Maud Casey - The Man Who Walked Away

“I fear I will walk far, very far, with no one to watch over me,” the man says, startling the Doctor off the treacherous, indifferent sea and back into the narrower corridor of his life here in this room. It is as though the man is hauling the words up from the bottom of the ocean, as though he were on the ship too, all those years ago with the Doctor.

“There is time,” the Doctor says, to steady himself as much as the patient. “We will help you to remember. Do not worry. There is time.”

As the bell of St. Eloi rings, the Doctor recalls the inscription underneath the clock: I call to arms; I announce the days; I give the hours; I chase away the shadows; I sound the celebrations; I cry fire. The man smiles up at him. Is this what the ship’s doctor meant when he said to the Doctor, You have a gift , and set him on the path that has led him to this moment? That there would be moments like this when he would treat a patient and a bell would ring in him?

“You are safe here. We will watch over you,” the Doctor says. “If you walk, we will bring you back.” His words drift out the window, floating up like the smoke from the factory chimneys, disappearing with the sound of the church carillons. “You are here now.”

Someone comes .

What was the rest?

Since he first saw this man standing in the billiard room, since the wind blew through the room and salted his tongue, the phrase has been lodged in the Doctor’s brain, unfinished: Someone comes .

“We will talk more tomorrow,” the Doctor says. “I will stay here while you fall asleep.”

This man called Albert appears reassured. His eyelids close and his face, which has appeared wrapped in a shroud of sorrow — the hooded eyes, the long nose, the cowlick that begins at the center of his forehead — relaxes.

The Doctor pulls a chair up next to the bed and watches as the man falls more deeply into sleep. His leg moves — maybe he is dreaming of walking? — and his pants leg rides up to reveal a naked calf. It is exquisitely shaped. That calf, its smooth curve against the rough blanket, stirs something in the Doctor. How strange it is to move through the world, through the depths of one’s own solitude. Details that would normally pass unnoticed rise up, offering themselves to him — the far away smell of wildflowers; the bob and tug, tug and bob of boats anchored on the river; the iron rings of bed curtains rattling down the hall.

Someone comes. . someone to whom one wants to give . . something. Something something, something, and another part of a phrase arrives. . there’s no need for words — people just find one another — they have glimpsed each other in dreams . A line from a novel he read months ago? A line spoken by a wicked man to lure a restless woman into an affair. There was a word the wicked man used to describe how he felt as he looked at the woman’s face. In the quiet of the room, there is only the tick, tick, tick of his father’s pocket watch. Tick, tick, tick, and the forgotten word returns: dazzled.

The man’s mind is a dark street and the Doctor will light the lamps, one by one.

Today, which is Saturday; tomorrow, which is Sunday; then Monday and then Tuesday, the days coming one after the other as if that were all there was to it. It is Saturday, and as he lies in this bed, his bed, he hears mothers out on the street calling their children. We will talk more tomorrow , the Doctor said, and today is tomorrow. If you walk, we will bring you back. Albert wants nothing more. We will help you to remember.

“Baptiste!” The sound of his friend’s name, and he is offered another glimpse. “Madeleine!” The daughter of the butcher. “Jean-Luc!” The son of the varnisher. “Alexandre!” The son of the wheelwright. “Marie!” the daughter of one of the fishermen. “Albert!” his mother would call right over his head as it grew dark, the only light from the gas lamps along the quay. Albert, too shy to play with other children, sat at her feet on the lip of the door of the cottage, listening to the river and to the mothers of the neighborhood calling their children inside. She would pretend she didn’t see him sitting there at her feet; she would pretend he was somewhere out there playing with the other children. “Albert!” she would shout into the street, but she was never able to hide her smile, and soon she was laughing. “Where are you, Albert?” as he squirmed and giggled. “Where am I?” he would shout into the night. “I think I hear me out there,” he would say, and his mother would cup her hand to her ear. There had once been so much love. How could he have forgotten it for so long? It hadn’t disappeared; it had only gone into hiding.

Ring ( shadow ring ). Time doesn’t pummel him; it doesn’t smash him like a hammer. It sings: Today is this day. This is the music of days. This is what it is to be a citizen moving through the days; this is what it is to be a citizen moving alongside the hours and the minutes.

The bells peal all day long, beautiful in their constancy.

What time is it now?

It is time for breakfast. He puts on the new-smelling shoes Nurse Anne had set out for him and walks down the hall, past the billiard room, where he pauses to admire the walking red, blue, and yellow glass Jesus walking without shame, no menace he, too busy walking to be bothered by such accusations. He wedges himself between Walter and his pudding smell and tall Marian with her lovely curves, all of them held by the gravitational embrace of the table anchoring one side of the large common room, the piano and the fireplace and the table with Elizabeth’s puzzle.

“Good morning,” Walter says, leaning behind Albert to whisper to Marian, “This way we can keep an eye on him.” He gives Albert’s arm a squeeze and winks at him.

It is all Albert has ever wanted. If you walk, we will bring you back. Underneath the long table, as Rachel slides a bowl his way, he counts the nights and the days on his fingers: Soon he will know what it is to be a citizen held by an entire week.

“There you are, Albert,” says the Doctor. “I’m very glad to see you.” A warm hand on the back of Albert’s neck as he passes through the room, and Albert feels it, the truth of that gladness.

“Hello, hello,” says Samuel.

“I have already said my hellos,” says Marian.

“Doctor,” calls Nurse Anne, and he is on his way again but the gladness remains, hovering over Albert’s neck.

Ring ( shadow ring ). And then it is time to walk to the creek. The Director, whose mottled red face reminds Albert of a man in Berlin who saved him from a vicious dog, clap-claps his hands and everyone gathers at the door. “Off we go,” he says, lifting his knees high as he marches in place. “Nature is waiting.” And soon everyone is marching after him, and Albert is part of everyone marching out into the day.

“I don’t like nature,” Marian, walking on one side of Albert, says.

“Perhaps the veteran could shoot it for you,” says Walter, walking on the other side of Albert.

“I am not thinking that,” says the veteran just up ahead. “That is not something I am thinking.” He points his finger at the ground. “Follow me, I dare you.” He points at some invisible thing, following him already. “That’s right,” he says.

“It has taken too much from me,” Marian says, her lovely curves shrinking as the sun comes out from behind a cloud. “Go on without me.”

And they do. Walter puts his arm through Albert’s, squeezing and squeezing, and they march after the Director, between the creaking birch trees along the courtyard path. Walter pushes aside the branches, leading Albert through the blackberry bushes, down the path after the veteran, after Samuel, who is an exception to all of those who the veteran would like to shoot; after Elizabeth, who would rather be doing her puzzle; and Rachel, who would rather be playing the piano. “Like this,” Walter says to Albert when they arrive at the creek bank, taking off his own shoes and wading into the ankle-deep water.