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There was no phone call when it happened. They just sent a car, because they knew Marianne’s mother and father would both be home. The couple were in that car now, enroute to the hospital.
“Do you have any idea what happened?” Marianne’s mother asked the driver, leaning over the front seat in order to speak to him.
The driver did not look away from the busy street ahead. “Ma’am, I’m just a chauffeur,” he said.
She sat back down and looked to her husband. “An accident? That’s all they said?”
“That’s all the message said,” he replied, brandishing the note. “An accident.”
The two shared a doubtful glance, but said nothing more on the matter. Marianne’s mother turned to look out the window, sitting fretfully as she craned to see where they were going.
Marianne’s father leaned up to the driver. “Can’t you drive any faster?!” He asked.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” the driver explained.
Sitting back down with a huff, he read and re-read the note.
“Accident during rehearsals. The car will bring you to hospital, more information will be given upon arrival.”
Marianne, of course, was in her own car enroute to the hospital. The Program, and even moreso the M.I.I. would not want the disruption and attention an ambulance would bring. She’d been laid across the back seat, the driver and her escorts taking the front. Another car followed with her Ministry Officer and more higher ups, scrambling to create the version of events that would go on record in between reprimands.
As for the order of events, Marianne was trying to recollect them herself. She had to know them. No one else would. But what had happened? It was not just that she was having difficulty remembering at the moment, between the pain and the strain it took to remain conscious, but also, in the moment that it had happened, she had already been incredibly disoriented. She remembered running, or trying to run, that’s where it had gone badly. What had she run from? Probably the same as always, the usual confrontations. No, no it was worse this time. The officer was… what was she saying? It didn’t matter. Never does. That’s what had happened, though. They were arguing. Really arguing. Marianne could assert herself now, at her age. That seemed to be just making more problems. The argument… whatever it was, the officer slapped her across the face. That’s what Marianne had stormed off over. The guards got involved after that, and after the guards were involved, it was indecipherable. All she’d figured was that she’d hit some floor, somewhere, hard. Maybe the orchestra pit. Or something backstage. Those particulars were beyond her.
Marianne felt along the length of her left arm with her right hand. She jolted the moment her fingertips brushed against the misshapen surface just before her wrist. The hot shock of pain radiated up into her shoulder. She winced as the pain faded back into the constant throb. The pain was the only real way she could gauge the injuries. Her arm was surely broken, she figured her wrist had to be as well, and she’d hit her head somewhere along the way, it seemed. Uncomfortable, Marianne tried to move into a sitting position.
Before she could, however, the movement caught the notice of the escort. “Hey!” He hissed back at Marianne. “Keep down from the windows. We’re trying not to attract any unwanted attention.”
Flopping back down, Marianne said, “I’m just trying to stay awake.”
“You can do that lying down. We’ll be at the hospital any minute now, I am sure you can manage for a bit longer.”
“If you insist,” Marianne replied, taking her time to still be spiteful. If there was any time she deserved the ability to be spiteful, it was now.
“Where is she?” Marianne’s father asked the moment he saw the officials he’d been told were waiting for him.
They took him and Marianne’s mother to a private waiting room and indicated for them to take a seat. “Right now, Marianne is in surgery. She will be out in an hour or so, I believe.”
“Surgery?!” Marianne’s mother asked, incredulous. “What di-” She held back for a moment. “Why is she in surgery?”
“That is what I am here to explain. I apologize for any confusion or distress caused by the initial note. We believe it was of more importance to arrive here in a timely manner, and that it would be simpler to speak to you about the issue. As for what has happened, as I am sure you are aware, Marianne has been in stage rehearsals for the past week. However, there have been extensive renovations ongoing to many of the performance areas. These renovations have made a number of hazards around most of the stage and backstage where Marianne has been rehearsing. We have tried our best to accommodate, and we also have tried to ensure that Marianne is well escorted, but… she is not always cooperative. We need not discuss her behaviour at this time, I am sure other reports you have received are indicative of the sort of dispute experienced today.”
“Are you going to get to the point, now?” Marianne’s father snapped. The long winded explanation did little to build confidence in the story. It was more obfuscation, like a child desperately trying to explain their way out of trouble. Excuses.
The official looked taken aback by the remark. He tightened his lips, and started again. “Very well… As I was saying, certain areas of the stages are currently unsafe due to the construction work. At the time of the incident, portions of the stage floor behind where Marianne was rehearsing had been removed for worker access. These areas were not of concern to us initially, as it was occurring in sections we did not anticipate being in. Marianne, however, did leave the stage for this section following an argument, and left on her own accord, without escort. While unescorted, she was of course, unable to see the access ports in the floor, and fell into one. This resulted in a fairly severe arm fracture, I am told, as well as a wrist injury and a concussion. When the doctor is available, I can bring him in to further explain, if you would like.”
The couple looked at each other, concerned and skeptical. Marianne’s mother spoke up. “I would like to hear from a doctor, yes. Until then, could we please be left alone?”
“I can wait outside, yes, I will also alert hospital staff of your arrival now,” the official said, leaving the room.
Marianne’s mother bit her knuckle in thought. “Do you suppose the doctor is going to say anything different?”
Her husband was already out of his seat and pacing. “They’ve all probably been told what we’ve been. If they’ve been told anything. I know they’re just going to keep this up, keep it quiet,” he said, cursing under his breath.
“Remember the walls, dear,” she said, gesturing with her head to the door, before returning to fidgeting in her seat. Her nails were already making marks in her palms. She switched to picking at her cuticles instead.
As he paced, his fist was clenching and unclenching. “I know. I don’t need to be told what I know right now.”
Putting her head in her hands, Marianne’s mother said, “I need a cigarette. Why’d we ever quit?”
Marianne’s father coldly chuckled. “I think it was when we found out we were having a baby,” he said.
A small smile crossed his wife’s face. “Of course we did,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I remember, you know, back when she was a baby, all the doctors we saw back then, they used to always offer me a smoke, because I was always so nervous. I still managed to say no, though. I was very proud of myself for that. I’d take one in a heartbeat right now, though.” After another minute or so of watching her husband pace across the small room, she spoke again. “If you’re going to be up and walking, can you at least find a nurse and have her bring me an aspirin?”
The anesthesia was wearing off, and Marianne could hear someone talking. A voice she didn’t recognise at all, but supposed it had to be the doctor. The words weren’t clear, but they were just starting to be intelligible. Marianne knew that whoever it was, it was probably someone who wouldn’t keep talking if they knew there was an audience, so she made no efforts to appear awake and aware. Besides, they’d put her glasses with her other personal effects, and the hospital lights would certainly be too bright for her to tolerate.
A more familiar voice came in, and that was clearer. The official. He’d been talking to the doctors when they were checking her in. Marianne figured this was her officer’s boss or something. Someone higher up on the chain of command who was around to commandeer the situation. “So what exactly did you all find, again?” He asked.
The doctor, who Marianne could understand finally, spoke. “Prior to the surgery, we did imaging which confirmed the broken arm, as well as revealing the suspected wrist fracture. We found no skull injuries but examination showed evidence of a mild concussion. We found no internal injuries on any imaging, but did notice three healed rib fractures that were not on file. The surgery went as anticipated, though recovery might be a bit difficult.”
“Anything regarding her recovery can be brought up with her parents and herself. We will have no involvement in that. As for anything you’ve found that was not connected to this incident, I would urge you that it should remain off the record. If she’s going to be awake soon, I will be leaving, and her parents can see her when it’s appropriate,” said the official.
Footsteps echoed, the official leaving. The doctor walked up to Marianne’s bed and gently nudged her shoulder. “Marianne, you’re in post-op now. How are you feeling?”
Marianne needed a moment to find her words. “I… don’t know? Funny,” she said, settling on that word. It was correct though, she certainly didn’t feel quite right.
“That’s to be expected. It should go away in a bit, some of that is going to be from the concussion, do you remember talking about that when we were examining you?”
“I think so. You said it wasn’t really bad, though, right?”
“No, it definitely was not the worst it could have been. Your arm broke the fall significantly.”
Her arm. That’s right. That was the main issue. It had slipped her mind. She could feel now that it was confined. “What did you do with my arm?” She asked.
“We moved the bones back together and pinned them in place. There were also some concerns about your wrist, but they were not severe enough to need anything like your arm. The cast should keep it steady enough on its own. I’ll explain it more to your parents,” the doctor said.
“When can they come?” Asked Marianne.
“Soon,” said the doctor. “We’ll move you into a room shortly and we’ll bring them to meet you there. They’re just making sure everything is together, first. It shouldn’t be long.”
It was not long at all, really. In a few minutes, Marianne had been moved to a private room, where a nurse kindly retrieved her glasses from a bag of belongings, and left to collect her parents and the doctor.
Upon their arrival, Marianne’s parents immediately rushed over to embrace her, inundating her with their relief and questions. She winced a bit from the sudden rush, as it started to bring back the aching in her head. “I’m glad to see you too, but please, can you slow down?” She said.
They both stepped away, but kept close to the bed, appraising the situation until the doctor returned. Aside from the cast, there were few marks that anything had happened, besides the beginning of a bruise near her hairline. Marianne’s mother spoke back up. “How are you feeling?” She asked.
“Better, I think,” Marianne said. “The doctor said I’d be out of sorts for a bit. The anesthesia made it worse, but that’s going away. It’s just my head now.”
“And your arm?”
“Painkillers,” Marianne explained. “Has the doctor talked to you at all?”
“Not until just a moment ago,” Marianne’s father explained. “When we first got here, some official did all the talking.”
“Of course.” Damage control. Marianne knew that they’d have to cover it up. Who was all being told this, she couldn’t possibly know. What was happening after all this was also a mystery to Marianne. If she was lucky, maybe she’d get a break. Even a short one. It would be nice to be left alone for some time. Being free of not just the horrible experience under the M.I.I., but also the constant, exhausting pressure of working for the Music Program was something Marianne always needed, but scarcely got. Maybe that would be the one good thing that came of this, if she had to be optimistic.
The doctor came in not long after that. He greeted Marianne’s parents cordially before talking to Marianne again. “Is the anesthesia wearing off?”
“I think so,” said Marianne. “But how long am I going to feel strange from my head?”
“That will be a day or two, that’s actually something we need to go over. We were considering having you stay overnight, but you seem to be in better sorts than we originally anticipated. You’ll be able to go home after this, and just have your mother and father watch you. Until you’re better, it’s best to relax and not do too much straight away. You’ll most likely need to take a few days off from singing. Mostly, just try not to do anything that takes a lot of thought or focus, anything very stimulating. Ease back into things,” the doctor said, before going on to explain to Marianne’s parents symptoms to look out for and be concerned about. Mostly, just any worsening of the issues she was already having, and anything that seemed to indicate that she was declining mentally.
“Is there anything about her arm we should know about?” Asked Marianne’s father.
“Yeah,” said the doctor. “It’s mostly waiting, most of the work’s been done with the surgery. The cast and dressing just need to be kept clean and more importantly, dry. We’ll schedule a date to remove it when you leave.”
“And when can we do that?”
“I can have the paperwork ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, you can get ready to leave. Marianne’s clothes and things are in that bag over there,” the doctor said, gesturing to a corner before leaving.
Marianne’s father also stepped out, but Marianne’s mother remained. “Do you think you’ll need help?” she asked.
Considering for a moment, Marianne tried to move the fingers on her left hand, uncomfortable and stiff. They were going to hold her back. “I think so, just this time,” Marianne begrudgingly said, getting out of bed and reaching for her mother. She was steadier on her feet than anticipated, but still, she felt disoriented and unfamiliar.
Her mother kept her steady, and took Marianne’s clothes to help her get dressed. Marianne didn’t need too much help, just a hand to figure out how to move with the added bulk of the cast and someone dexterous enough to work buttons and such. In a moment, though, Marianne’s mother stopped, and pulled up one of the short sleeves of Marianne’s blouse. “What’s that?” she asked.
Marianne, of course, did not know what her mother could be talking about. “How am I supposed to know?” She asked. “It’s probably to do with the fall,” she added, presuming there was some bruise or other. Marianne didn’t know the cover story yet, so she decided to be vague, and really, she still had gaps where anything could have happened. It certainly was not a typical fall, even beyond whatever had happened before.
“You think so?” Her mother prodded. The mark was certainly a fresh bruise, or a series of them. Four oblong marks in a row.
Pulling the sleeve back down, Marianne said, “I’d guess so. It just happened, after all. I can’t recall it right now, but it had to be.” What it really was, Marianne was unaware, but she was clever enough to know when suspicion was being aroused. She hadn’t lied though, aside from omission, so there was that, but she still knew she had her own cover-up operation to keep going.
Marianne’s mother pursed her lips, but dropped the subject, aware she was going to be stonewalled. She was well more than suspicious, but if Marianne couldn’t be forthcoming, now was not the time to keep at it. Really, Marianne was never forthcoming, but there were obviously more immediate concerns. She didn’t speak any more besides directions, moving and observing, until they were ready to go. “And done,” she said, after Marianne clumsily pulled the sleeves of her jacket on.
“We can go now?” Marianne asked, adjusting the band of her skirt to be more comfortable and running her good hand down the pleats.
“Your father should have the documents by now,” her mother said, guiding Marianne to the door.
From there, they met with Marianne’s father, who had been given the paperwork they needed to leave, and left the hospital, where a car was waiting for them. The three all took up the back, Marianne seated between her mother and father. She leaned over on her fathers shoulder, who was trying to read some of the instructions given with the paperwork. “Did they get me a copy of that stuff?” she asked.
“They don’t make braille copies of these,” her father explained.
“They’re a hospital. They should be able to do that. That’s just stupid,” Marianne complained, incredulous.
“Besides, this says you shouldn’t even be reading,” her father said, tapping the paper.
Marianne turned to face her father for a moment. “How would I know you’re not making that up?”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know,” said Marianne, relaxing again. “But suppose in a different situation. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Marianne’s father nodded. “It wouldn’t be fair, that’s true. Can complaining to me do anything about it?”
“No,” Marianne conceded. “Can you complain to the hospital for me, then?” She asked.
“I’ll write a strongly worded letter,” he said. “Let’s not get ourselves riled up for the rest of the ride home, then.”
Marianne wasn’t going to disagree with that. “I’d be happy to not get riled up,” she said, before half dozing off.
“Are you really going to write the hospital a letter?” Marianne’s mother whispered.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Marianne's father whispered back. “She’s right. Or at least, she’s got the right idea. She knows she’s not the only blind girl in this country, but she knows she’s different. It won’t take much of my time to write a single letter. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of letter writing and phone calls when we get home anyways.”
“We’ll have to talk, first.”
“I know.”
The rest of the ride home was silent, with Marianne asleep and her parents too tense and uncertain to speak in a government car. Her father read and reread the paperwork while her mother kept falling back into old nervous habits, trying to discretely chew the cuticle on her thumb as she looked out the window. The aspirin she’d been given at the hospital wasn’t touching her tension headache. She’d take another when she got home.
They were home soon enough, too. As soon as they were inside the apartment, Marianne’s parents went to their bedroom, and Marianne went to hers. She’d already felt much better, free of the tiredness, the mental fog not cleared, but she felt more like herself than she did at the hospital. She took a seat on her bed, debating what she could and wanted to do, but the sound of her parents in their room piqued her interest. She had sensed their tension earlier, and understood they were certainly going to be upset. The fact of the matter, though, was they were trapped. Marianne had to know what they knew, however, because they were all trapped together. She pressed an ear to the shared wall between the rooms and listened. She caught her mother mid-sentence.
“-know what I saw. They were like fingerprints.” Her mother’s voice was stressed, a harsh whisper. “There’s no way they can think we don’t know.”
Her father responded similarly. “We can see, and know whatever. They won’t care. You saw the way they’ll just lie to our faces. I’m sure they know well enough that we don’t always believe them.”
“But they listen to you.”
“Sometimes they listen to me. Not about things like this. I have sway with the Music Program. This isn’t a Music Program issue. And we’re not supposed to know that.”
“What are we supposed to do, then?”
“Not play our cards too early. If we jump the gun, we will make things worse. I think for now, I’m just going to mention that we’re going to be keeping a closer eye on her going forward. Just something to spook them. I’ve got something carefully planned. For now, I just need to alert the Program that she won’t be available for some time now. I’ll probably have to negotiate that over the phone, but I have medical orders I can throw around. Aside from all this, Marianne could use this time away.”
Marianne could agree with that. She didn’t even know what she would even do anymore with so much time at home. Both groups tried their hardest to keep Marianne busy and away, but still, the thought of not having to be somewhere was enough.
“But what about, you know-” her mother began.
“They can live without her for a week,” said her father. “They got along without her for years before. It’s not like she’s not coming back.”
Of course she’d be coming back. She would always have to return to the M.I.I. That was the only problem with such a break. Marianne had already figured that the Music Program would be glad to ease up for a while. After all, she certainly wasn’t going to be able to do anything public, they would definitely prefer to keep most of this quiet as possible. None of that would keep her from the Ministry work at all. And really, even if she could fight and argue with them forever, Marianne did need to show that she was still useful to them. There would certainly be plenty of problems if she wasn’t. Problems Marianne knew the government would solve swiftly, in ways she was quite familiar with and had nightmares about. A week away would probably be the only time away Marianne would ever get, and it would likely come with a price.
Marianne stopped listening after that. She was giving herself a headache, and only causing her more anxiety. She stepped back and let herself fall onto her bed.
Not long after, her mother stepped in to check on her. “Are you still tired?” She asked.
“No,” said Marianne. “Just…” she couldn’t find the word that fit how she felt, or really, the way to mention it to her mother in particular.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“I want to.”
“What for?”
Marianne’s mother didn’t answer.