Read Online Fay Weldon - Novel 23 by Rhode Island Blues (v1.1) - Free Book Online Page B

Felicity could bring her own
furniture in if she required though most Golden Bowlers chose to abandon the
material trophies of the past, the better to live in the present. She should
live very much as she lived at home. Various amiable and reasonably intelligent
persons passed us in the corridors, of whom only a small percentage had walking
frames, and one or two of the elderly gentlemen gave Felicity a second look.
That really pleased her. In the country of the blind the one-eyed man is king,
and in a nation-state such as the Golden Bowl Felicity would have more people
at hand to admire her than she would if she kept the company of those younger
than herself. We looked in at a Psychic Nourishment session in the Conservatory
- the soul needs nourishment as much as does the body, according to Dr Joseph
Grepalli, whom we were privileged to actually meet in his very grand offices.
He had the rooms above the Portico: the only suite to which stairs were
required. His wide windows looked out over the long rectangle of the lily pool.
There were learned books in his bookcase.
                 ‘We
are blessed by synchronicity, dear lady,’ said Dr Grepalli to Felicity. ‘Our
brochure comes through your letter box the very day your granddaughter arrives
from London: you make the decision to remake your life amongst others of like
mind, and our new Atlantic Suite, now converted from one of the libraries to
personal use, is ready for occupation. All these things are a good sign. As
Nurse Dawn will have told you there is already a long list of people waiting to
join our community, but if you would be good enough to fill in the
questionnaire, we’ll see what we can do, and we will let you know within the
next couple of weeks.’
                 He
was, even to me, an attractive man, broad-chinned, brighteyed, on the jowly
side. I like men a little fleshy, Kubricky. In fact, Dr Grepalli reminded me of
the abominable Krassner. Thinking back, it seemed strange to me now that I had
not joined the latter in my bed. My last sexual relationship had been over six
months previously, and that had been fleeting. My grandmother Felicity was
obviously impressed by Dr Grepalli. Her wrinkled eyelids drooped over her still
large, clear eyes. She actually fluttered her lashes, and moistened her lips
with her tongue and sat with her hands clasped behind her neck. She had not
read as many books on body language as I had, or heard so many directors
expound on it, or she would have desisted. She was in her mid-eighties, for
God’s sake, and forty years older than he.
                 To
be seen from Dr Grepalli’s side window, at a little distance from the main
villa, was a long, low building. Of this particular place we had not had a
guided tour. As I looked an ambulance drew up and a couple of men went inside
with a trolley, and a couple of nurses came out: the bleached, hard, noisy kind
you tend to find in places other than the Golden Bowl. Dr Grepalli decided the
sun was getting in our eyes and drew the net curtains between my eyeline and
the building. I didn’t ask him what went on in there. But obviously some old
people get Alzheimer’s: in the end some fall ill, some die. It can get
depressing for others. There would be some form of segregation: there would
have to be, to keep the fit in good cheer.
                 I
fought back my doubts. All this was too good to be true.
                 Dr
Grepalli and my gran3mother were having a conversation about the I Ching. Let the living and lively
respond to the living and lively, while they can. Joy gaped open-mouthed. I
don’t think she really understood what was going on, perhaps because she was
wearing her hearing aid again and unaccustomed sound came to her
undifferentiated.
                 ‘But
some of those people were chanting,’ she protested on the way home. ‘They were
all out of their minds. And did you see the potatoes in the kitchen?