The Almanac Branch by Bradford Morrow Read Free Book Online Page A

progressive dementia, or a tumor—looking through these materials, by the way at some point I’d like to find out from you why it is she’s been through so many analyses without getting on a single program before this. Grace is, or has the model physiognomy for this, reddish-blonde hair believe it or not is common in migrainous females, as is Grace’s appetite coupled with the fact that she is—”
    â€œShe is awfully thin,” Erin said.
    â€œI’m not too worried about that, but some of these other things are more unusual. For instance, that these phosphenes precede her full scotoma, well … Grace, you’re a rather extraordinary girl, whether you like it or not.”
    I smiled, liking it that I was extraordinary.
    â€œAnd it hasn’t the least thing to do with teeth”—which meant, of course, upon Faw’s hearing that it was still all his fault, just as the “goddamned crooked teeth” had been (there’d been no crooked teeth in Mother’s family, as she pointed out to the doctor, from where she sat in the chair near the door, her already narrow and pale face appearing thinner, whiter, under the fluorescents of the office). When Faw mentioned to Dr. Trudeau he sensed he should feel responsible somehow about her condition, Trudeau’s response was that, no, that while “the gene pool doesn’t lie,” megrims don’t seem to run down family trees.
    At the end of the fourth or fifth visit with us Trudeau got some insight into why and how the case had gone through so many hands. She had prescribed ergotamine, a “paso-constrictor,” which sounded like a kind of big murderous African snake, and recommended that to prevent hyperventilation I breathe into a paper bag, which I should always keep nearby. I wondered at her masculine face, which I thought was handsome, but not as handsome as either my father’s, or Desmond’s, “Like under my pillow?”
    Dr. Trudeau straightened the chart papers on her desk and smiled. “Under your pillow would be fine.”
    â€œLike, where the sandman lives?” and as I said it I noticed a rod of light flowered upside down through the clinic office.
    â€œAnd breathe in, out, in, out, as deeply as you can, into the bag. Just think of the bag as your friend,” and turning to my father catching him just as he was about to interrupt again, “once learned never forgotten, like swimming, there are precursors to this, and if inductions are ferreted out, like in her case this additional structure of fear which induces hyperventilation, and from what she’s said and what I can piece together I believe that even mild circumoral paraesthesia—”
    Faw frowned. “Excuse me, but at the risk of sounding coarse I’ve got a lot to do still today. It’s not these headaches, but the flare man stuff that—”
    â€œMigraines are not headaches, Mr. Brush.”
    â€œI like the flare man okay.”
    â€œShe needs quiet, support, understanding—it’s the only way to help her to be rid of her fears.”
    I protested, “I’m not afraid.”
    â€œGrace has nothing on earth to be afraid of,” Mother said, and straightened her back; how was it these doctors always made her feel defensive?“She has a family that loves her she’s got that lassie apso, lasso—”
    â€œThat was Damsel, Bung is a beagle.”
    Dr. Trudeau continued, “Grace. This dog, is this the dog you said your brother—is it Burke is his name?—dropped out the apartment window?”
    â€œWhat did, did Grace tell you that?”
    â€œIs that true?”
    As I said, “Yes,” Faw said, “Christ almighty that’s not the way, that’s not what happened, totally fallacious, that dog was constantly getting himself into one jam after another, did you tell the doctor about how Midge ran him in the clothes dryer, she heard the