Bassim
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- Mar 1, 2008
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Please, would you correct the mistakes in the third part of my short story, "Stieg."
When the snowfall abated, Stieg went outside, took the snow shovel and began to clear the garage driveway and the entrance gate. He was still strong in his arms, although in the last two, three years he felt pain after manual work. Nevertheless, cutting trees and branches, and shovelling snow always made him pleased. As long he could do this kind of work alone, he did not need to worry.
He cleared away most of the snow in front of his house except for the steps at the entrance door. He was at the end of his work, looking forward to a warm cup of coffee in front of the burning fire, when suddenly, he slipped on the step and fell backwards. It happened so fast, and he could only utter a cry before hitting the concrete and losing consciousness. When he came to, he saw the blue eyes of Ingmar, the postman, looking at him attentively. He asked him if he was all right. Stieg was dizzy and had a severe pain in his ribs. He felt terribly cold, almost numb. Ingmar called the ambulance with his mobile phone and helped him inside the house. While waiting for the paramedics, Stieg felt anger boiling inside him. He had not seen a doctor for more than ten years, and now he had no other choice but to put his fate in their hands. He touched the back of his head where a large, painful lump had formed, and then he touched the ribs, which seemed to be broken, cursing himself for his carelessness. This is what happens when an old man believes he is still young, agile and strong, he told himself. What bothered him most was not the pain but the reaction of his children, who were going to look at him with malice, saying, “We’ve told you!”
It took the ambulance almost an hour to arrive at his home. The paramedics gave him an analgesic, put them on the stretcher, carried him into the car and drove away through the wintry landscape. When they finally arrived at the emergency department, Stieg had to wait for another hour until the doctor attended to him. They took an X-ray of his head and ribs, which showed that nothing was broken. Besides the large lump on the back of his head, there were some bruises on his body, but they would heal within two, three weeks, the doctor told him. He advised him to stay in the hospital for a week or two and do a series of medical tests, just to check the state of his health. Stieg assented, partly because of the pain he still felt in his body, partly to avoid his children coming to his home and gloating over his misery. Nevertheless, they all three came the following day carrying bags with fruits and his favourite cakes and wishing him swift recovery. When they sat around his bed with their mask of compassion, Stieg’s eyes swept over their faces and he said, “Are you happy now?”
“Please, don’t be mean, father,” Lotta said, “we are here only because we love you.”
Poisonous snake, Stieg thought, but managed to hide his feelings. He knew that they would like to see him angry, losing his composure and dying from a heart attack. He would never give them that opportunity. They did not see him as their father any longer but as an obstacle, which must be removed at any price. They wanted to know the details. Had he fallen because of the ice on the steps or had he lost the balance? Did it hurt much? Did he have problems with his memory now? Stieg told them exactly as it had happened, looking at their faces and their reactions, which were mostly interjections,”Oh! No! God!” When they left about forty minutes later, Stieg called for a nurse and told her that he did not want visits from anyone.
At least he was lucky with his roommate. Peter was two years younger than he was - a chatty and witty old man. He was having some health checks in the hospital, but lived in a nursing home. He told Stieg that his last three years were one of the best in his life. He was surrounded with young, beautiful nurses day and night. They were like fairies, taking care of him and other residents in the best possible way. They patiently listened to his stories; they laughed together, joked and had a lot of fun. Their young bodies made him feel at least twenty years younger and kept him agile and fit. The food was excellent and rooms clean and airy. There was always plenty of interesting people around to play chess or cards with or talk about everything, but if you wished to be alone, there was your cosy room, where you could live your private life and even have sex if you wanted.
TO BE CONTINUED
When the snowfall abated, Stieg went outside, took the snow shovel and began to clear the garage driveway and the entrance gate. He was still strong in his arms, although in the last two, three years he felt pain after manual work. Nevertheless, cutting trees and branches, and shovelling snow always made him pleased. As long he could do this kind of work alone, he did not need to worry.
He cleared away most of the snow in front of his house except for the steps at the entrance door. He was at the end of his work, looking forward to a warm cup of coffee in front of the burning fire, when suddenly, he slipped on the step and fell backwards. It happened so fast, and he could only utter a cry before hitting the concrete and losing consciousness. When he came to, he saw the blue eyes of Ingmar, the postman, looking at him attentively. He asked him if he was all right. Stieg was dizzy and had a severe pain in his ribs. He felt terribly cold, almost numb. Ingmar called the ambulance with his mobile phone and helped him inside the house. While waiting for the paramedics, Stieg felt anger boiling inside him. He had not seen a doctor for more than ten years, and now he had no other choice but to put his fate in their hands. He touched the back of his head where a large, painful lump had formed, and then he touched the ribs, which seemed to be broken, cursing himself for his carelessness. This is what happens when an old man believes he is still young, agile and strong, he told himself. What bothered him most was not the pain but the reaction of his children, who were going to look at him with malice, saying, “We’ve told you!”
It took the ambulance almost an hour to arrive at his home. The paramedics gave him an analgesic, put them on the stretcher, carried him into the car and drove away through the wintry landscape. When they finally arrived at the emergency department, Stieg had to wait for another hour until the doctor attended to him. They took an X-ray of his head and ribs, which showed that nothing was broken. Besides the large lump on the back of his head, there were some bruises on his body, but they would heal within two, three weeks, the doctor told him. He advised him to stay in the hospital for a week or two and do a series of medical tests, just to check the state of his health. Stieg assented, partly because of the pain he still felt in his body, partly to avoid his children coming to his home and gloating over his misery. Nevertheless, they all three came the following day carrying bags with fruits and his favourite cakes and wishing him swift recovery. When they sat around his bed with their mask of compassion, Stieg’s eyes swept over their faces and he said, “Are you happy now?”
“Please, don’t be mean, father,” Lotta said, “we are here only because we love you.”
Poisonous snake, Stieg thought, but managed to hide his feelings. He knew that they would like to see him angry, losing his composure and dying from a heart attack. He would never give them that opportunity. They did not see him as their father any longer but as an obstacle, which must be removed at any price. They wanted to know the details. Had he fallen because of the ice on the steps or had he lost the balance? Did it hurt much? Did he have problems with his memory now? Stieg told them exactly as it had happened, looking at their faces and their reactions, which were mostly interjections,”Oh! No! God!” When they left about forty minutes later, Stieg called for a nurse and told her that he did not want visits from anyone.
At least he was lucky with his roommate. Peter was two years younger than he was - a chatty and witty old man. He was having some health checks in the hospital, but lived in a nursing home. He told Stieg that his last three years were one of the best in his life. He was surrounded with young, beautiful nurses day and night. They were like fairies, taking care of him and other residents in the best possible way. They patiently listened to his stories; they laughed together, joked and had a lot of fun. Their young bodies made him feel at least twenty years younger and kept him agile and fit. The food was excellent and rooms clean and airy. There was always plenty of interesting people around to play chess or cards with or talk about everything, but if you wished to be alone, there was your cosy room, where you could live your private life and even have sex if you wanted.
TO BE CONTINUED