My friend Bergelson kept his past in a box for fifty years. Now he’s not making new memories, he doesn’t know what year it is, and the box is where he wakes up unable to breathe. They’re very respectful here about numbers and names. They know we’re not comfortable standing in lines. They know how we feel about showers. But Bergelson’s fearful of baths. They plunged him into freezing water more than once when we were young; now, living in the box as he does, every day is a bath in ice. Behind the fear you see he is resilient. Dreamers didn’t stand a chance; only the practical survived. When fate put bread on the path, we picked it up. We ate what we needed and hid the rest. When fate put butter in a strongbox, we learned to steal or starved to death. We still hoard food. Our nightstands groan with rock-hard bagel halves. When the ladies here panic there won’t be enough, we’re given a tour of the pantry where tins of peaches and butter beans are stacked to the ceiling and deliveries are always arriving. Bergelson thinks he should have been pulled from that line. A thousand times a day he tells us he should have been the one to be handed a shovel, instead of the boy. There, there, the nurses tell him: They could have chosen anyone; it was never your fault. But I was there. I saw my friend gesture with his thumb as they approached him. Who knows why they acted on that gesture. Who knows what I’m hiding in my box. For now, I tell him: It could have been anyone, Bergelson. There’s plenty of food. They won’t make you stand in line again, or take a bath if you can’t.
Copyright © August 03, 2007 David Hodges
7 comments
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August 3, 2007 at 10:35 am
Jessica Weisenfels
The Jessica Weisenfels (not daily) Favorite Phrasing:
“Behind the fear you see he is resilient. Dreamers didn’t stand a chance; only the practical survived.”
Thank you, Jessica. It’s good of you to tell me.
–David
August 4, 2007 at 1:06 am
briseis
Good _God_, David, you’re amazing.
Absolutely thrilling, absolutely heart-wrenching.
Thank you seems inadequate, Briseis. Thank you.
–David
August 4, 2007 at 2:08 am
nursemyra
one of your best
Thank you, nursemyra.
–David
August 5, 2007 at 12:17 pm
ombudsben
Woof, as one who socks too much away in boxes, this one was eerie.
Thanks, Ben.
–David
August 5, 2007 at 2:29 pm
litlove
Chinese boxes, this one, I think, all fitting inside one another, the ephemeral boxes of memory, the strongboxes with their forbidden contents, the real larders with food that tax credibility. On the one hand questions about storage (what keeps forever?) and on the other, instances of failed containment (trauma from the past that bleeds endlessly into the present). And then if it weren’t enough that you give us a beautiful portrait of post-traumatic disorder, we are then slipped that sly, provocative hint that reminds us this tale is narrated by someone with his own secrets to hoard and to let spill. I’m deeply impressed by the clever structuring of this, formally and thematically. Just remarkable writing.
Equally remarkable reading, Litlove. I always seem more thoughtful and better-planned following your comments.
–David
August 6, 2007 at 3:48 am
Wizzer
Who controls the key to those desperate boxes the most unfortunate humans have to endure? The saddest line for any person alive is “he’s not making new memories” – puts me in mind of “the living giving up living”.
I’m not familiar with that line, Wizzer, but it’s a good one. Those who work with the aging report the failure to make new memories, and the loss of more recent memories, presses the mind back further and further to earliest memory. Thanks for your comment.
–David
August 7, 2007 at 3:33 am
Terry
When I started to read this, my immediate thought was for the last box we’ll ever encounter in this mortal existence. A chill went up my spine.
When I look back over 40 or so years, I can see I used to hoard stuff too. Probably stemmed from a poor childhood when belongings were few and those few were retained with almost savage ferocity. Things do change.
Wonderful story, thank you.
Thanks, Terry. You brought a lot of material and sensitivity to the reading process.
–David