A Brief Description of All That Happened Before

A Brief Description of All That Happened Before

Douglas Brown

And this was it-

Upon leaving the facility I was told I had had an accident, lost my memory and here are your things. I was given a hospital bag with my name sewn on it. I would probably, but not certainly, regain some, all, or parts of my memory. He shook my hand.

We have done all we can do. He smiled. I smiled and bowed. I walked outside into brightness.

An attendant took me by coach to a nice upstairs flat overlooking a wonderful court that, then, was quiet. The court had a fountain in the middle of it with a bronze statue of soldier on a horse rearing up. The flat was filled with books, manuscripts, pens, writing tables, and odds and ends. The attendant left. Soon after a pleasant, short round woman came and fed me. She wanted to talk but did not. Sometimes she would put the back of her hand to my cheek.

That night I stayed in the flat sitting in a very comfortable chair that seemed to fit me well. I put on the slippers that were there. I found myself like that in the morning. Not at all uncomfortable. The pleasant woman came again and put breakfast on the patio overlooking the court. I ate well. Croissants, eggs in a teacup, coffee, sliced ham charred and delicious. Perfect choices.

A man came after breakfast and took out a device he put on my chest. And he looked in my eyes and ears. After he left I heard his sharp footsteps as he went down the winding stone staircase. He passed the pleasant woman, they spoke, she smiled and he shook his head and off he went. When she came up, slowly and more quietly than the man, she had a bowl and pitcher and she bathed me. Wonderful!

I took walks that day and the next and always it seemed like a young boy would tug my sleeve and steer me home. This was usually around a meal time and, although I did not feel hungry, I always ate like I was.

Sometime I sat in a beautiful, huge park on a bench and watched people go by. I couldn’t help but think that some faces were awfully squinched and some were blank and some were passive. I wondered what could make their faces do such interesting contortion. I tried to imitate but could not find my face. Often someone would sit next to me and open a discussion about something they read and tap the book energetically and look at me to say something. Usually at that time the boy would appear. Once a man left a paper next to me open to a certain page. I glanced down.

American Author Hit By Trolley. Loses His Mind.

I took it with me but could not find it later.

After some months of this most delightful, relaxing time a man came to see me. His suit was quite wrinkled and he looked like he had come from some distance. He sat down and looked sympathetic. I smiled. I had seen faces like that before in the park.

Here are your drafts from Lippincott. I brought them myself, to see you and to bring them. I will deposit them. You are creating quite a stir over there. And here. Your books are selling briskly after the news. I will arrange for deposits to be made with your bank in the future.

After he spoke, he wiped his brow, somehow relieved perhaps. The pleasant woman came in with dinner and they spoke easily, like friends. He drank much wine and his face became serene. He loosened some clothing. He stood up and fanned himself.

He turned to me.

How does it feel, my friend, to have the past have no claim on you? A book like that, oh, that would sell. I smiled. He was right. But it would be awfully empty, wouldn’t it?

He and I walked over the next few days, arm in arm. He bought items that the pleasant woman would bundle up for him. I got used to the sound of his voice, never far, a friendly comfortable drone that dissipated as soon as it left the air.

And then he was gone.

It got colder. There were less patio meals. More inside with the fireplace going and blankets. I ended up as usual on the chair facing the fire. And when I awoke it was as though no time had passed. All was the same.

One day I noticed a woman sitting on the fountain wall. She was facing my window. I could see she was pretty. Her hair shone amber. All her clothes and gloves were black. She met my glance. I smiled. I went back inside and ate my morning meal and thought of her.

A second day, I saw her again. She sat in the same place. It was cloudy so her hair did not shine as much. She wore a lustrous blue with a beige scarf. This time when our eyes met, she smiled. For some reason I felt very happy and wanted to talk to the pleasant women about it but could not find the words.

I looked for her again. She was not there. I took walks. I looked at faces. They were mostly drawn against the cold but most seemed happier about this inconvenience.

Then on a walk I saw her. She stood on the only patch of green that showed through the snow. A mounted officer was leaning down talking to her and the horse was trying to get her attention as well but she was looking at me! She came forward. I bowed and smiled. She put her arm through mine and we walked. At my stairway she curtsied and left.

When I went up the pleasant woman was fixing the fire and placing the meal.

You look like a young boy! Flushed. Embarrassed. Now whatever could cause that? I had no idea except I felt exuberant and hopeful.

Each day we walked. She spoke but it was not to fill the air. I listened. Finally one day I stopped and held out my arms. She walked forward.

I have not spoken, have I, for some time?

No. She smiled. She patted my arm.

I asked her to dinner. We ate and laughed with the pleasant woman bringing us magically a roast, potatoes, rolls. After we ate she looked at the chair.

You sleep here?

I looked at the pleasant woman. She nodded.

I don’t sleep. But, yes, it is where I end up.

The woman pulled aside the curtains to where the bed was.

I hear these are a marvelous invention.

She was delightful! Something to, to…

Spring came. We spent more time on the patio. We went to museums and rode coaches along a river. Sometimes she would take out a book and read to me. My thoughts would seem to travel with the words.

And one night at the flat she pushed aside the curtains. The pleasant woman had taken away the dishes and tidied and departed. She sat on the bed. She was wearing rose and a cream blouse underneath. She patted the bed.

I sat next to her. My heart was beating. A clear thought came to me and I looked at her.

Love is when time starts, isn’t it?

Re-starts, as well. We held each other and fell back into the bed. We listened together to the eight Advent bells ring their mystery.

The Ladies Guild of Change Ringers, she said.

I had heard the pleasant woman chat below my window to another about the Ladies Guild.

That night we slept and all that had happened before fell like the hundred thousand rose pedals in the park.

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