Elizabeth Arthur had starred in a Caribbean movie about 41 years ago, in 1966. It's true. The movie bombed, but she was a film star!
Close to the white metal grille-gate a majestic sign says: 'The Oasis: A home for geriatrics'. But Elizabeth couldn't see the slightest hint of a palm tree in the spacious, garbage-strewn compound. At the entrance, where the metal gate stands, a handful of rose bushes and brilliantly coloured wild flowers struggle for life in a sea of green grass and yellowish weeds.
Elizabeth is at lunch in her ward with about 50 others, average age 65 or 70. She thinks she's too young and good-looking to be at The Oasis. But she has nowhere else to go at the moment. She has no money, nothing. Like most of the others, no one ever comes to visit her.
She thinks the 'residents' are all like animals, and she had vowed never to be like them. How she yearns to leave The Oasis!
Some of the residents of her ward are blind. She's sure she can read and write without glasses. About a dozen are in wheelchairs; some wear hearing aids. Many can't even eat by themselves. The nurses feed them with bibs, as babies. All are females in her ward. Lots of them crawl around naked; their skins remind Elizabeth of mashed up brown paper bags. She believes her skin is still smooth and supple, not a lot different from what it was when she was 23 and a star.
The nurses yell at them constantly, but they mostly pay no heed. Practically every day the ward echoes the years Elizabeth spent in an orphanage.
She picks at her meal of black eye peas cooked up with chicken. The rice is soft, almost porridgelike, and the chicken is the same. Most of the residents have false, rotting -yellow, grey, black - or no teeth. She has all her teeth, and believes she can chew anything. The food lacks salt. It's tasteless, and she can't eat anymore. Persistent flies swarm the food as though they had a right and entitlement to a portion of the lunch.
Elizabeth gazes around and sees white wobbly plastic forks moving back and forth, up and down, in and out of styrofoam containers. Many of them drop or throw food on the floor as naughty children. Elizabeth thinks it's disgusting! The odour of food, filth, stale urine and pine disinfectant saturates the ward.
A piecing scream catches Elizabeth's attention. The 'baccoo' in fat Marva's big belly must be acting up. He probably wants more food, or he didn't enjoy the fare. Everyone, including the nurses, ignore Marva as she screams a few more times. Then she starts quarrelling with the 'baccoo.'
'What you want now, eh? I don't know when you going leave me alone. I tired of you, you dirty little devil!'
Elizabeth used to love dressing up. She still does, with clothing donated to the institution. Some of the donated dresses smell musty, but she thinks they're quite nice. The other day she found a lovely black hat with sequins and lilac feathers. She beseeches the nurses for lipstick and nail polish, and they give her - sometimes. The sharp smell of fresh nail polish always stirs something deep inside her.
The nurses like me, Elizabeth thinks. They call me 'Liz' as if I were Liz Taylor or something. But still she wants to go away from The Oasis. She makes up her mind to leave. She is convinced she might be happier on the streets. Come tomorrow, and she's gone!
After lunch, medication will be dispensed. Soon they will start snoring. Elizabeth hates that. The only 'medication' she thinks she needs are some cigarettes. But she can't get any because they are not allowed to smoke at The Oasis. They say it's a fire hazard, and it's bad for one's health.
Elizabeth keeps repeating to herself that she has to leave. Her mind reflects gleaming jewellery, a sparkling diamond ring, a big fancy house, and lots of delicious food at classy restaurants. She was happy. She could never forget her boyfriend. He was tall and handsome, and his eyes were as blue as a cloudless sky. He used to call her Chocolate Milk. Oh, how she loved him! Said he would take her back with him to England, but he left alone. She feels in her heart that he still loves her as she loves him, and she is convinced that he will return one day - return and carry her away from The Oasis.
There are males of all races at The Oasis, lots of them, but Elizabeth sees them as derelicts, wrecked and phantomlike.
Elizabeth likes cleanliness, to wash and bathe often. But water is a problem at The Oasis; the bathrooms are often flooded, and the toilets regularly malfunction and overflow. But she manages nonetheless,and she brushes her teeth every night.
It's maybe three years or so since Elizabeth has been at The Oasis, but it seems like forever. She truly can't remember how she got there or who brought her. And she doesn't want to know.
'I have to go,' he had said. 'I can't stay in this country any longer. I'll write you ...' His eyes had seemed misty.
She had started living with her boyfriend when she was in her late thirties. They stayed together for about ten years. After he left she spent time with some friends. He had given her quite a lot of money before he departed. But somehow the money ran out faster than she had anticipated.
And after she didn't hear from him for a long, long time, she felt as though a darkness, a deep black abyss of sadness, had come over her. She started drinking and smoking heavily. She lost interest in everything. One night she swallowed a fistful of sleeping tablets and must have slept a long, long time.
Recreation and entertainment are practically non-existent at The Oasis. The residents apparently prefer to just lie down, or sit and stare, and wait to enter another world.
Every week the jumbie-man spirits one or two of them away. They seem to cling to life, and Elizabeth is often puzzled. Why do they hold on to life when they're suffering so much?
Nobody fusses or wails for them. Sometimes Elizabeth sees the ancient black hearse clattering into the compound. Another government-burial. Tears burn her eyes. She swears to leave before it comes for her. New residents swiftly replace the departed ones.
In her ward, a small colour television resting on a low table flickers day and night, but the nurses huddle around it most of the time. Elizabeth has a portable radio, and occasionally she listens to music. She loves music and dancing. Her boyfriend used to take her dancing at posh nightclubs.
Elizabeth 'borrows' writing paper and pencils from the administration building. She writes letters to her boyfriend, even though she doesn't post them. But she's saving them for when he comes.
She cherishes a bit of solitary as often as possible, so she looks for empty darkened spaces, and tends her nails, or writes when she has stationery. Right now she doesn't have any paper, but she does have some chalk-white nail polish, bright red lipstick, and pink powder; and she had discovered a wig in the stuff someone donated yesterday. It's flame-orange, and it feels like straightened hair.
She had straightened her hair like that once, but now her hair feels stiff and fuzzy, like bush-fowl feathers. She decides to put on the wig. It will go well with the tight saffron blouse and the fuchsia cotton skirt she found in a donor pile. The skirt and blouse had a few 'moth holes', but they would work just dandy. If only she had a bottle of original French perfume, a pair of black high heel shoes, and a genuine-leather handbag, any colour would do. Earrings. She once had gold and silver ones, in all designs.
She takes her time and puts on her stuff in a distant corner of the ward.
Then she struts between the rows of beds with all the self-possession of a peafowl. The two nurses in charge stare wide-eyed as she approaches them.
'Eh, eh!' one exclaims. 'De girl Liz .... Look how she doll up, man! Hmm, she still look like a star.'
'Yeah, girl,' says the other, smiling at Elizabeth. 'Is true ...'
Elizabeth's throat constricts as pride and joy well up inside her. She strokes the silken surface of the wig, and for a moment feels sure it's her hair, her very own hair. Then she tells herself: This place isn't so bad after all. And it suddenly occurs to her that sometimes the food tastes real good, and charitable people bring great meals at least once a week. She whispers to herself: Listen, I ... I ... I've changed my mind about leaving. I'll stay till my boyfriend arrives.
- Mohamed Yasin
