Wee Woman

I’m in a big house. It sprawls sideways. It rises up and careens down, with many staircases and rooms and hallways and doors. It’s easy to get lost, so I get lost here all the time. The railing on the front steps is ruined, and a man has come to make repairs. He uses rusted barbed wire to lash the boards together. He should be wearing gloves. His hands bleed, but he doesn’t care about that. A stray dog watches warily. I took him in but forgot to feed him. Where’s his bowl? Where’s his food? He’s wild and nobody’s pet, but here he is beside me anyway.

It’s cold. My coat is blue cashmere, soft and warm. I take my hand out of the pocket to find a tiny clay woman nestled in my palm. Her proportions are perfect and her features are true in each wee detail, including hair and lashes and a small mole on her chin. She wears a dress with a belt cinched tight to show off her firm breasts and her slim waist and the fullness of her hips and the slow slope of her backside. Her hair is neat. Her smile is sweet, but she’s also very old.

She comes along with us, the repairman and me, as we take off after that wild dog. We chase him all the way out to the old brickworks. This building should have been torn down years ago, but I’m climbing around calling to the dog from the top of an endless staircase. The wee woman slips from my fingers and falls. She lands on a ledge, then rolls farther, to the floor below.

I tell my sister to call for help, but she’s helpless and afraid. Her eyes are wide, her shoulders shake, her hands cover her mouth to suppress her screams, so I must take the long staircase down alone. The wee woman is broken but she’s not dead. I think I can fix her. I cradle her in my palm and hum and hush until sure enough she slowly comes to and sits up and sees me and smiles. When I carry her out into the sunshine, she rubs her eyes, blinks, shades her face with her hand. I’ll take her home with me. I start out carrying her carefully, but the going is rough, so I drop her back down into the coat pocket, where she’ll be safe. We’re in sight of the house now. I see my mother in the window and she waves to me. She’s far away and very small. So sweet. Buttoning up her dress and buckling her belt. Stepping into her pretty blue shoes and putting on her coat. My hand is in the pocket. The little woman is a ball in my clenched fist. Smashed, like that, and broken beyond repair.

MENTAL HEALTH INSTITUTE

Dark Oak, Iowa

The informants were Patient’s two daughters. They look quite a lot alike and claim to be close to their mother. Both seem intelligent and interested in Patient and seem to have a realistic view about future planning for her when they state that they feel Patient should not be returned to their homes because of the influence of her psychotic behavior on their children.

Patient is described as having had a generally happy rearing but was bothered by being considered the ugly duckling in the family. She has several siblings, but none of them are in a position to help her at this time. There are no outstanding disease patterns, but Patient’s father became senile. Also, as noted, her husband was an alcoholic and died from this. Prior to her illness Patient was described as being a very busy individual who was always involved in all types of projects in her home, although she was not too interested in community activities. Although she appeared extroverted in nature, the daughters are of the impression that she forced herself to be this way. Patient and her husband were married on February 14, 1920, and...