to open each takeout tray. They are jumbo size and packed full. “You weren’t kidding when you said Big Boy.”
Jane laughs and comments. “You said you were hungry.”
“I am I am. I’ve been up all night.”
In silence Susan lines up the trays in front of her to determine how she would divide up the portions. After a short struggle of with restraint she gets up without a word and returns with plates and silverware which she stacks on the coffee table. Each tray is laid open as she pokes, separates and cuts pancakes, eggs, bacon into halves and stacks each plate with equal portions. Finding the table knife she saws through the English muffin and the loaded triple burger and motions to Jane to take half of each. There’s enough food for a family of six.
After Susan pours some sticky liquid that passes for maple syrup onto the heap she licks her fingers and in genuine glee picks up her plate and continues to eat with her fingers as she forgets Jane is sitting there.
Jane watches until she can’t avoid saying, “I don’t ever remember seeing you eat like this before!”
Susan ignores her until she is more than half way through her plate full of food. It’s then she notices Jane sitting there watching. Right before she swallows a mouthful of food, she stops and mumbles as she gestures with her fork, “Dig in.”
“I wasn’t sure if you needed some of what you gave me?”
Susan stops. Looks at her plate. Then at Jane. “I’ve been up all night. Drove through one hell of a storm.”
“Hey, I am not judging here. But you do seem like you’re starving.”
“I am. Well, I’m not now. Thank you for bringing the food and looking after Loretta.”
“No problem. She’s easy to take care of. But when you’re finished with your feast maybe you’ll tell me what made you go to County in such a hell of a storm?”
Susan groans still chewing part of the burger which she washes down with some lukewarm tea. There was no use holding to much modesty. She wipes her mouth with a napkin. Restored she says, “I went to see someone in hospice.”
“Anyone I know?”
In a dilatory pause Susan takes another swig of tea, pats her lips with the end of the napkin and sits back.
“It’s not an easy answer.”
Eager for an answer Jane persists. “Yes it is Susan. Either I know the person or I don’t.”
“Fair enough.”
Jane picks up her plate as a small conciliation to Susan’s propensity to delay and begins to nibble at her food. Susan ponders in silence on how she might explain the ties between Mrs. Geesky, Jane, and herself. Jane again is blunt.
“Oh no. Don’t start on one of your round the mulberry bush stories. It’s too early. You’re tired. I’m tired. Hungry. Don’t be mysterious. God help us, don’t tell me a story. I brought Loretta. I brought you a feast.” Jane waves her plate over the table. “Which you seemed to love. Now tell me why you drove down to County? Tell it straight Susan.”
Jane knows Susan is unable to tell it straight, but she makes an honest effort to corral her.
“Thank you, Jane.” Susan says good-natured. Jane clicks her fork on the edge of her plate as way to tell Susan to get on with it.
Both women hear a snowplow rumble down in front of the shop; it makes the sound of metal scraping against the pavement.
“I told you about a woman who wanted a good note from a doctor?”
“Oh gawd.” Jane interrupts. “Yes, you did.”
“And you told me about a woman who caused a traffic jam.”
“What? Yes. I did.” Jane stops eating and holds her plate of food under her chin.
“Well, they, the woman who wanted the good note and the woman who caused the traffic jam are one in the same person.”
Jane lowers the plate to her lap. “Don’t tell me! Really?”
“I am telling you. It’s the same woman. A Mrs. Geesky.”
Jane wants Susan to get to the whole story but can’t hold back. She blurts out. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“I am not kidding Jane. That’s who I went to see at the County hospice.”
Jane is at a loss for words. She shakes her head back and forth as she loses her appetite for what is left her plate on her lap.
“How did this happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how did you know this Mrs. Geesky?”
Susan hesitates and stares at Jane. Confused. Uncertain. “I just told you. She is the woman who came to get a good note from a doctor. The same one who held up traffic on the street.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“I don’t know.” Susan looks at Jane not understanding. “Jane I just told you.”
Jane sets the plate on the table shifting Susan’s plate out of the way. Jane remains hesitant and dubious. She continues with another question. “How did you find out this woman, this Mrs. Geesky was in hospice?”
“Another woman told me.”
“Who is this other woman? And why would she tell you Mrs. Geesky was in the hospice?”
“She just did.”
“Oh, my gawd. You’re not going to tell me. You’re not, are you?”
Susan stares at her empty plate in front of her and begins to clear away the dishes.
“Susan are you going at least tell me what happened last night?”
“She died.”
Jane repeats. “She died.”
“Yes. She died.”
Jane looks at Susan full of uncertainty. “What did she die from?”
“A massive stroke.”
Jane stands up and begins to pace back and forth. Loretta wakes up and begins to groan. She clasps her hands together and looks down at Susan. “You don’t know, do you?”
Susan looks up at Jane baffled by her question and says. “I told you what I know. She died of a massive stroke. That’s what I know.”
Jane continues to pace. “Yes. I know. You just said that. She died of a massive stroke. But you haven’t told me who told you. And why you went to see her.”
Jane continues to pace back and forth and Susan watches her. They remain in silence thinking about what each one knows.
“A massive stroke?” Jane affirms with some tentative authority. “Susan?” she says as she sits back down and asks, “do you remember me telling you about the neighborhood meeting? The one I was invited to….”
Susan remembers but doesn’t understand the change in topic. “Of course. You were worried it was about you or Dee Dee living in your backyard?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Well those meetings were about this Mrs. Geesky. The woman you went to see. The one who died last night.” Jane leans forward pressing herself towards Susan.
Susan feels a sense of gossip or rumor or some disgrace but isn’t able to put together the picture. “What do you mean meetings? There was more than one?”
“Yes. The first meeting was about this woman. This Mrs. Geesky. Didn’t I tell you? I thought I told you.”
Susan more confused by the pieces feels stumped.
“I left the second one. It was too weird to believe. They were planning to scare this Mrs. Geesky into shape.”
Confounded Susan raises her hand. “Wait, Jane. You’ve lost me. The woman I saw last night died.” Susan stops. “She was the topic of one of your neighborhood meetings?”
“Yes.”
Bemused. “What does that….what does she have to do with….wait….this woman, Mrs. Geesky died last night. Jane, what are you trying to tell me?”
Full of seriousness, Jane tracks the point. “Like I said, you don’t know, do you?”
“That’s obvious, Jane.”
With an awkward glance Jane fumbles to put the pieces together. “OK. OK. The first neighborhood meeting wasn’t about me. It was about this woman, this Mrs. Geesky. Apparently she’s been….was….a nuisance in the neighborhood. Stupid, juvenile stuff. The neighbors got together to hash out how they could stop her. At the first meeting the hostess, a Mrs. Baines kept insisting they stay within the law in whatever they decided to do. Basically they decided to protect their properties and maintain a watchful status quo.”
Susan carefully listens to Jane but still has not made any connection to Mrs. Geesky’s death. “OK. I remain in the dark. I don’t see the seriousness of the meeting.”
“No you wouldn’t. It’s the second meeting. That’s the one that gets out of hand. This woman, this Mrs. Geesky hit a kid on a bike. And blamed the parents. The kid was taken to the hospital.”
Surprised. “You went to the second meeting?”
Uncomfortable. “I did. I know. I know. I wish I hadn’t.” Jane leans back against the back of the couch. “Things went too far in the second meeting. The kid was the last straw. A man got up and came up with a way to stop this woman.”
“You’re not saying they….”
“No. No. Let me just tell you.”
Susan ill-at-ease. “Ok.”
“Yes. Well….some guy got up and said it was something they did in Japan to straighten out bad kids. The so-called leader, Mrs. Baines kept saying it was OK to do something as long as it was within the law. The gist of the idea was to scare the woman in the hopes she’d stop doing all the crazy stuff she did. To scare her into behaving. Everyone seems keen to go along with this harebrain idea.”
“To scare her?”
“Yes. But an old Jewish woman got up and said it might be lawful to scare someone here on earth but it wasn’t ok to scare someone according to the law of heaven. She was something else. Adamant. Thankfully she spoke up. That’s when I left. The rest of them were planning on going through with it. They wanted to stop her.”
“Stop her?”
“They wanted to stop her from causing so much trouble in the neighborhood.”
Susan sat and listened. With very little to go on she put the pieces together then asks, “Are you saying they caused the stroke?”
“According to Dee Dee the neighbors who did it are all upset. Riddled with guilt.”
“Dee Dee? Was DeeDee there?”
“No. DeeDee hears the gossip on the street. She told me that most of the neighbors are whispering with guilt and shame. They all know she had a massive stroke. And they’ve pt two and two together. Scaring her caused the stroke!”
Discomfited Susan mulls over in silence what she knows.
“But you didn’t know any of this? Why on earth did you go and see her?”
“I found out Mrs. Geesky forged the good note.”
“What? Susan what are you talking about? Forged a letter? What letter?”
“She forged a good note from a doctor.”
“Did she tell you she forged a letter.”
“Not exactly. She blamed me. She told me I wrecked her life. She lost her job.”
Tongue-tied Jane tries to follow what Susan revealed. She mumbles. “The neighbors scare her. Now a letter? A forged letter? She lost her job. You blame yourself. NO! Wait. YOU blame me. That’s what you’ve been hinting at. Because I told you to put the word doctor on your front window. Oh, my gawd.”
So very little to go on both women feel clumsy and incompetent. They struggle to resolve things. In a coarse rough way Susan lists what she now knows in silence.
“She killed her baby sister. She got into some hot water at work. Needed a note from a doctor. Ongoing trouble with her neighbors. Hit a kid on a bike. She lost her job? Neighbors scare her. Did they scare her to death? Did they cause the stroke? Does that make them culpable?”
Jane stews in her own liability. She cries out. “You went to see her because you thought you were responsible for her stroke. For putting the word doctor on the window. For not writing her a good note. But that makes me to blame, doesn’t it? I told you to use the word doctor. ” Her words twist her into asking again.
“Why did you go and see her?”
“Jane I told you. She forged a letter. She used my name. Doctor Susan Belle.
“DO you feel you caused her stroke?”
“I don’t know? She lost her job. I think she lost her job because I didn’t write the good note.”
“But you didn’t cause her to need a good note.”
This last sentence turns the matter.
“Does everyone feel they caused her stroke? You? Now somehow me? The whole neighborhood? Those that scared her? I didn’t try to stop the neighbors. I left. The neighbors believe they did her in. Dee Dee assures me. Many of them are a mess.”
Pokerfaced Susan states. “We all feel guilt. We all in our own way feel as though we had something to do with her death.”
“I’m not saying I feel I caused her death. I’m saying you might think I had something to do with it. The most I’d admit to is that I meddled in your business here in the shop. But I can assure you it was with good intention.”
“Wasn’t everyone acting with good intention? I didn’t want her to use a fraudulent note to secure her job. It might’ve made things worse for her. The neighbors wanted her to stop being a troublemaker.”
“I think you’re being too nice Susan. I don’t know. Maybe we all acted out of some selfish reason.”The good note might have gotten you into hot water. The neighbors were at their wits end. She hit a kid, for pity sake. Odd now when I think about it. The old woman, the Jewish woman was the only one to escape culpability.”
“How do you figure that?”
“She claimed some higher law. Some law of heaven. It’s not a law I ever heard before but when I heard it, I knew I had to get out of there.”
Composed. Susan looks at Jane. “It’s Sister Simplice.” She says with unworldly affection. “I remember she lies to Detective Javert to save the fugitive, Jean Val Jean. It is an admirable abiding in the unheard laws of heaven, not the laws of the land that matters. Not like Kausika, the Hindu sage who never could tell the difference between milk and water.”
Jane wades in to Susan’s pool of thought. “Sister Simplice I know. The nun from Les Mis who was famous for never telling a lie and becomes a saint by telling one.”
Susan laughs. “According to Victor Hugo.”
“He convinced me.” Jane says with confidence. “But who is this Kausika guy?”
“I thought you didn’t want to hear any of my mulberry bush stories?”
“I don’t. Don’t go on and on about it.”
Susan gets up suddenly and hurries down the hall. After a few minutes she returns with a book in hand. “I know I marked the passage.” She says as she flips and pages through the book. “Ah!” she says with satisfaction. “Mr. Buck says it best.” Jane a bit agitated begs her to just read it. “Ok. Ok. Hold your horses.” Susan clears her throat and with the best voice she can manage she reads aloud.
“Kausika the brahmana, who is now roasting in Hell, set his heart upon Virtue and in all his life never told a lie, even in jest. Once, having seen their helpless victim run past him and hide, Kausika, sitting there where the rivers meet, answered the thieves, "That way."
Jane’s face clouds over. Her body softens; almost limp she looks at Susan who remains standing with book in hand. “Wait a minute. You mean this Kausika guy gave up an innocent man for the sake of keeping his virtue never to lie?”
In a natural mockery of life’s confounding stories Susan laughs, a silly light-hearted chuckle. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” She says closing the book.
“I don’t know about perfect….” Jane stares at Susan with a puzzled look. “All I want to know is…. does it mean….” she waves her long arms in a wide circle, “we need to call the police or not?”
Saddened to set down her light-heartedness, Susan asks with a serious look on her face, “What do you mean?”
“Do we need to turn someone in? That’s what I mean.”
Susan frowns. “And who would that be, Jane?”
Jane shrugs. “I don’t know. The neighbors? Mrs. Baines? Me? You? All of us?”
Susan begins to laugh as she moves to a lofty mindset. “I think the police can’t help --- it’s not a matter for the police. Something else is happening here, Jane.”
The police aren’t up to it, Jane. Something else altogether is going on here.”
“And what else might that be Susan?” Jane asks with some disdain.
“Jane! It’s all about an old story. Old stories told over and over again. That’s what it is.”
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