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Authors: Pauline Fisk
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insisted. She couldnât even hobble to the toilet without help.
Abren didnât want to help the old woman, but with the boy threatening to drag himself off his sickbed and do it instead, she had little choice. In the mornings, she made up a fire. Then she fed Old Sabrina out of what the boy called the âBest-by-End-of Chestâ â a rat-proof metal box with a tight lid, into which he put the food heâd either bought with cash or scrounged out of bins. Then she bathed the old womanâs face and hands and blotchy feet. Then she tidied up her birdâs nest of white hair â though why she bothered she didnât know, because it was always messy minutes later.
Then she stayed close by, dancing attendance should Old Sabrina need to be taken to the rusty-chained toilet or require more fuel on the fire. She brought food when the bell rang, and even chased spiders out of the old womanâs lap when they started makingwebs as if she were a dead object, not a person. And she tried to talk to the old woman.
In this last effort, Abrenâs time was wasted more than in any other. Old Sabrina obviously didnât want any conversation. She wouldnât look at Abren, let alone answer any of her questions about who she was, how long sheâd been here, how sheâd found this limbo-land of old abandoned waiting rooms, and where sheâd come from in the first place. She never asked for anything except by using the bell, and at the end of each day, when Abren had prepared her for the night and was heading off through the door, she didnât thank her for anything.
âHow do you stand her?â Abren asked one night, flopping down on her end of the mattress.
âI keep my head down and I donât think. Donât ask questions â just get on with it,â the boy said.
The next morning, to Abrenâs relief, the boy was better. He got up looking like a new boy, washed himself in a kettle full of water and introduced himself by the unlikely name of Phaze II. His cough hadnât cleared up, but he was in good spirits. He ate a quick breakfast and went to âdoâ Old Sabrina.
She didnât ask if he was better, but he didnât seem to mind. He washed her like a baby â face, neck, arms, hands, feet â struggled with her tangled hair, brushed a mixture of crumbs and dust out of her lap and found a new cardigan, which he buttoned over the previous ones to keep her warm. Finally, he produced a pair of socks which he pulled over her blotchy-looking, red-and-blue feet.
âKeep them on,â he said. âDonât mess around and pull them off. Iâm going out for food. Youâll be allright, wonât you? Iâll see you later.â
Later
meant that night. It was a long day for Abren without the sound of his coughing, which she had grown strangely attached to. But finally he came back, scrambling through a boarded-up window which Abren hadnât even known was there, bringing mackerel, olives and chocolates with him. They had all passed their sell-by date and the chocolates had acquired a speckled bloom. But Abren scoffed down everything she was given â and was promptly sick.
Phaze II took her out on the girders to get some fresh air. He said this often happened, eating old food past its prime.
âBut your stomachâll get used to it, just like mine.â
The two of them sat on the girders, swinging their legs high above the river. Abren pulled her little blanket around her. It was the first time sheâd been out since Christmas night and she was astonished at how cold it was after the fusty warmth of the waiting rooms. Overwhelmed, too, by the freshness of the air and the brightness of the stars. It was a beautiful night.
Phaze II said that it was a special night â New Yearâs Eve when everybody went out partying. And not just any New Yearâs Eve, but the one the scuds called âthe
Abren didnât want to help the old woman, but with the boy threatening to drag himself off his sickbed and do it instead, she had little choice. In the mornings, she made up a fire. Then she fed Old Sabrina out of what the boy called the âBest-by-End-of Chestâ â a rat-proof metal box with a tight lid, into which he put the food heâd either bought with cash or scrounged out of bins. Then she bathed the old womanâs face and hands and blotchy feet. Then she tidied up her birdâs nest of white hair â though why she bothered she didnât know, because it was always messy minutes later.
Then she stayed close by, dancing attendance should Old Sabrina need to be taken to the rusty-chained toilet or require more fuel on the fire. She brought food when the bell rang, and even chased spiders out of the old womanâs lap when they started makingwebs as if she were a dead object, not a person. And she tried to talk to the old woman.
In this last effort, Abrenâs time was wasted more than in any other. Old Sabrina obviously didnât want any conversation. She wouldnât look at Abren, let alone answer any of her questions about who she was, how long sheâd been here, how sheâd found this limbo-land of old abandoned waiting rooms, and where sheâd come from in the first place. She never asked for anything except by using the bell, and at the end of each day, when Abren had prepared her for the night and was heading off through the door, she didnât thank her for anything.
âHow do you stand her?â Abren asked one night, flopping down on her end of the mattress.
âI keep my head down and I donât think. Donât ask questions â just get on with it,â the boy said.
The next morning, to Abrenâs relief, the boy was better. He got up looking like a new boy, washed himself in a kettle full of water and introduced himself by the unlikely name of Phaze II. His cough hadnât cleared up, but he was in good spirits. He ate a quick breakfast and went to âdoâ Old Sabrina.
She didnât ask if he was better, but he didnât seem to mind. He washed her like a baby â face, neck, arms, hands, feet â struggled with her tangled hair, brushed a mixture of crumbs and dust out of her lap and found a new cardigan, which he buttoned over the previous ones to keep her warm. Finally, he produced a pair of socks which he pulled over her blotchy-looking, red-and-blue feet.
âKeep them on,â he said. âDonât mess around and pull them off. Iâm going out for food. Youâll be allright, wonât you? Iâll see you later.â
Later
meant that night. It was a long day for Abren without the sound of his coughing, which she had grown strangely attached to. But finally he came back, scrambling through a boarded-up window which Abren hadnât even known was there, bringing mackerel, olives and chocolates with him. They had all passed their sell-by date and the chocolates had acquired a speckled bloom. But Abren scoffed down everything she was given â and was promptly sick.
Phaze II took her out on the girders to get some fresh air. He said this often happened, eating old food past its prime.
âBut your stomachâll get used to it, just like mine.â
The two of them sat on the girders, swinging their legs high above the river. Abren pulled her little blanket around her. It was the first time sheâd been out since Christmas night and she was astonished at how cold it was after the fusty warmth of the waiting rooms. Overwhelmed, too, by the freshness of the air and the brightness of the stars. It was a beautiful night.
Phaze II said that it was a special night â New Yearâs Eve when everybody went out partying. And not just any New Yearâs Eve, but the one the scuds called âthe
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