Cafe Babanussa (25 page)

Her friend was less and less inclined to go out or to reach out to folks. She stayed locked in her flat while Kwame, Mahmoud and Ruby tried to revive her and get her outside. Often she wouldn't pick up the phone, and she answered the door only begrudgingly. Though she was never rude, she remained sad and aloof. She abjectly refused her friends' entreaties to seek help, returning as always to the hammock to curl up into a ball and shut out the world. At these times the air hung thick as a sulky nightfall that seemed to be always upon her no matter what time of day.

One day Issam cooked up a big pot of stew and said, “Take this to Abena. Try to get her to eat.”

Ruby went by with stew in hand and sat down to talk to her friend.

“Abena, you know you're depressed. Tell me what you're
thinking about. Try to get some of it off your chest—otherwise it will drag you down.”

“Ruby, I don't want to burden anyone with my worries. How can you possibly understand or help?”

“Abena, you are on a long road now, and maybe we don't know where or how things will end up. But I can tell you that I fully understand the feeling of utter paralysis that comes with depression. Everyone keeps telling you to get up and get at it, but you feel like a piece of cement. The loneliness, the quiet, the dark become perfect companions. Sleep is the best escape of all. I've been there before.”

Abena sat up a little. “What caused your depression?”

“Well, I got sick. I was hospitalized for mania and psychosis, which had been caused by stress and loss. Then I was depressed for a long time when I got out. Abena, listen to me. I'm sorry, I know your journey is much harder than mine was . . .” She faltered, not knowing what to say next. “But just let us try to help you.”

Abena was still. She blew Ruby a kiss and then came over to hug her. “Time to go,” she said, gesturing with her hand. Once out the door, Ruby leaned against the wall and wept.

Worrying about Abena's situation, Ruby became more wakeful at night, tossing and turning and having bad dreams. She was still dreaming about the man with no face. About rape. During the days Ruby hunched her shoulders in close and had started wringing her hands. Whenever he was around, Issam would try to soothe her by getting her to sit or lie down and staying with her. But he was at a loss as to what to do
with her. She became more and more nervous and was often distracted from the tasks of daily living. She put the dish towel on the back of the chair next to the table and then spent ages looking along the countertops for it. She forgot to feed the cat and then ignored its insistent mews for hours. One night she stayed up late writing in her journal. Issam begged her to come to bed. Ruby ignored him. She jotted down thoughts, wrote bits of poems and paced the floors mumbling words out loud. When she finally came to sleep she was still agitated. She woke Issam and talked to him non-stop about Abena till he finally just covered up his ears and rolled over.

The next morning when she went to do some shopping, she was constantly looking around and over her shoulder, hyperconscious of any passersby. She took in bits of their conversations, expecting that they would hold meaning for her personally. Someone would say “The sky is so blue today,” and Ruby would think she was responsible for making the sky sad, that it was her fault.

She knew these were bad signs, but she could still catch herself in the act and try to stop herself. The mania might be returning, but it hadn't taken over completely. She didn't want to call her doctor, afraid that it would mean hospitalization once again. So she took up walking more than usual, knowing that she might be able to keep the mania at bay with more exercise. But soon she was becoming too paranoid to be able to relax outside. It was like a concrete jungle with noises all around that she had to heed, that spoke out to her, with people signalling things to her all the time. She was constantly
aware of the colours people were wearing, always trying to make sense of their meaning. She tried to drink calming teas and take valerian root before going to bed at night. She was scared; she knew that without sleep she was doomed. She knew that the paranoia was stronger than her: it would keep hammering away at her until she succumbed and lost touch. Finally, she called her sister and told her what was happening.

“Ruby, now listen to me good. You have to go to the doctor. He can help and you won't necessarily end up in hospital.”

“Jess, understand this, I am terrified of going back to the hospital, of being totally out of control and drugged up once again. I'm terrified of losing my sanity. It's slipping away every day and I have no one to hang on to. Even as I speak, Abena sits spiralling into her own personal crisis. Issam has his own health issues to deal with. And Emma—she's wonderful, but there's only so much she could do. People don't understand. But you, Jessie, maybe you . . .”

“Ruby, I don't know if I can get any time off to come over. You know I would if I could. Let me see what I can do.”

Ruby told Jessie she would try to hang on and would go to the doctor.

By the next day, though, Ruby had walled herself up in her flat. Kwame and Mahmoud had called to tell her that Abena was getting worse. Ruby kept saying that maybe the angels and spirits would come save Abena. Emma called her too, offering to take her to the doctor the next morning. Ruby acquiesced. But destiny was hers and she was starting to feel she could shape it. She felt she could save herself. Issam was
going out for the evening, but before leaving he had called Emma and asked if she would come over.

“She's going crazy. I have to get out of here. Please come over, Em.”

Ruby heard Issam call as he walked out the door that Emma was going to drop by for a visit. She went into the kitchen and took out all the spices, herbs, teas, nuts and grains that she had on her shelves. She got some paper and began scribbling the names and properties of all these things. She shoved a handful of walnuts into her mouth, thinking they would help purge her and clean her out. Ditto with the turmeric. She mixed it with some lemon juice and water and drank it all down. She put on the kettle and got out peppermint and chamomile teas. She had some fennel honey in the cupboard and that would help calm her, too. On and on she went, mixing up spices, drinking teas, all the while scribbling notes on the paper. She knew she was spiralling and headed for trouble, but she couldn't stop herself. She was caught up with the flow of her mania, entranced by the energy. She fiercely resisted the idea of returning to a hospital. This was her way of trying to make do on her own.

The phone rang. Ruby let it ring as she carried on but it kept going on and on. She went to the bedroom to pick up the receiver and it was her father on the phone.

“Hi, Ruby, how's my Dolly doing? I was just thinking about how you used to prance around the living room floor for all the guests. Ruby, Jessie told us that you called and that you're not feeling too well.”

“Emma is taking me to the doctor tomorrow,” Ruby said defensively, her mouth all prickly from a cayenne powder drink. “I'm trying to get better, I'm looking after myself, I am, Dad. You should see what . . .” Ruby decided not to elaborate and began thinking of the image of being all dressed up and bellowing out “Hello, Dolly” in a growly voice. She started singing the song over the phone.

Her father laughed, but his voice had an eerie timbre to it. “Jessie's coming over to see you again, Ruby. She'll be there in three or four days. She'll call to let you know when. I hope you do go to your doctor tomorrow. Tell Emma we said thanks for looking out for you.”

“Dad, I gotta go, I'm cooking in the kitchen. Bye.” She hung up. She was feeling flustered and overwhelmed but went back to the kitchen. She decided to make a pot of soup. She pulled everything she could find in the refrigerator—carrots, leeks, celery, a sausage, tomatoes and corn. Out of a basket on the counter she plucked two potatoes and some onions and some garlic. She looked to a shelf on the kitchen wall and pulled down her herbal remedies book. Marjoram, thyme, oregano and rosemary—she would use them all. She began chopping the carrots. The kitchen looked like a bomb had exploded, but Ruby worked around it all. The words
Hello, Dolly, Hello, Dolly
flung themselves at her as she wielded the knife. Chop, chop, chop, chop.
Hello, Dolly, Hello, Dolly.
She picked up the onions and went faster, trying to outdo the voice in her head. She could see herself as a little girl, bouncing up and down on the floor as the words spilled out of her mouth. She could see her
mom and dad, proud smiles beaming across their faces as she sang. She started on the celery and was chopping fast, fast, fast. Ouch! She had sliced the tip of her finger, and popped it in her mouth. She could taste the warmth of the blood as it trickled down her throat. She stood there lost, the words still pounding ferociously in her brain.
Hello, Dolly, Hello, Dolly
.

“You're such a pretty girl. Come here.”

The words spilled out at her as she heard the voice, warm and familiar, from her past. “Come, I want to show you something.”

Then she envisioned trying to twist away as the fingers that belonged to the voice pushed in and around her where they shouldn't be; she felt him grab her and hold her up against him tightly as he breathed rapidly. She felt the life drain out of her as he put his mouth on her. She felt abandoned. Where was her mother? Where was her father?

Ruby started screaming. She sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor and sobbed away. What happened, what happened? How could this be? Finally she lay down on the bed as still as she could, like a zombie. Her head was throbbing with thoughts, but she kept repeating to herself, “If I wind myself up tight, nothing can get to me here.” And there she lay, her body inwardly scrunched up, impermeable.

She tried to go back in time, tried to put pieces together. The man's voice sliced into her like the knife into her finger; it ripped her wide open. And she knew the voice! She felt herself spilling out onto the floor. This was the first time this memory had come to her, and nothing made sense. So many thoughts
were hurtling through her mind. She wondered if somebody had planted them in her mind, if someone, or maybe the whole world, was out to get her. She felt violated and dirty, even though she didn't know if it could be true. After all, she knew that her mind invented all kinds of situations when it went off track. Still, they were always connected to some kind of truth, weren't they?

“Ruby, where are you?” Emma's voice rang out from the hallway. “I brought us some ginger ale. Wish we could spike it with some rum.” She came into Ruby's bedroom and stood at the doorway gaping. “My god, look at you—you're a mess.” It's true that she hadn't changed her clothes in two days and her hair was all mussed.

Emma put down her bag. “Ruby, what's going on? Oh my, what happened to your finger?” she said. Ruby looked down at the hand. She had wrapped a thick wad of toilet paper over her cut, but it was now soaked in blood. “I cut my finger with a knife, but it's okay now.”

“Let's change that and see if we can find something better,” said Emma. She rummaged in one of the cupboards at the far end of the kitchen, not saying a word about the mess there. “Don't you have any bandages?”

Ruby shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Let's get some tissue and some tape, then. Here we go, let's put this on,” she said as she taped several tissues over the cut. “Ruby, tell me, what's going on?”

“Oh my god, I don't know. I'm feeling so anxious, I'm overhearing conversations outside, and I'm not sleeping well. Then tonight . . .”

“What happened?” asked Emma.

“Ummm . . .” Ruby was struggling to stay present.

“Ruby, snap out of it. Talk to me.”

“Well, I spoke to my dad today . . .”

“Take a deep breath and try to focus your thoughts,” said Emma.

“I started getting all revved up . . . I remembered this scene out of my childhood . . . I would sing and dance in front of my parents and their friends. But it didn't stop there.” Ruby paused again, not sure of how to express her thoughts. “My head was flooded with the image of being sexually abused by a man who was a friend of the family. I could hear his voice, Emma.” She stopped to clear her throat and shake her head. “I was floored. It just seemed so real.” She jumped up and began pulling at her hair and pacing. “I feel . . . I feel so filthy all of a sudden, but I just don't know what to do with this information or whatever it is.”

“Maybe it's just a delusion.”

“Yes, no, I don't know. I've been getting shakier the past few days. Maybe I
am
semi-delusional, going in and out of it. But as outrageous as the thoughts can get, they're always connected to something fundamental at the core of my being.” Ruby couldn't talk anymore, imprisoned with overwhelming thoughts. She could hear voices trying to distract her from her conversation.

“Ruby! Listen to me. Get out of your head. Stay with me here. You should talk to your parents about this guy. When do you think it happened?”

“I don't know. I'm not sure.”

“Have you ever had this memory before?”

“No, never.” She sat there thinking for a moment. “But I have had this recurring dream about being raped . . . I always thought it was just a dream. A very creepy dream.”

The women stayed up talking for a bit, with Emma trying valiantly to keep Ruby from straying into the jigsaw puzzle that was her brain. Finally she suggested that Ruby contact one of numerous women's organizations in the city to see if she could get some counselling or just a sympathetic ear. After Ruby had pulled on a T-shirt and got ready for bed, Emma went home to sleep. A few minutes later, Ruby went down the hall to lock the door, opening it first, as she had a habit of checking the hallway at night. Luna came scrambling between her legs and bolted out the door and down the steps. “Luna, no!” Ruby shrieked. The cat had never been outside before, but if someone closed the front doors of the building she could be shut out for a long, long time.