My mind lets go a thousand things …
Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Mareijke opened her eyes as the new
day dawned. Slightly disoriented, she was startled to find a stranger sitting
in a wing chair across the room. She sat up in the enormous bed and looked at
him long and hard. Then she remembered. Uri Ayrrault.
“You’re awake at last,” he
said in a kind and warm voice. “How’re you feeling, today?”
She rubbed her eyes and sat
wondering if she would ever wake up from her nightmare.
“Mareijke?”
“I’m okay,” she said
softly.
“Breakfast is ready,” he
said and quietly left the room. Mareijke slowly got up and headed for the
bathroom.
Amnesia. It had been seven
days of emptiness. She simply couldn’t remember anything. The first day upon
awakening in hospital, she had also felt disoriented … and he was there. Uri
Ayrrault. He was the only person in the room at the time.
He had spoken of an
accident. She had spent seven traumatic days in hospital trying to remember
something … anything. But the harder she tried, the worse the headaches became.
Each vain search had ended in tears.
After being discharged, Uri
had taken her to their home. She hated not remembering. She hated not knowing
who she was or from where she had come. She hated not knowing the tall, blonde
man who claimed to be her husband. She didn’t even recognize their house.
Mareijke went down the
stairs to the sheltered patio, as she had done the previous day. She joined Uri
at the table, wishing the day would be less bright. Sunlight danced on the
sparkling blue water of the swimming pool behind Uri. It made her eyes ache.
She sat next to him with her back to the garden and ate some of the food on her
plate.
She wasn’t hungry. The
orange juice was cool and she enjoyed it. It didn’t remind her of anything and
she wondered if she had ever had any before in her life. It was orange juice,
she thought quietly. Obviously, she must have had some during her life.
“You have a doctor’s
appointment,” Uri said warmly, smiling at her.
“When?” Mareijke asked disinterested.
“Eleven o’clock.”
What did it matter? The
doctor had already said nothing could be done about her memory loss. Her head
was a blank slate and it was apparent no one could help her. Her self-piteous
state of mind helped even less.
“Crying won’t bring back your
memory,” Uri had said to her in the hospital room.
“I can’t help it,” she had
answered between sobs. “Who am I?”
“Memory loss is scary,” the
doctor had said. “You’ve lost all your personal information, but you’re still
able to speak, think, write and drive a car.”
“But … will I ever remember
again,” she had asked.
“When the test results
return, we’ll talk again.”
She wasn’t eager to see the
doctor, but went with Uri for the examination at eleven. The doctor was
optimistic and told them that Mareijke’s tests had confirmed what he already
knew. There was no brain damage, which meant the coma had left no permanent
effects.
“Coma?” Mareijke asked,
dazed. The doctor looked at Uri and then at the papers in front of him.
“Your husband wanted to
tell you about the coma,” the doctor said, giving Uri a look of disapproval.
“Coma?” Mareijke asked
again, looking at Uri as she grappled for some kind of recollection as to what
had happened.
“Yes,” the doctor said
quietly. “You were flown to South …”
“I brought you” Uri cut in,
“to one of the best hospitals in Pretoria. You were in a coma for two weeks. I
didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”
The doctor looked at Uri
and then at Mareijke. Directing his words to her, he said, “You went into a
coma after sustaining a head injury. Amnesia is not unusual. Since there’s no
damage of any kind, I am certain that it’s only a temporary situation.”
“Temporary,” Uri said,
suddenly seeming more interested than he had been before. He sat forward and
asked, “How long will it take for her memory to return?”
“I don’t know. The course
of amnesia is variable,” the doctor said. “Any emotional trauma could prolong
the condition. Since there is no brain damage, she could regain her memory
within weeks or a few months.”
“So, what you’re saying is
that it all depends on the extent of the brain trauma,” Uri said, “which could
be emotional.”
“Yes,” said the doctor.
After their return from the
doctor, Uri left for a business appointment and she promised him that she would
rest. Mareijke didn’t feel like sleeping. She sat on the patio for a while
looking at the beautiful little garden. She wondered how long they had been living
there. She went into the house and decided to look for something that could
possibly jolt her memory.
Most of the drawers and
cupboards were empty. She went to their bedroom and also found nothing of
consequence. Mareijke felt very uncomfortable in the house. It was cold and
austere, much like her relationship with Uri. There were no photos of them, not
even a wedding picture.
Her days passed quietly.
She slept during the afternoons and then waited for Uri to return. He made
dinner and they spent the evenings reading. Mareijke retired early each night.
It was a dismal routine.
She had asked Uri to bring
her some magazines to keep her busy. He brought novels for her to read instead
and she spent a great deal of time reading and resting.
A week later, she was back
in the doctor’s waiting room, paging through one of the magazines to help pass
the time. She wasn’t sure why, but one of the pictures in an advertisement had
a strange effect on her. She frowned. Tapping the picture with her finger, Mareijke
closed her eyes and tried to remember the place.
The magazine was violently snatched
out of her hands giving her the fright of her life. Uri was extremely agitated.
He pretended to be interested in the magazine and then, with magazine in hand,
walked up to the young woman at the reception counter to ask how much longer
they would have to wait.
Mareijke instinctively felt
uncomfortable with his reaction. It stayed with her for the rest of the
morning. She cornered him at home and couldn’t understand why he refused to
talk about the picture. The walls of their house seemed to close in on her.
When he left for work, Mareijke decided to see if any of her neighbours were at
home.
The picture was a link to
something and even though she didn’t know what it was, she was determined to
find out.
A domestic worker was in
one of the gardens. She didn’t recognize Mareijke at all. According to Uri,
they had been living in the neighbourhood for several months, but the young
woman said they had only moved in two weeks ago.
She returned to their home.
When Uri came home, Mareijke decided to retire to her room earlier than usual.
“What’s wrong, Mareijke?”
he asked.
“I have a headache, nothing
serious though.”
“You’re still upset with me
about the magazine,” he said.
“No,” she tried to sound
convincing.
“You are upset with me,
Mareijke,” he said slowly.
“Okay, I am,” she said
quickly. “You don’t want me to remember anything.”
“What?”
“You said we moved here
several months ago. Where are my things? Didn’t I have clothes, shoes, jewellery
… albums? Why aren’t you showing me photos of our past?”
“When you’re recovered,
I’ll tell you about your past and show you photos.”
“Recovered? I am
recovered!” Mareijke was frustrated. “I’ve been resting in this horrible house
for almost two weeks now. I can’t just sit around anymore, Uri.”
“Then we’ll talk over the
weekend. That’s to say if you can be patient until then.”
She went to bed early,
tossing and turning for hours. Eventually she fell asleep. The next morning at
breakfast, Mareijke found it very difficult to act naturally. She didn’t trust
Uri anymore, but she would wait until the weekend for him to tell her about her
past. If he didn’t, it would prove her fears to be true … that he didn’t want
her to regain her memory.
Mareijke waited very
patiently for him to leave before she went out to scout the neighbourhood. It seemed
to be school holidays as many children were out in the streets. She walked down
the road and found a group of teens sitting on the lawn in front of a house not
far from where she lived.
The huge electric gate and
savage dog that stood barking at her made her look up and down the road for
another option, but the group of people at that particular house seemed to be
the only choice available to her. She decided to take a chance and see if the
jovial group would help her.
Two girls approached the
gate while the dog continued its barking fit.
“Hi! I’m Mareijke Ayrrault from
up the road,” she introduced herself above the canine racket.
The girls smiled, but seemed
cautious.
“I was wondering if you
could help me,” she ventured again at the top of her voice.
If only the dog would shut up, Mareijke
thought, losing her courage to continue.
“My mom’s not home and
we’re not supposed to talk to …” one of the girls shouted back. “Oh, SHUT UP,
BRUTUS!”
The dog listened to the
girl and immediately stopped barking. Mareijke was amazed at its obedience. The
girl smiled apologetically at Mareijke.
“Sorry,” she said. “We’re
not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“When will your mom be
home?” Mareijke asked.
“She only stops work at
five,” the girl answered.
Five o’clock would be too
late. By then Uri would be on his way home.
“I’m suffering from amnesia
and I just wanted to know a few things about a certain place,” Mareijke said.
“Wow!” the other girl
responded. “That’s bad. Where’s this place?”
“I have no idea. I was at
the doctor this morning and saw a picture in a magazine,” Mareijke responded
excitedly.
“We have Internet,” the
first girl said, looking at her friend.
“Will you help me?”
Mareijke asked.
She was losing them. She
needed to think quickly. She didn’t know what to say to convince them that she
was harmless.
“She’s nice,” the other
girl suddenly said. “Let’s help her.”
The first girl laughed and
beckoned for someone to have the gate opened. Relieved, Mareijke followed the
girls past the group of teens into the house. The dog was quite conspicuous in
its absence, having long forgotten about her existence.
They started searching for
the place on the Internet.
“It was a picture of a
desert,” Mareijke said.
The girl took Mareijke on a
tour through several pages of desert images. The word ‘Sahara’ seemed to stick
inside Mareijke’s head, but she continued to look at all the images. Then
suddenly, one specific picture made a very strong impression.
“Stop,” Mareijke said to
the girl, pointing to the picture.
“This one?” the girl asked.
She clicked on it to have the image enlarged. The picture was an array of
autumn hues, with the silhouette of a camel-train against a sand dune. Mareijke
was overwhelmed by it. While she could remember absolutely nothing about her
past, she was sure it would eventually arouse a distant memory. The intensity
of her emotions drew her into the picture, which confirmed her suspicions about
Uri Ayrrault and the house, both having left her devoid of any familiar
feelings.
“I think I’ve been in a
place like this before,” Mareijke said softly.
“Do you want me to print
the picture for you?” the girl asked.
“No,” Mareijke said,
confidently. “I only need a name. Let’s look at pictures of the Sahara Desert?”
The words on the screen bounced
around in the vacant space in her head: Sahara Desert; sandstorm, Sahara; Visit
the Sahara; Dunes of Sahara …. Her head was starting to ache.
“This one,” Mareijke said,
pointing to a seated camel.
Opening the page, Mareijke
was lost as she stared at the camel.
“It’s about the Libyan and
West Sahara deserts,” the girl said.
“The limits of the Sahara Desert are the Atlantic Ocean on the West, the
Atlas Mountains and the Mediterranean Sea in the North,” Mareijke read
the words slowly. “Atlas Mountains …”
The girl typed Sahara
Desert and Atlas Mountains and the second picture made Mareijke stand back with
tears welling in her eyes. Morocco.
“That’s it,” she said.
“You remember,” the girl
asked excitedly.
“No!” Mareijke was
overwhelmed by her experience. “But that name ... I’ve been there. Morocco.”
Her head was pounding and
she felt nauseas.
“Are you okay?” the girl
asked. “You’re terribly pale. Sit down.”
“Should I get you some
water?” the other girl asked.
“Go and get her some
water,” her friend demanded.
Mareijke sat on the chair
offered to her by the young girl and waited for the glass of water. She drank
slowly. As soon as she found some strength, she stood up and looked at the two
concerned faces in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said
kindly to the girls. “You don’t have to worry. I’m feeling better. You’ve
really helped me a lot.”
“Really?” the one asked.
“Yes,” Mareijke smiled.
She greeted them, promising
that she would return if she needed more information. She walked home slowly and
went to her room to take a nap, but couldn’t sleep. She found herself pacing
the patio when Uri’s car suddenly pulled up the driveway. He was home much
earlier than usual. While suspicion had taken the place of her placid trust in
the man, she realized that she would have to carry on as if nothing had
happened that day.
“What on earth is wrong?”
Uri asked, after entering the house. “You’re deathly pale. Should I phone the
doctor?”
“No. I just have a terrible
headache.”
“Again?’ he asked
incredulously. “Have you taken your medication?”
“No,”
“Mareijke! You need to be
more responsible.”
He went to find her tablets
and brought them to her with a glass of water.
“You need to rest,” he
insisted. For the first time he took her in his arms. She rested her head
against his chest. It was obvious that he cared and even though she didn’t
trust him, there was a sense of familiarity. Strangely, it made her feel safe.
Yet, he was lying to her. He was being deliberately evasive.
The medication worked fast
and before long, she was sound asleep in her room. When she awoke, he prepared
a warm bath for her and then prepared dinner while she soaked in the soothing
water. He appeared to be a good person, she thought, reflecting upon his
kindness towards her. Yet, she felt no definite connection. He was someone of
significance in her life, but not her husband.
She ate dinner, sat on the
patio with him for a while and then retired for the evening, falling asleep
almost immediately. The first few hours of untroubled sleep passed, but
Mareijke woke up in the early hours of the morning screaming and kicking, with
Uri beside her, trying to comfort her. When she finally realized that she was
awake, she started to cry.
“Nightmare?” Uri asked
quietly.
“Yes,” she said through
sobs.
“Do you want to talk about
it?” he asked in a kind way.
“No. I can’t remember
anything.”
He held her against him and
she stayed there, safe in the warmth of his arms and safe from visual contact.
He would know that she was lying. After a while, when he was certain that she
was calm and ready to sleep again, he switched off the bed lamp and left the
room.
Mareijke had dreamt about
Uri. He had been following her. There was another man dressed in white, but she
couldn’t see his face. He was ill. There was a lot of animosity between the two
men. They were in the desert and there was a helicopter approaching. Uri was
taking her away from the other man and she didn’t want to leave. He forced her
into the helicopter. Screaming and kicking, she tried to get away from him, but
it was just a terrible, terrible nightmare.
It had all felt so real.
She tried to remember the man in her dream. He was someone she could trust, while
Uri had become more the stranger to her. She couldn’t make sense of it. She
realized that she only needed time for her memory to return. If her emotions
were keeping her from remembering, she would need to work through them as
patiently as possible.
Mareijke knew she couldn’t
force herself to remember. It would only prolong the situation. She didn’t care
if it took days or weeks or months. Eventually she would remember. The picture she
had seen in the magazine was her unfaltering hope.
She fell asleep again and
slept peacefully until the next morning.
Uri brought the breakfast
tray to her room. He was kind and considerate, yet his dubious agenda made
Mareijke uneasy.
“I think you should stay in
bed today,” Uri said quietly. “You need to rest.”
He drew the curtains,
allowing the lazy sun to stretch its warm rays across the room. Mareijke ate in
silence, watching Uri as he stared out of the window.
“What are your plans for
today?” she asked carefully.
“Work, as usual,” he said
in an aloof manner.
“Do you work here in
Pretoria?” she probed.
“Yes,” he turned to look at
her. His eyes bore through hers, forcing her to stop eating.
“I’m sorry,” she said
quietly.
“Why?” his tone had changed
as he stared at her.
“For asking,” she answered.
“You’ve been very quiet
since the accident,” Uri said, watching her carefully. “Today you ask many
questions, Mareijke?”
Mareijke felt vulnerable
under his sharp scrutiny. He walked to the side of the bed and looked at her
carefully.
“Rest well, Mareijke van
Staalduinen. Rest well!”
He walked out of the room,
closing the door behind him. A few minutes later she heard his car pull out of
the driveway. A light frown settled on her forehead. He called her Mareijke van
Staalduinen, not Ayrrault. Did he know?
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