The Sound Of The Pump

“It made my hands poorly,” the old woman was saying to him, “it made my hands poorly.”

She was starting to cry and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know whether it would be right to do anything at all and from there he didn’t know what it was he could have done anyway.

“I’m fully unconscious” the old man next to her was saying, “I’m fully unconscious.”

Do they all talk in that way, he thought, parroting the same sentences over and over? This place was depressing. More than that it was strange; strange and unnerving. Someone was tugging at his sleeve now. He turned to see a man who may have been in his early twenties, short hair sticking up like a wire brush, eyes big and dark. The man fixed him with a gaze that passed right through, as if he were trying to burn a hole that would allow him to see the wall beyond.

“I am in my head today,” the young man said.

Derek thought: what do I say to that?

“Do you understand me?” the young man said, insistently. “I am in my head today.”

There it was again, the repeated phrase. Derek felt like he would go out of his own mind if he heard that once more. Maybe it would stop if he replied to the young man.

“I understand.” Derek said.

The young man became very still, regarding him with something between pity and repulsion.

“You understand nothing.” The young man swept his head sideways in an aggressive motion and his body followed as he walked away.

Derek had flinched at that movement and then became immediately embarrassed by his own reaction. He felt shaky and remembered that he had not eaten in quite a few hours. Maybe food would be a good idea. Once he’d picked Bernard up he would take him for something on the way home. Pizza, maybe. Bernard had always loved pizza.

Derek tried to edge away from the patients, moving back to the wall. The nurse had been gone maybe two minutes but he was already paranoid and nervous. He hated this place just like he’d hated all of the places that Bernard had been to over the years. He dreaded this period that he had to endure; it was always the same, the waiting alone while they went and got his brother. Alone with all the other people who were like his brother but so different in their individual ways. He thought maybe it was this complexity in each one of them that seemed so overwhelming to him; each person here was their own delusional universe, self contained and full of their own secrets, fears and neuroses. The thing that scared him about this was that this meant they were really no different to anybody else in the world, whether they were in here or not. These people here made it so much more obvious because what they were going through was so intense that it could not be disguised, but everyone was much the same, little separate worlds of their own. He knew then that he was like this too.

 

It seemed a long time since he had been in this position. Bernard could be stable for long periods and it was easy to become complacent and assume his stability had become the norm. Derek had not really spotted any warning signs this time but then he hadn’t spent too much time with Bernard over the last few weeks. Work was especially busy and had kept him away. He knew that he deliberately used work as one of the excuses for not paying attention. He didn’t like having to deal with this. He didn’t like having to deal with his brother’s problems; he didn’t really understand them and it was easy to let himself drift away from the situation. Bernard had a paid carer, she was compensated to worry about his problems. For Derek it was a burden of familial responsibility.

Derek had been in a meeting at work when this latest call had come through. It wasn’t a very important meeting, just a briefing with a colleague, but Derek had played up the situation for what little drama it had, acting over-concerned when he took the call and then overly embarrassed when he’d had to excuse himself from the rest of the meeting. He knew no correct way to excuse himself from a meeting because his brother had been picked up by the police tying string around lampposts whilst topless, so he exaggerated and told half truths. He couldn’t even remember now what he had said. He just remembered the acutely anxious feeling that the phone call had brought. It was the same feeling he got when he realised he could no longer put off washing his clothes or washing up the dishes or cleaning the kitchen floor. He knew it was something he had to do, something that was solely his responsibility, but then he would really only do it because he had to.

Derek felt no guilt at this. He felt he was a practical man acting as most would in an impractical situation. He had no wife or children, no burdens on him but his work, which was a burden of his own choice. Bernard was his only family now, their parents dead a long time ago. They had been a small family anyway, their parents quite a bit older than most and their own parents in turn dead before Derek and Bernard were born, so they had grown up without grandparents. The family unit was not only small but insular too and the focus had always been Bernard and his ‘problems’. His Mother had always used that word about Bernard; his Father had remained for the most part silent. Neither had really grasped any complexity about the situation they had found themselves in once Bernard’s ‘problems’ had started to become apparent, they had simply gotten on with things and adapted their simple, uncomplicated habits to incorporate the practicalities they needed to. There had been no real effort to address what may have made Bernard the way he was, no thought to understanding him, developing him or addressing his needs in any other way than one which made sure there was the least amount of interference with a normal life. Or rather, Derek thought, the appearance of a normal life. He knew he got that from his parents, that worry that you must always appear normal to others, to society at large. They had spent their lives making sure they looked acceptable to strangers. All their energy, all their efforts, had been towards that goal. Bernard potentially brought them shame and that had to be kept in check. They did little more than tut about him and look embarrassed when things got ‘out of control’. They would look at other people and smile and they would give that knowing tilt of the head that expressed their exasperation, inviting others to join in as they felt ashamed of their own child. If he was out of control then they must convince others that it was his own fault and not that of his poor, beleaguered parents who had not asked for this burden but had carried it nonetheless with as much dignity as they could.

 

The old woman with the poorly hands was back. She was carrying a plain, white carrier bag now, with a trail of string hanging out of the back of and dragging along the dull floor for about fifteen feet.  Occasionally someone would stand on part of the trailing string and more would come out of the back of the carrier bag. Hadn’t they said that Bernard had been tying string around things when he was found? He looked around for the nurse again. When he turned back the poorly hands woman had come right up to him again; she’d seemed to have been quite far away just a second ago.

“It made my hands poorly,” she said to Derek who tried to smile kindly. “It made my hands poorly” she said again and he felt himself tensing up.

“Yes,” He said to her.

“It made my hands poorly,” she said.

“I gather so,” Derek said, attempting some sort of pleasant humour.

“It made my hands poorly,” she said.

Derek tensed, not sure if he could survive hearing the same words spoken one more time. A hand on his shoulder broke the spell and he turned to face the nurse who had talked to him when he had first arrived. She was a miserable looking woman, thick bodied and sour faced. He didn’t like the confidence she exuded; it felt much more like a self assured arrogance.

“Mr Michaels, your brother is ready to go with you now.”

“Thank you,” Derek said but wondered what he was thanking her for.

The nurse started to explain things to Derek but he did not understand what she was saying and he did not take the information in, especially the names of the drugs she was telling him. He knew the names and the dosages Bernard had to take would be written on the bottles anyhow. That he could understand, something written down plainly in front of him. All he could gather from this particular exchange was that this nurse smelled somewhere between custard and cabbage and that he really did not like that.

 

They were in the car together before Derek said anything to Bernard.

“Aren’t you hot? That jumper looks very thick.”

“They gave me this.” Bernard said.

“Oh. Yes.” Derek sat with his hands on the wheel, looking ahead with a troubled face.

“I thought we’d get pizza on the way back to mine,” he said. “I have a new flat but it’s down near the canal where you used to like to go. It’s nice.”

“Near the power station?” Bernard asked.

“Yes,” Derek said, “near the power station.”

“Can we see it?”

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Years ago he’d taken Bernard down to walk on the canal, hoping he would find it relaxing and peaceful. He had heard that exercise was good for mental health problems. Just behind one section of the canal path there was a power substation, lots of pylons and other stuff he didn’t know the names of, cordoned off by high fences. It stood on its own in contrast to the surrounding greenery of the canal and some barge moorings. Derek had always thought of it as an eyesore that interfered with the enjoyment of some nice countryside. Bernard had been entranced the first time he had seen it. They had stayed staring at the pylons and transformers for half an hour before Derek had insisted they move on. He’d assumed Bernard would be much more interested in the ducks, swans and horses waiting to be seen along the canal.

Derek’s flat was five minutes away from the substation in a new block of luxury apartments. They could not get to it without driving past. Derek sighed.

“Yes, we can take a quick look.”

“You try not to go but there are drifting clouds of converse form, you know, in the air from speaking.” Bernard was trying to explain something to him now. “They know it as well but down that street the dogs don’t lie still, they just don’t go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Derek said. He had nothing else to say.

They sat there for a couple of minutes in silence. Bernard looked a little slumped now. He looked tired.

“Pizza then?” Derek asked brightly. Bernard didn’t answer so Derek started the car and drove off.

 

At the pizza place they sat mostly in silence again. Bernard ate a lot; he loved the stodginess of pizzas and ate two by himself, followed by ice cream. Between pizzas one and two Derek went outside to smoke a cigarette; it wasn’t as if Bernard would miss his company as the food was taking up all his attention. Derek stood outside on the street with a couple of other smokers that he politely smiled at but did not speak to. He lit a cigarette and stood with one arm folded and the other hanging loose. The wind was picking up and smoked most of the first one for him so he lit another and stood for a few minutes more in silence before he returned to his brother.

 

Because Derek judged that Bernard had behaved himself in the pizza restaurant he agreed to fifteen minutes at the substation before they went on to his flat. He planned on spending the weekend there with Bernard and then Bernard could go home to his carer on Monday. Derek had no other plans apart from a little work he had to bring home. Bernard could watch television whilst he got on with that. He’d never taken Bernard to this new flat before and Derek knew that this would make him nervous. He would have to get familiar with the place before he felt comfortable; it had always reminded Derek of a cat when Bernard did this, moving from room to room and mapping everything he needed to with his senses.

“Bernard, you know I have a new flat, like I said before?”

“I liked your old flat.”

“I know. This one is bigger and nicer though and it’s not far from here.”

There was nothing forthcoming from this.

“If you want,” Derek said, “We can come here again over the weekend. It’s a five minute walk. You’ll like that about it, won’t you?”

Bernard just continued to stare up at the machinery in the substation. Derek fell silent and tried to look at it too, tried to imagine what is was like seeing it through Bernard’s eyes, what could be so fascinating about it that it captivated him with such force. It seemed an old place now with dull steel equipment and a variety of objects dumped around the grounds, mainly wheels from bikes and prams. Large metal boxes had numbers painted on them in thick black paint: 203, 509, 308. Derek looked up at the main pylons that thrust up so far and so severely with their angles. One pylon on the corner of the substation had one set of arms shorter than the other and they bent to the side so that the lines could carry on at a forty five degree angle. It looked like some giant with withered limbs down one side, stretching out with the strong ones on the other.

He followed Barnard’s gaze and found his brother was staring intently at the brown or purple plastic looking disc structures atop an object that looked like it was from the set of a nineteen fifties science fiction film. Not plastic actually, it looked more like Bakelite. It was oddly incongruous to think this place may still be using parts made decades ago. Derek always figured that new technology swept away the old quickly. He didn’t like thinking that the power in his brand new penthouse apartment relied on bits and pieces that had been around longer than he had.

At least it was quiet here, he thought.

 

Back at the flat Derek let Bernard wander around the place for a while. He liked the view from the big window in Derek’s living room and stood a few minutes just staring out of the window until Derek realised Bernard could see the top of the substation’s larger pylons from there. Bernard only moved from the window once Derek had put on his television. Bernard had loved the massive plasma screen in Derek’s old flat but this one was even bigger, even crisper. Derek was always fascinated by how Bernard was entranced by the clarity in the television picture in a way that the real world outside the windows did not capture him. He had tried to explain to Bernard in the past that the real world had even higher definition than the picture on the television but Bernard could control the world on the screen in a way that he could not control the one outside, so he felt safer with what was on the screen.

They sat in silence again. Bernard spoke briefly to ask Derek if he could make the room colder; he was still wearing the thick jumper the nurses had given him. Derek offered him other clothes but Bernard refused so Derek changed the temperature and put on another layer himself. He knew where Bernard was now; he was in that place where the slightest change felt like a great, tearing wrench, even something as simple as moving around. Once Bernard had quite lucidly explained this feeling in great detail to Derek and Derek had understood in a way he seldom did with his brother’s feelings. Derek knew what it was like because he had experienced it himself at times, most recently after the split with Theresa, when she had left him complaining that he didn’t know how to really show his emotions to her, how he didn’t really believe that she loved him. He had gotten a friend to buy him enough weed to last for a week and Derek had taken time off work and sat in his old flat in front of the television for most of that time. He’d started getting stoned on a Friday night and had eventually run out the next Wednesday. The weed made his head rush with ideas, but none he could ever cling to; he liked this feeling, he felt as if it were emptying him out. He had wanted to feel less and less emotion until what Theresa had said felt the same for him. As far as he had known he had loved her as much as he could but he knew that she was not lying to him, so he arrived at the logical conclusion that what he felt about the situation, the hurt, the upset, the craving, must be wrong and he just had to ignore it until it went away and he became who Theresa said he was.

On the first night he was stoned he found himself unable to go to bed. He could not quite get a hold on why this was, only that the thought of moving had filled him with such an anxiety and panic that he had started to cry, a slow, hot weeping that pumped fierce tears out from his eyes and sent them streaming down his face. He had sat there hugging himself as if he had to keep something restrained, not knowing exactly what he was crying for and feeling a strong urge to be able to have his brother Bernard there. Just once he wanted his big brother Bernard to help him, to stay with him and make sure he was okay. Bernard had been locked in a hospital, sectioned.

 

Derek remembered now about the pump in the kitchen. Because of where this block had been built the water pressure was too low and all the flats had electric water pumps. The pump made quite a noise; the other week Derek had had friends around for food and they had been talking around the kitchen table until late in the night. At one point Derek had stood up and moved to the sink and then turned around and apologised for what he was about to do, which was wash up a glass. His friends had laughed and asked if he always apologised for washing up. He smiled at them and turned on the hot tap and they had all jumped as a harsh and sudden whirring, buzzing noise started up.

Only trouble was the guest bedroom was right next to the utility cupboard with the pump in it. Whenever friends stayed over and one went to the toilet in the night and then washed their hands the pump would start up and there would be a yowl of surprise from whoever was in the guest bed. This was where Bernard would be sleeping and he didn’t want him shocked by it.

Derek handed Bernard a bowl of ice cream that he had asked for as he sat watching Song, Marry, Avoid.

“Bernard,” Derek said, “I’d better warn you about the pump for the water.”

Bernard looked at him, puzzled.

“It’s loud,” Derek said, “Just listen to this for me.”

Derek got up and went into the bathroom and turned on the hot tap. The pump started up. He heard a little help from Bernard. He turned it off and came back in.

“What was that?” Bernard asked.

“The pump. For the water. It has to do that or we can’t have any water. If you need to use the toilet in the night it will come on when you wash your hands, okay? Don’t be scared of it if that happens, okay?”

“I’m not scared of that,” Bernard said, looking sullen. “I’m not stupid, Derek. I’m just a bit ill.”

“Okay. I just didn’t want you to be shocked by it.”

“I’m not scared.” Bernard said again.

 

They sat up late watching television, stupid little shows and cable channels, the sort of things Derek only watched when he was stoned or very tired. It felt good to do this with Bernard, almost normal except for the lack of communication between them. Derek occasionally laughed at something funny on a show, something dumb. Bernard looked angry when he did this, sometimes shooting him a withering glare and Derek stopped doing it. Eventually Derek felt himself drifting and knew he had to sleep. Reluctantly Bernard was shown to the guest room and put his bag of belongings at the end of the bed, finally shedding the heavy jumper. Derek had to force him to clean his teeth and wash his hands, Bernard jumping when the pump came on. Derek got him into bed and stayed talking to him for a few minutes hoping that Bernard would drift off but that seemed unlikely, so he wished him good night and went off to bed himself.

 

At four in the morning Derek woke with a start. He wasn’t sure what he could hear at first and his heart was pumping madly as it always did when he woke up from this deep part of sleep. He had half a dream in his head and stumbled out of his bed, untangling his feet from the end of the duvet as he pulled on some sweat pants. He found the tap turned on full in the bathroom and the pump roaring away. A toilet roll was lying on the floor on its side, unravelled across the bathroom tiles. He picked it up and ripped off the loose sheets, tidied it away and went into the guest bedroom.

Bernard was sat on the bed with his arms around his legs, the heavy jumper back on, quiet but crying, hot tears on his face. Derek sat next to him and put his arm around Bernard’s shoulders. For the first time in a long time Bernard pushed himself against his brother and let him hug him.

“I’m not scared, I’m just a bit ill,” Bernard said to him. “Just a little bit ill.”

Derek said nothing and let his brother sob gently in his arms until he fell asleep again.