"Between Dreams and Realities"

💫Reflections of Disconnection💫

Two weeks passed during which a certain routine was established, more or less. Every morning, I showed up at Granta House at eight, announced my arrival, and once Nathan had helped Barry get dressed, I listened attentively as he explained what I needed to know about his medications... or, more importantly, his mood.

"How are you today, Barry?" I asked, trying to sound friendly despite the predictable routine that lay ahead.

"What does it matter?" Barry replied in his usual sour tone.

When Nathan left, I set up the radio or the television for Barry, administered his pills, sometimes crushing them with the small marble mortar. Usually, within about ten minutes, Barry made it clear that my presence irritated him. At that point, I would engage in small household tasks in the ward, washing dishcloths that weren't dirty or randomly using vacuum cleaner attachments to clean a small section of baseboard or a shelf, faithfully peeking my head around the door every fifteen minutes, as Mrs. Allen had instructed. When I did, Barry would be sitting in his chair, staring blankly out at the desolate garden.

"Later, I would bring him a glass of water or one of those calorie-filled drinks that were supposed to help him not lose weight and looked like wallpaper paste, or I would feed him. Barry moved his hands a little, but not his arms, so I had to feed him spoonful by spoonful. It was the worst part of the day: for some reason, it seemed vile to feed an adult like that, and my embarrassment made me clumsy and unsure. Barry hated it so much that he wouldn't even look me in the eye as I fed him."

"And then, just before one o'clock, Nathan would arrive, and I would grab my coat and disappear to walk the streets, sometimes eating lunch at the bus stop near the castle. It was cold, and I probably looked pathetic, hunched over there, eating my sandwiches, but I didn't care. I couldn't spend a whole day in that house."

"In the afternoons, I would put on a movie (Barry was a member of a video club, and new DVDs arrived in the mail every day), but he never invited me to watch them with him, so I usually went to sit in the kitchen or the guest room. I started bringing books and magazines, but I felt a strange guilt about not really working, so I couldn't concentrate on the words. Occasionally, at the end of the day, Mrs. Allen would appear..., although she didn't say much, except: 'Everything okay?', to which the only acceptable response seemed to be: 'Yes.'"

"I would ask Barry if he wanted anything, sometimes suggesting an activity for the day, but I always received a refusal or, worse, contempt disguised as indifference."

Mrs. Allen was hurt by Barry's attitude, who responded disdainfully or downright rudely to suggestions like going for an outing or visiting a friend who had inquired about him. The scene repeated itself over and over as Mrs. Allen fingered a small gold chain, before withdrawing once more.

Barry's father, a chubby, kind-looking man, usually arrived just as I was leaving. He was the type of man who went to cricket matches with a Panama hat. He seemed to oversee the management of the castle since retiring from his job in London.

"Hello, how are you today?" Barry's father asked kindly upon entering.

"Fine, I guess," Barry replied listlessly.

"Do you want me to bring you something from the town next time I go?" his father offered, seeking any opportunity to connect with his son.

"No, thanks. I don't need anything," Barry replied coldly.

I watched the interaction between father and son with some sadness. There seemed to be a chasm between them, despite the father's attempts to reach out.

Meanwhile, I continued to study Barry closely. I saw how he struggled not to resemble his old self in any way, letting his hair grow into a shapeless mass and allowing a neglected beard to adorn his chin. His gray eyes showed signs of constant fatigue or discomfort, and sometimes I wondered if his apparent indifference to the world was a defense mechanism to cope with his situation.

I wanted to pity him, I really tried. But every day, his bad temper towards me seemed to worsen. Despite my attempts to be kind and keep him company, his responses were always sharp and contemptuous. It was as if he enjoyed twisting every word or action of mine to ridicule me.

I was beginning to hate him, and I'm sure he knew it. I hadn't imagined that it would be possible to miss my former job even more than before. I missed Frank, his way of brightening up when he saw me in the morning. I missed the clients, their company, and the casual conversations whose tone rose and fell like a calm sea surrounding me. This house, beautiful and luxurious as it was, was silent and inert like a morgue. Six months, I muttered to myself when it became unbearable. Six months.

And then, one Thursday, while preparing Barry's calorie-laden drink, I heard Mrs. Allen's voice in the hallway. Except that this time, she was accompanied by other voices. I waited, fork in hand, motionless. I could barely make out the voice of a woman, young, educated, and that of a man.

Mrs. Allen appeared in the kitchen doorway, and I tried to pretend I was busy, vigorously stirring the drink.

"It's made with sixty percent water and forty percent milk, right?" she asked, glancing at the drink.

"Yes. It's the strawberry one."

"Some friends of Barry's have come to see him. It's probably best if you..."

"I have a lot of things to do here," I said, relieved to see that I would be spared his company for a while longer. I screwed the lid onto the cup. "Would his guests like some tea or coffee?"

Mrs. Allen seemed almost surprised.

"Yes. That would be very kind. Coffee. I think I..."

She seemed more tense than usual and kept glancing furtively at the hallway, where the faint murmur of voices could be heard. I guessed that Barry didn't receive visitors often.

"I think... I'll leave them to it," she said, glancing at the hallway; her thoughts seemed far away. "Eddie. It's Eddie, an old friend from work," she said, suddenly turning back to me.

I had the feeling that this was an important moment, and that she needed to share it with someone, even if it was just me.

"And Iris. They were... very close... for a while. Some tea would be wonderful. Thank you, Miss Snow."

I hesitated for a moment before opening the door, using my hip so as not to drop the tray from my hands.

Mrs. Allen suggested that maybe they'd like some coffee I said as I entered, placing the tray on the coffee table. As I placed Barry's cup in the cup holder of the chair and twisted the straw so that he only needed to change the position of his head to reach it, I discreetly glanced at the visitors.