Life’s Cryptic Clues

LAUNDRY TALES – Life’s Cryptic Clues

It is raining, the proverbial 'cats and dogs' kind. The skies seem to have opened up in a deluge.

5.30 am - On the freeway, driving at 100 km/hr, the wind howls like a canine in distress while a steady stream of feline eyes drive past in the southbound lane.

My favourite radio jockey Spencer is dishing out his 'cryptic' SEQ (South East Queensland) railway station clues and I solve them mentally in a jiffy- the anagrams, the abbreviations, the reasoning and recognition processes that I have so skilfully mastered over 3 decades. The wiper blades swipe ferociously back and forth on the windscreen, each swish clearing up a clue.

Today's clue is 'Confused, I waste chips'.

"Ipswich East", I mutter to myself. From the corner of my eye, I read a fluorescent traffic sign 'IPSWICH'. 

"Ipswich, SHIT!"

I pressed the pedal to the metal and my Black Epica responds like a Greyhound on a live bait (* not an endorsement of this barbaric training regimen). I race on, so do my thoughts and my heart gallops thinking of Tony Simpson.

Tony, at 86 years is a larrikin of sorts. Every wrinkle in his forearm is an annual ring that tells a tale. Tony’s probably the most articulate and warm person I have ever met.

 A treasure trove of experience and a fountain of wisdom.

A psychiatric nurse in his prime, Tony had served the Diggers with distinction as well. “We always knew more than what the bloody doctors did, at least I did”. I had reasons to believe this very knowledgeable man.

His unit is round the corner from my laundry area.

Every morning, he waits for me by his balcony door to hear me say "G'day Tony". His eyes light up and he feebly waves back in return.

Sometimes I go and give him a warm hug. He loves this attention, so do I.

Wednesday mornings, he waits at the laundry door to hand deliver his 'laundry' to me. 5 pairs of underwear, 4 Tee shirts, 2 Pyjama sets, 2 pairs of denims. I know his clothes when I see them. This is a ritual that we informally developed over the past 7 months. 7 months? Feels like a lifetime here.

The Aged care facility for Men had 60+ residents, most of them with some form of dementia. Tony the 'most sane' of them all, is an absolute bundle of joy.

Married twice, his wives pictures hang on his wall - one on each side of his bed. Both his wives were now dead, no other person he can call kith or kin. "They have all gone, it’s just me now".

"Thankfully these two are no more", he had quipped pointing at the pictures. "I couldn't have taken care of them anyway. But they were wonderful ladies, very pretty you know, both of them". I could see they were very beautiful.

Caressing the picture on the left he said, "Mary, the first one, died during child-birth and I was away in Vietnam; the child didn’t make it either", Tony was very emotional by now.

"Bernadette died of a vicious snake bite in our back yard. The bloody reptile bit her when she was tending to her plants. Some bloody brownie they reckon", Tony choked as he wiped away tears that rolled down his cheeks. 

"I am a walking mortuary material anyway, my only worry it’s a long drive to Ipswich". "Why Ipswich Tony?" I remember asking him.

"I have a burial plot booked right between my two beautiful ladies and I would like to sleep there. I did that when I was still sane and healthy", Tony's tears had now turned into a chuckle, a naughty twinkle in his eyes.

"Anyway, they get me to sleep with  them all the time, they are lucky- Aren't they?” He said for a parting shot, laughing out loud as only he could.

Last weekend (Friday), Tony called for me. At the end of my shift I went to his room, he thrust a tee from Vietnam into my hands- I had never seen this one before.

"What's with this Tony", I asked.

"This has been inside for over 20 years now, it’s got my name on it- I want you to have it", Tony said.

"I insist", he looked at me imploringly. “Please?” I couldn’t refuse.

He also pulled out a box of Quality Street chocolates from his bedside drawer.

"They are for your boys, now don't say no like you always do". "You are off for 4 days this weekend, aren't you Amar?" (Tony pronounced it AAMAA).

"You are keeping a tab on me Tony?" I quipped. 

"Of course! 4 days, at my age, can be a very long time". Tony shot back as if chastising me.

He now smiled, as an after-thought,"Have a nice weekend Aama", he said.

I hugged him and pecked him on the forehead.

"I don't want to see you go", Tony's smile now transmogrified into sadness and he wept silently. I was heart-broken, but I didn’t want to show.

Back in the laundry, I held the tee shirt close to my nose; my olfactory senses had registered 'Tony'.

"Amazing contraption, the bloody human nose", I thought to myself.

The box of chocolates was due to expire in 4 days, or so the label read. I left the facility with a heavy heart that afternoon.

I have been calling his direct line, every morning, last 4 days of my long weekend and Tony's been quite his sprightly and chirpy self.

Cut to the present...

Wednesday, its 6.35 am, it is pelting down like crazy. I am 5 mins late.

I have never been late before. Never! The wind has now turned into a squeal as I reach the facility and screech into the car park.

I can't fathom why I am in a hurry; I want to get to the laundry as quick as possible. 

My laundry keys are normally kept in the Nurses station, so I run straight to the station. “Damn!” The nurses’ station is closed and no one in sight either. Not a single Personal care worker, no nurses.

No one!

"Where the hell are you folks?” I scream in disgust.

I decide to take the Kitchen route to the laundry. Reaching the laundry I open the door from inside hoping to see Tony near his door.

Tony's balcony door is ajar. "So where is Tony?" I ask aloud.

"AAMAaaa", I hear a faint voice call my name.

"Tonyyyyyyyyyyyyyy", I scream out.

Tony's lying in a heap, slumped on the floor, a soaking wet balcony floor. His ambulator (wheeled walker) is overturned. 5 pair of underwear, 4 Tee shirts, 2 Pyjama sets, 2 pairs of denims. I know his clothes when I see them, even when they are soaking wet.

As I scream I see a couple of PCs and the Nurse on call running in with the Kitchen staff. 

Tony clutches my hand tight, tighter than he had ever before. He whispers, "Promise me, you will ride with me on my final ride to Ipswich. Aamaa".

Tony passed away in my arms that morning. He looked like a baby. 

Thursday morning, I drove to Ipswich with Tony (He looked smart in his black suit and bow). As the hearse pulled into Ipswich cemetery, "Ipswich East", I muttered again.

Life's cryptic clues- Will I ever master them?

Disclaimer: Only I am real. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 

Amar wears many hats- currently a story teller, a renegade, a certified laundry operator all rolled into one. Owner of a quaint little concept called Dhobi Ghat. Is personally involved in assisting a charitable organisation’s 64 bed Aged Care facility- On premises laundry in Brisbane.