Page Utilities
Glenys Carl, Pan Books (page 10 of 13) Page 10 of 13
Months later Robert sadly announces he will return to school and may not have time to continue with Scott. I remember him saying he was a dropout, and I am pleased he will continue with his education, although Scott and I will surely miss him. 'Where are you enrolling?' I ask casually, to show my support. 'I'm returning to medical school,' he says with a soft smile. 'I left because I saw no point. But after working with Scott I found my purpose.'
About the time Robert enters our lives I also receive a phone call from a man with a deep husky voice. His name is Billy, and he is calling from the Blue Mountains, a couple of hours west of the city. 'I've heard about your son,' Billy rumbles over the phone. 'I'm a masseur and I have a special technique that I learned from my papa. He worked with Sister Kinney in the old days, in her polio clinic. She taught him some secret techniques, and I think they might help your son. I'd like to come and volunteer.' I give Billy my address, but he doesn't appear right away and I forget about him.
A week later I open the door to a bull of a man who fills the doorframe and blocks the light. He is huge, at least six foot three, and weighs at least seventeen stone with a shaggy mane of red hair, a full red beard with a tuft of white at the skin, hairy, muscular arms, green, deep-set eyes and a barrel of a chest. 'My name's Billy,' he says. 'I called you about volunteering, and I'm here.'
I step back as Billy, toting an old leather suitcase, advances into the room and looks around. 'Where do I sleep?'
'You're not just here for the day?' I ask, rather intimidated.
'My special treatment takes three weeks. I always move in. Can't do it any other way.' What can I do? How can I refuse such dedication? So I lead him into my bedroom and say, 'This is where you'll sleep.' He throws his suitcase on the bed, and I gather my things and move into the living room to sleep with Scott.
Standing over Scott, Billy looks around the room and asks, 'Where's your massage table?'
'I'm sorry, this is what we have,' I say.
Billy shakes his head. 'Not good enough. I have one in my truck.' He leaves and soon returns with a massage table in pieces, which he assembles next to Scott. It's homemade and very sturdy. Getting on one knee, Billy lifts Scott from his floor bed, deposits him on the table, and after pondering the situation, proceeds with his special technique. He has a particular way of kneading the muscles very actively, while at the same time rocking the body. Billy's moves are so nimble, his hands melodically smooth as his stubby fingers probe and stroke, that before my eyes he has transformed himself into an artist, a maestro of massage. I am speechless. Two other volunteers watch in quiet awe as Billy's hands work their magic.
After a week, Billy is not only working intensely with Scott, but has hung a sheet to divide the living room and started a side business taking in clients from the neighbourhood. Some knock on the door while others call and say, 'My back is hurting,' or 'I woke up with this terrible kink in my neck. Is the magic mountain man working today?' Suddenly I am the madam of a massage parlour. But I couldn't be happier. Billy is kind and compassionate and Scott shows considerable improvement in arm and leg flexibility.
After his promised three weeks, Magic Man packs up, breaks down his table, and departs as mysteriously as he arrived. For weeks after, people call to enquire about him. I have no idea when he'll be back, I say, maybe never. But Billy does return. Several months later he surprises us all with a knock on our door and continues his work with Scotty. Soon he has set up a successful local practice with his own place.
All day, every day, we are visited by a cross-section of Australian society. People drift in and out. I lose track of who is volunteering and who is there to socialize, bring food or flowers, or pick up laundry. Neighbours check in and musicians arrive unannounced. A beautiful high-school girl with long brown hair stands over Scott and plays a violin concerto. Two university students with African djembe drums pound out rhythms. A leathery fellow from the outback with a didgeridoo entertains us with three friends on flute, tambourine and guitar. When the music isn't live it's recorded – classical, meditation, folk, jazz. Day and night our little apartment overflows with music and laughter.
From a nearby Feldenkrais school an instructor volunteers his students. Another day we are visited by Sai Baba devotees, and some Hare Krishnas who normally spend their time asking for donations, but who end up volunteering and bringing wonderful food. We enlist a decathlon runner, taxi drivers, schoolteachers, plumbers, lawyers, architects, policemen, actors, nurses, medical interns, students, foreign students, teenagers who run errands, retired couples who take away our laundry and bring in meals. A woman named Rose who owns a used clothing store (called Second Hand Rose) brings me vintage clothing. I am amazed by their generosity and humbled by their gifts and blessings.
Janet, a young gymnast from England, visits Scott. She is tall and athletic, with shoulder-length blonde hair bound in a pony tail and a pink, glowing face. They become a little enamoured of each other. Janet always has a big smile and doesn't seem to have any sense of boundaries as to what Scott can or can't do. She treats him as if he's not disabled at all. She often takes Scott for long trips around Paddington (I wonder what kind of scores she gets on pushing the wheelchair). I can relax, knowing that with her muscular frame she can handle Scott and he will be safe. One of Janet's favourite amusements is to park Scott on the pavement, walk a half block in front of him, and do back-flips the length of the block until she lands on her feet right in front of his chair.
I look up one day to see Janet at Scott's side laughing about something, and think about how many attractive young women, and not-so-young women, I see Scott hugging and sharing a laugh with. Even as an invalid, he has a certain charismatic quality that women find attractive.
Once, when Scott has to go back to St Vincent's and stay in the neuro ward for three days for tests after he's suffered a seizure at home, she comes to cheer him up, turning cartwheels up and down the ward, to everyone's delight. Her energy is boundless. During that short stay, Scott is very scared watching people come in and go for tests. Some return with red marks from radiation and hair missing. Some are coming back from surgery and some do not come back at all. So for Scott, Janet's visits are quite uplifting. He is so scared that he makes me put taxi money in his drawer, in case he has to get out of there quickly when I'm not around. But that never happens.
From Hold My Hand: A Mother's Journey by Glenys Carl. Pan Books, Pan Macmillan LTD, England, 2005. All rights reserved.