The first draft of the novel was, at 140,00 words, too long, so I began trimming. The following scene I liked very much, but the support structure to make it work was awkward, so out it went.
He arrived home just in time to avert a disaster. Smelling smoke, he rushed into the kitchen. Eula had left a pot of potatoes simmering on the stove. It had boiled dry and the potatoes were a smoking ruin. He yanked it off the stove and dropped it, the handle being too hot to hold. When Eula saw the scorch mark on the floor, she was so upset she took to her bed for several days, and the burnt floor was a constant reminder of her close brush with a fire. Unable to absolve herself of the mistake, she decided that it was time to move into a home for seniors. She was adamant about it, saying to Avon, “I’ll not be a burden nor a danger to you.”
Lettuce agreed, emphasizing that it was for her own safety, though adding that a move would not happen anytime soon, for there was always a long wait to get into a nursing home. In this they were proved wrong by the Department of Elderly Affairs, which announced the opening of a special retirement centre in an abandoned factory in Windsor. Lettuce, who in looking after the farm’s books was adept at dealing with bureaucracy, made inquiries and returned with documents for Avon to sign. On the day of departure she provided the transportation, though there was a slight delay when she checked Eula’s bag. Avon had done the packing and included a toothbrush, a hotwater bottle, a bit of food, but no clothing beyond socks and a spare sweater. He had been too shy to look for anything of a more personal nature, so Lettuce went into the house to do it for him.
Eula was in good spirits, and reminded them once they got under way that Lemuel had often sailed into Windsor before the Avon River causeway was built, and now impeded the river in its journey to Minas Basin, Cape Blomidon, the Bay of Fundy, and the ocean beyond. The town had been one of Canada’s busiest ports in the 19th century, shipping apples, gypsum, and lumber to the world until it burned to the ground during the Great Fire of 1897. The textile factory, being just outside of town, survived that fate, and which at a later date inspired it to produce a line of flameproof union suits with trap doors. Eventually the business shut down, and an attempt to convert the building to a condominium failed during the economic crash of 2008. Though empty for years, the three-storey heap had remained a landmark of sorts due to its visibility and imposing appearance.
Inside, the factory’s industrial look was retained by walls of exposed brick and rows of bench-style seating, where a number of seniors waiting to be admitted discussed their bowel movements. Their voices competed with the blabberings of a large-screen wall-mounted monitor. and the sound of hammering on the floor above, for the place was still undergoing renovations. When Eula’s name was called, Avon and Lettuce accompanied her to a counter where an orderly in a white tunic registered her and insisted on checking her bag. Inside he found a few pieces of dried fungus and some smoked eel in a plastic container. “Sorry, not allowed. The diet of test subjects is carefully controlled.”
“Test subjects?” Lettuce asked.
“I mean guests, but don’t forget that this facility is is part of a pilot project and during this phase it’s crucial that conditions are carefully regulated so that results are statistically valid.”
“You’re experimenting with drugs?”
“Absolutely not. That would be contrary to our goal, which is to find a healthy and viable alternative to imprisoning seniors into ghettoes of the aged.” He handed Avon an informational booklet, then opened the gate to admit Eula, saying, “You can come through now. Welcome to your new home.”
She folded back the edge of her bonnet and offered her cheek to Avon. “Goodbye, my lamb. You must come and visit.” He watched as she was led down a green-tiled corridor and around a corner, after which he slowly turned away. As they left the building the monitor on the wall was cycling through testimonials of happy 90-year-olds living active lives, interspersed with infomercials on erectile dysfunction and the popularity of adult diapers in Japan.
It was several weeks before Avon saw her again. He made numerous attempts to visit, but never succeeded in getting past the orderly at the counter. Eula was either attending a seminar, workshop, or training session to learn new life skills. Finally he was summoned there by a phone call for an update on her progress. The foyer was still full, but less noisy since work on the second floor was now complete, and when his number was called he was shown into the office of the deputy director, a trim middle-aged man in casual attire, his desk backstopped by a wall with numerous diplomas in undecipherable Gothic script. He greeted Avon with a warm handshake and a medical homily.
“If you follow the news at all, you’ll know our health care system is in crisis. Attempts to remedy the situation usually focus on reducing the doctor shortage, but here we’re taking the opposite approach. It’s no coincidence that our senior population is the highest in the country. People are living longer, and the healthier we can keep them the less pressure they’ll exert on our overloaded health services. That’s what we’re trying to do here, and why a person of your grandmother’s advanced age was included in our study. We want as broad a range of subjects as possible. The restoration of this building is symbolic of what we’re trying to achieve.”
He beamed when Avon mentioned that he had been unable to visit Eula. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s one of our goals to keep our guests busy. Besides, visits can be disruptive, so we keep them to a minimum.”
“Can I see her now?”
“Absolutely.” He emerged from behind the desk, bringing his narrow Italian loafers out of hiding, and led the way to a tiled corridor with doors on each side. As he unlocked one of them, the cellphone on his belt played a merry tune. “I have to take this,” he said and waved Avon in. “Be with you in a moment.”
The door opened into a dim cavity scarcely large enough to hold a bed. The air was cool, the walls blank, the smell of disinfectant strong, the shape on the bed motionless. “Eula?” he said softly but there was no response. The only sound he heard was the purring voice of the deputy director in the hallway. He waited several minutes, then words poured out of him in a rush. He asked how she was doing and apologized for not visiting sooner. Was the food okay? Was there anything he could bring her? When there was still no response, he reached out and touched the mound on the bed, only to find that the shape under the blanket was made by pillows. He left the room and confronted the deputy director, who was just concluding his conversation.
“My grandmother’s not here.”
“Yes, sorry about that. I forgot there was an activity scheduled for her. You may not be aware of this, but seniors don’t want to sit around all day watching TV and playing bingo. An active and meaningful life is what they’re interested in, and we want to help them achieve that. Pretty soon we’ll have her doing bench presses. No, don’t look skeptical, weight-lifting promotes heart health and is on the program. In your grandmother’s case, I’m happy to report that she’s doing just fine. In fact, yesterday she crawled out a window and was found trying to hitch a ride on the 101.”
“You mean, she tried to escape?”
“Yes, we’re very pleased with her progress. She getting lots of fresh air as well as gentle exercise that promotes flexibility and stimulates the hippocampus, which is so important for memory retention.”
Questions bubbled out of Avon. “Why is the room so small? Where is she now? Could she have escaped again?”
The response was calm and rational. The room’s size was to discourage people from staying cooped up, and as to the possibility of another escape he said, “We certainly hope so, though not in a legal sense, as you’ll see if you check the documents you signed when she was admitted.”
Back in his office he asked Avon to sign a visitation report attesting to the satisfactory care that Eula was receiving. When asked why there were so many pages, he said, “Oh, it’s just a formality. You know, blah blah blah, that sort of thing.”
Avon complied, but afterward drove immediately to the Valley to make sure the furnace tank in the house was topped up with fuel, and that his uncles had keys to the gate and knew that the front door should remain unlocked, in case Eula ever got that far in an escape attempt.
NOTES
1. In 2021 part of the roof collapsed. Demolition has begun, but some of the structure will be preserved.
2. YouTube has some great video clips of the place, and a lovely song entitled "Cotton Mill" by Terra Spencer, recorded inside.
