Teach pigs to sing

Author: (Canada) Stroumb, translated by Liu Yunbo
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-08-01
Features: Previously, Rita was always interested in other people's problems. When others treated her as a confidante, she felt flattered and would listen attentively, offering sympathy or tentative advice. But now, the complaints of adults about life made her annoyed. She had no answers for their problems, except for the authors of self-reliance books. No one else had any answers. People told their endless troubles about life, yet drew no conclusions. In Rita's view, if everyone shut up, the quality of life might improve. "The director I work with has AIDS," she said, "He's in the hospital right now, wasting away his life. He can't concentrate on reading, and he gets agitated whenever he sees healthy people on TV. So his mother bought him Sesame Street coloring books and crayons. Coloring helps calm him down." "I felt sorry for him. I mean, he's going to die." Rita found that mentioning someone had cancer often made healthy people stop complaining. She didn't particularly care about the director she mentioned; she didn't like his arrogant and self-important attitude. However, when she heard he had an incurable disease, she actually felt guilty for disliking him and even considered visiting him in the hospital. But then she thought, what could she possibly say? She couldn't say, "I'm sorry, you're going to die." The girl walked straight toward the swing, and Max followed behind. "Why is he following her?" Rita asked. "What?" "The girl who pushed him earlier, Max is walking with her now!" "How are you, dear?" Etta asked. "I still have stomach pain." It comforted Rita that Etta was awake and still there. "Did you have a bowel movement?" "No." "Good. Let the nurse give you an enema. What comes out will surprise you, even if you haven't eaten anything. I thought my intestines were already empty, but you know, they're very long. If you don't empty your intestines before starting a solid diet, you'll get an intestinal obstruction. My daughter-in-law is like that. They had to operate on her immediately." "I'll be fine, I just want to sleep." "I'll wear earplugs so I won't disturb you." "Thank you." Rita covered her stomach in pain. She hated the feeling of losing control of her body. She missed her old body, when her abdominal muscles were so strong. She didn't know if she could ever get them back. Her old body was so good, yet she still complained about everything. Now, thinking back, she couldn't believe it. Looking back at her past life, she was so lucky, yet she was completely unaware of it at the time. At this thought, she felt extremely regretful. It meant that things could get worse at any moment, that one day she would look back on this hospital stay with deep affection, thinking she was incredibly lucky—just to have had a uterine fibroid. Five years later, she might get uterine cancer. She might be lying there with a big belly, her reproductive organs completely removed. Then she would think it was a blessing to have heard Etta ramble after her surgery. Five years later, her roommate might also be a cancer patient, though her condition would only worsen. She would be so sick that her cheeks would be hollow, her breathing would be shallow, and she would say nothing. Then Rita would think of Etta, remembering how interesting and pleasant her conversations were. She would need to find a painless way to commit suicide. She would drive her Honda to a cliff. But there were no cliffs here. She would have to drive to the mountains. She thought of the misty pine forests. No one would be around there because she wouldn't choose a weekend for suicide. The cliff would be best if there was a lake below it. Then even if she didn't die from the fall, she would drown. Before committing suicide, she would drink a bottle of whiskey, watch the sunset, and listen to the birds sing. She would park her car at the edge of the cliff to avoid driving drunk. She imagined accelerating suddenly, stepping on the gas, and then soaring into the air. The car would flip in the air, the world blurring. Then the cold lake would begin to swallow her, soothing her. "I'm here to see you." "How did you know I was here?" "Your neighbor is washing his car." Rita had asked her neighbor Rudy to collect her junk mail to scare off thieves, making them think someone was home. Also, if the house caught fire, he was to call her. Rita turned her gaze away because seeing Nolan made her eyes hurt. "I don't want you here." "I'm worried about you." "I don't want you here." "This hospital lets anyone in. I never knew that. You walk right in, and the nurses don't even look up. Anyone can come in, even if they bring a revolver." Rita slapped the bed hard. "Nolan, what are you doing here?" "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was this easy to get in. You see, I've been trying to see you. I knew you wouldn't let me in, but I came anyway." He crossed his hands and nodded. "It's great, I feel great. I'm so glad I got in." "You bastard." "I know. I don't know what to do. I tried talking to a social worker, but she just kept nodding and saying 'It's difficult.' I don't understand what she means, what 'it' is she's talking about. She smells like a corpse." Nolan wiped his nose with a tissue. "You know, she just gets paid to do this, just sits there nodding, smells like a corpse. That's part of the social safety net. It's unsettling. Everywhere people are dying, and it's no different here. Last night a woman was shot twice in the chest. She was being treated in the emergency room. Her boyfriend did it." "Shut up! Can't you just shut up? My stomach was just cut open, and now isn't the time for social commentary or hearing about your job. I just want to know why you're here." "I wanted to see you." "Bullshit. You're full of it." Etta waved at Rita to get her attention. "Should I call security?" "No problem," Rita said to her. Nolan scratched his head and looked down at the floor. He seemed to be having an intense internal argument. His lips and eyebrows kept moving, but he was hard to understand. He was old, had lost his confidence, and was becoming verbose. Seeing this, Rita couldn't help but feel heartbroken. "Calm down, Nolan." He looked up as if just remembering that Rita was there. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I should go." She recognized his coat. They had bought it together at a secondhand store. He had been thrilled with the quality of the tweed. "Don't leave yet," Rita said to him. "Explain why you're here." "I'm worried about you." "Now? For no reason? Just like that?" Rita noticed Lewis sitting in the chair, staring blankly at the bed. She couldn't sleep last night, constantly worrying about her brother dying or already being dead. She decided that if he lived to see morning, she would buy him grapes and come up with a reason for him to live. What reason? She hadn't thought of one yet. She brought the grapes, but Lewis refused to eat them. "Here's the thing," she said, lowering her voice so as not to disturb the person in the next bed. "Isn't God merciful?" She opened a package of soda crackers—the ones she had brought with the soup, which Lewis hadn't touched. "I mean, if you did something wrong, you tell God you're sorry, and he won't forgive you, right?" The person in the next bed turned over abruptly and glared at Rita. "God won't forgive anyone, especially those stupid fools who want to starve themselves to death." He stared at Lewis. "You're wasting a good bed, buddy. Believe me, there are plenty of people waiting for a bed outside." Rita took a bite of the cracker. "Maybe you should ask them to move you to another room." "Don't think I haven't asked. Don't think I haven't been stuck with this idiot long enough. But there are no beds." Rita shrugged. "Sorry, my brother thinks he needs to pray." The person pointed at Lewis. "You can pray silently, man. Believe me, God can hear what's in your heart." "How do you know?" Rita asked. "People have been praying silently forever." "That doesn't mean God heard." "You think God speaks different languages, huh?" "No. I just think that for hundreds of years people have been praying aloud, and it seems to work." "Who does it work for?" "For them!" The person shook his head. "You're crazy too."