sought out the bird but the light was brilliant and blinding and so she closed her eyes and thought that she might take a little nap before returning home.
2
Age of Despair
H er room had two windows, both of which looked out onto several apple trees that were, at some point during her stay in Winkler, replete with bright pink blossoms. The view and the blossoms were such a deliberate mockery of her state that she had the nurses draw the blinds closed when she was alone. Visitors, when they arrived in the first week, often opened the blinds and exclaimed, and so she felt she had to exclaim as well in order to appear to be well on her way to health and happiness. This facade, and her utter capitulation, disheartened her and she grew to dread visitors, especially the women who arrived from Eden bearing gifts of food and cards with Bible verses. Many of these visitors were distant acquaintances, women from the church or the community who knew Hope only in passing, and she knew that they had come to inspect her, to fill their own little lives with possible gossip of what a crazy woman looked like. It was important to be the first to know. After a week of this, she asked Doctor Janzen if he could bring to a halt all visitors save her own family and Emily Shroeder, who was her best friend. She also said that she hated the craft times in the afternoons. “I’m not a child and I’m not simple,” she said. Her doctor said that the point of doing crafts was to take her outside of herself. But if she insisted, he would talk to the staff. “I insist,” she said. And so she settled into her stay at Winkler, and she found that with time and medication and, ultimately, electric shock therapy, she was beginning to arrange her thoughts more logically, or to simply let go.
Her doctor told her that electric shock therapy would be necessary and she did not argue. Neither did Roy, though he was concerned about the side effects. Her mother visited on Sunday afternoon, the day before her first treatment. Even though her mother had come two days earlier, on this day Hope was so pleased to see her that she cried for a bit as they held hands. She thought she might be relieved that she did not have to behave herself, that she did not have to project strength and courtesy. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Oh, no,” her mother said. She brushed a stray hair from Hope’s brow.
“I think I should feel ashamed. But I don’t. I’m just tired.” She twirled a finger near her temple. “Hope Koop goes nuts.”
“Your body knows when enough is enough. I’m sorry that I didn’t help you more with the children. And you must stop worrying about what people think. About Roy. The children. Me. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” She raised her eyebrows, acknowledging her false step, and said, “Everyone is fine. The children are very happy. What an awful colour these walls are.” Her mother frowned at the bright green paint. “How do they expect people to get better?”
“The doctor thinks that I will get better only if he electrocutes me.” She tried to make her voice light and inconsequential.
“Well, that’s one way to put it, I suppose. You were always a little extreme, Hope. Even as a child, a little burn on your finger produced intense theatrics.”
“It doesn’t frighten me. Not a bit. As long as the darkness goes away.”
On Monday morning, the nurse who prepared her before wheeling her down the hallway to the treatment room was a stout Mennonite with a slight lisp and a Low German accent. Later, on the gurney, as the rubber clamp was being fitted into her mouth and just before she fell asleep, she reached up and tried to straighten the stout nurse’s cap, which was crooked, sweet thing. When she woke, she did not recognize her room or her own hands lying on the bed. She wanted to cry out but thought that might be inappropriate. Her arms ached, and her mouth tasted of tin. Two mornings later she went for another treatment, and
2
Age of Despair
H er room had two windows, both of which looked out onto several apple trees that were, at some point during her stay in Winkler, replete with bright pink blossoms. The view and the blossoms were such a deliberate mockery of her state that she had the nurses draw the blinds closed when she was alone. Visitors, when they arrived in the first week, often opened the blinds and exclaimed, and so she felt she had to exclaim as well in order to appear to be well on her way to health and happiness. This facade, and her utter capitulation, disheartened her and she grew to dread visitors, especially the women who arrived from Eden bearing gifts of food and cards with Bible verses. Many of these visitors were distant acquaintances, women from the church or the community who knew Hope only in passing, and she knew that they had come to inspect her, to fill their own little lives with possible gossip of what a crazy woman looked like. It was important to be the first to know. After a week of this, she asked Doctor Janzen if he could bring to a halt all visitors save her own family and Emily Shroeder, who was her best friend. She also said that she hated the craft times in the afternoons. “I’m not a child and I’m not simple,” she said. Her doctor said that the point of doing crafts was to take her outside of herself. But if she insisted, he would talk to the staff. “I insist,” she said. And so she settled into her stay at Winkler, and she found that with time and medication and, ultimately, electric shock therapy, she was beginning to arrange her thoughts more logically, or to simply let go.
Her doctor told her that electric shock therapy would be necessary and she did not argue. Neither did Roy, though he was concerned about the side effects. Her mother visited on Sunday afternoon, the day before her first treatment. Even though her mother had come two days earlier, on this day Hope was so pleased to see her that she cried for a bit as they held hands. She thought she might be relieved that she did not have to behave herself, that she did not have to project strength and courtesy. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Oh, no,” her mother said. She brushed a stray hair from Hope’s brow.
“I think I should feel ashamed. But I don’t. I’m just tired.” She twirled a finger near her temple. “Hope Koop goes nuts.”
“Your body knows when enough is enough. I’m sorry that I didn’t help you more with the children. And you must stop worrying about what people think. About Roy. The children. Me. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” She raised her eyebrows, acknowledging her false step, and said, “Everyone is fine. The children are very happy. What an awful colour these walls are.” Her mother frowned at the bright green paint. “How do they expect people to get better?”
“The doctor thinks that I will get better only if he electrocutes me.” She tried to make her voice light and inconsequential.
“Well, that’s one way to put it, I suppose. You were always a little extreme, Hope. Even as a child, a little burn on your finger produced intense theatrics.”
“It doesn’t frighten me. Not a bit. As long as the darkness goes away.”
On Monday morning, the nurse who prepared her before wheeling her down the hallway to the treatment room was a stout Mennonite with a slight lisp and a Low German accent. Later, on the gurney, as the rubber clamp was being fitted into her mouth and just before she fell asleep, she reached up and tried to straighten the stout nurse’s cap, which was crooked, sweet thing. When she woke, she did not recognize her room or her own hands lying on the bed. She wanted to cry out but thought that might be inappropriate. Her arms ached, and her mouth tasted of tin. Two mornings later she went for another treatment, and
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