Deathly Dull

ELEANOR BERRY hadn't realised Dostoevsky was going to prove quite that boring...

For a short period of time, I read to blind patients on a geriatric ward in a National Health hospital in London. I knew the Charge Nurse quite well and she said how grateful she was for my services. She explained that the patients were supposed to sleep in the afternoons and that there was a shortage of the sedative Temazepam in the hospital pharmacy. 'No offence meant,' she said, 'but when you want to, you are capable of speaking in a monotonous, sleep-inducing voice, particularly when you read aloud.'

'Thanks a heap!' I said.

'Don't be so sensitive. I did say "no offence meant". Because of the shortage of Temazepam, it would be very useful if you read aloud to the patients. Have you chosen anything suitable to read?'

'Yes. A 500-word passage from Crime and Punishment. Luzhin's letter to Raskolnikov's mother. It's comical in a way because it is really long-winded, repetitive and legalistic. Luzhin tells Raskolnikov's mother that her son was very rude to him when he was in bed with a virus, and that he did not wish to see Raskolnikov.'

'I know that passage,' said the Charge Nurse. 'Even your brief description of it has made me feel drowsy. You're on!'

I turned up at the women's section of the ward. There were no chairs available so I sat on a blind lady's bed. The print in my copy of Crime and Punishment is too small for me to read with the naked eye. I didn't want any of the nurses to see me wearing reading-glasses, so I held the open book in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. I began to read Luzhin's letter as slowly and as monotonously as I could. The blind lady stretched out her hand and touched my arm.

'Christopher?' she said.

'Wait a minute. I'm coming back,' I said. I went up to the Charge Nurse. 'The lady in bed 15 is asking for someone called Christopher. Is he a male nurse?'

The Charge Nurse giggled. 'That's Mrs Boodle. She's 96 years old and not really compos mentis. Christopher is the name of her 75-year-old son. She mistook your voice for his.'

'So my voice sounds like that of a 75-year-old man, does it?'

'Only when you read Dostoevsky aloud. Go back and continue reading. She's nearly asleep.'

I was quite offended but did as I was told. I sat on the 96-year-old lady'd bed and continued reading from where I had left off.

Mrs Boodle tried to touch my face and put her hand on my ear. 'You've got earings on, I see. That's a bit effeminate, isn't it, lad?'

'It's the fashion, mother,' I replied obligingly.

'What about your skin? Your face is so soft these days.'

'I use a new aftershave. It's just come onto the market, Mother.'

I turned away from her and faced the other patients, most of whom had fallen asleep. I continued to read: 'I add most sincerely that your aforementioned son, Rodion Romanovich, must not be present at our meeting, inasmuch as he insulted me in a most offensive and discourteous fashion on the occasion of my visit to him during my illness yesterday...' As I held the magnifying glass in my right hand, the pages kept closing. I wrenched the book open and in doing so inadvertently broke its back. Two pages fell onto the floor. I bent over to pick them up and went on reading, still facing away from the 96-year-old lady.

The Charge Nurse came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I asked her what she wanted. By this time, my patience was getting pretty thin.

'I'm afraid you're going to have to stop reading now, as the lady on whose bed you're sitting on has just died.'

'Died?'

'Yes, died. That means you'll have to leave the ward, as all the curtains round the bed will have to be drawn, so that Mrs Boodle can be discreetly coffined out.'

'I'm sorry to hear the news,' I said.

As I left the ward, the Charge Nurse slapped me on the back. 'Thanks so much for your help. By the way, will you be inviting all the nurses to your 76th birthday party?'

'I shan't be coming back again, I'm afraid. My speech may sound elderly but I look at least 20 years younger than my natural years,' I said angrily.

As I left, I saw two mortuary attendants coming towards the ward, carrying a coffin, poorly disguised by a green cloth draped over it. One of the attendants sang a song under his breath:

Mrs Boodle, my friend, is out cold in bed 15,

Mrs Boodle's out cold in bed 15.

I felt better after that. I am not in any way averse to black humour, but what I can't tolerate are jokes at my expense, particularly when I am doing someone a service.