[Dean's World] J.A. Eddy: Methuselah's Daughter, Part One, Chapters 5 & 6

[notify at powerblogs.com]

Posted by J.A. Eddy:
Methuselah's Daughter, Part One, Chapters 5 & 6
http://www.deanesmay.com/posts/1175812827.shtml


                                 Chapter 5

   I re-read her accounting of our meeting the previous night, shaking my
   head. âItâs a little disconcerting reading your descriptions. Iâm
   supposed to be the writer, youâre supposed to be the subject.â I was
   sitting comfortably in her hospital room that next morning, waiting
   for them to move her downstairs.

   âYou watch me, I watch you,â she replied, a bit distractedly. She sat
   up, turned a bit to her right, and began scooting to the edge of her
   bed.

   âWhat are you doing?â I asked.

   âGetting out of bed.â

   I restrained myself from offering to help. If she wanted it, sheâd
   ask. There was obviously no point in trying to talk her out of
   anything.

   âThese journals,â I asked. âHow long have you been keeping them?â

   âAbout 170 years,â she said offhandedly as she turned further to her
   right, and hooked her leg over the edge.

   I laughed. I loved the deadpan way she said things like that. She was
   clearly a flake, but the most entertaining flake Iâd ever met. She
   flicked a look at me, smiled, and then concentrated again on her leg.
   I didnât know where this relationship was going, but there was no
   doubt that it would be interesting.

   âWell, I can already see how parts of the project might be done,â I
   said. âI think I can use some of your journal entries directly. Not
   all of them, since you ramble a bit, but I can definitely see how with
   a little work and careful editing we can lift parts of your journals
   straight into the book, maybe weave it in with some of our interview
   transcripts. Could be tricky, but might work. Do you write these every
   day?â

   She scooted some more, grabbed the rail, and put her foot to the
   ground. She scratched absently at the stump of her left leg.

   âYouâd know better than I, but that sounds workable,â she said. âAnd
   no, not every day, but frequently, whenever something I deem
   significant happens, or when somethingâs troubling me.â She was
   flexing her toes, testing the floor, wincing slightly at its cold
   temperature.

   âTheyâre remarkably detailed. Do you have an eidetic memory?â

   She shook her head. âNo. But Iâve got a good one. Writing helps me
   remember things, keep my thoughts ordered.â She was rocking back and
   forth sideways, testing her balance.

   âSo where are the rest of them?â I asked.

   Before answering, she startled me by standing straight up on her one
   leg, facing away from me. I noticed then just how very thin and tiny
   she seemed. She couldnât have been much more than 5â3â, which
   astonished me because she had such a large presence about her. She
   didnât seem to care at all that I could see her backside through the
   open back of the hospital gown. She looked like she had almost no fat
   at all on her, which looked very unhealthy. With her back to me like
   that, I could almost believe her missing forearm was simply bent
   forward out of my vision, but the left leg was still obviously,
   tragically, almost completely gone.

   She then startled me again by leaning backwards like a ballerina and
   slowly bending her back into a âUâ shape. I could hear it crinkle and
   pop a little, and then she was staring at me upside-down.

   She said, âI have some that I wrote some time ago in a steamer trunk.
   The rest I mostly destroyed. Except for the web site, which Iâm still
   thinking about doing away with.â

   âOkay, thatâs three questions I have to ask all at once.â

   âGo,â she said, straightening up, the back of her head to me again.
   Her hand was still on to the bedrail.

   âWell, why do you write them if you plan to destroy most of them?â

   âBecause I write them for me, not for anybody else, and I already told
   you why I write them: to help me organize my thoughts and memories.
   Once Iâve done it I donât need them anymore, most of the time.
   Besides, most of them are trash, just rambles. Some would be dangerous
   if someone found them.â

   She bent at the knee very deeply, almost touching it to the floor,
   then lost control and spun around, almost losing her grip. She sat
   there on the floor in an awkward, strained position facing me, her
   right arm and shoulder twisted severely. I jumped up, but she shot an
   angry look my way and I stopped. She was shaking a little, trying to
   pull herself up. Then her eyes relented.

   âAll right, this is very uncomfortable. I suppose I could use a hand.â
   She was sweating, and panting hard.

   [1]READ MORE

   [2]Methuselah's Daughter, A Novel

References

   1. http://www.3500years.com/archives/000818.php
   2. http://www.lulu.com/content/416884