Arlo

Warm Springs Mental Hospital

(The hospital where Arlo was admitted)

The middle-aged nurse in the admissions department, with a fake smile from her monotonous job. "Good day, bring the child this way," she called. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly into a bun at the back of her head, and her large body looked like it could handle belligerent patients.He escorted the district nurse down a short hallway full of odd fixtures and into a pale yellow examination room.Chairs were lined up along the wall.An examination table occupied one side.A low table stood at the opposite end, and two rows of dimly lit lamps hung from the high ceiling on frayed, metre-long strings.The air that came in through a small window made the lamps sway lazily, and the sharp, burning smell of detergent in the room was a sharp blow to the noses of those who entered.

The district nurse took a deep breath as she handed over her duty papers, "Here you go." she said.

The stocky admissions nurse glanced at the records, then picked up Arlo and laid him roughly on the cold metal examination table."Is there anything that is not mentioned in the report?

""No, except that his family abandoned him without wanting to."

"Some are so," said the admissions nurse. "I've seen lost farms, bankrupt businesses, broken marriages, even suicides. You know what hurts the most?

"What?"

"There are definitely some people who think that parents should make a little more effort."

"I'd better go," the district nurse said, shaking her head and checking her watch. ""I have to catch the Northern Pacific train to Bozeman at four. I have a high school physical tomorrow."

"Okay then, say hello to the outside work for me," the admissions nurse said as she removed the boy's tiny clothes from his tense."You won't be needing these clothes anymore," she said, wiping the boy's body for cuts, bruises, or sores.

At that moment, an old doctor entered the room and asked, "Who do we got here?" His wrinkled skin looked like it was several sizes too large for his bony frame.

"A two years old little boy,"the nurse answered. "Arlo Roy Corbin from Bozeman. Raised by his parents. I cleaned him up and he looks like he's been well cared for.

"Let's see,"the doctors said, pursing his lips as if they were solving a puzzle."He'll be tied to bed, of course." He glanced at his duty papers and shook his head."His parents even took him to the doctors in Butte." He placed his stethoscope against Arlo's chest and listened, then raised his eyebrows in surprise.""The child has a strong heartbeat. It's unusual for such a person." He ran his hand through Arlo's hair, checking for parasites. Then he tugged at his stiff arms and legs, "Spastic,"he added.

The nurse nodded.

The doctor took his notebook and wrote down the words mentally retarded. "I agree with the assessments made in Butte. What did his parents expect, a diagnosis of imbecility?" he asked. His tone was sarcastic.

Hemşire, ""After all, his circuits are burnt and the treatment he will receive is the same either way," she added.

"What treatment?" the doctor muttered.

***

Later that same day, a young employee working in the patient admissions departmenLater that same day, a young employee working in the patient admissions department He led Arlo into the children's ward, a large room with high ceilings. A dozen cots lined the walls. The blistered, off-white wash revealed the yellow primer that contrasted with the bright white uniforms and bedding.Each cage-like bed had a high metal rim.The space in the middle of the room was a play area, but it had very few toys in it.

The attendant walked along the corridor, scanning the misshapen little enthusiasts.One of the children had a very narrow forehead, almost non-existent, and his hairline began just above his drooping eyebrows, making him look like a caveman.Another child's head was larger than a basketball. Most were helpless and passive, like the babies they held in their arms. A few, however, were kicking and shaking the bars of their cribs.Almost half of those who were brought out to the field were grumpy,sitting like exiled souls. The two of them were rolling on the ground, spinning like tops with their drool flowing. There was a racket of grunts and groans mixed with screams, shouts and cries.

The ward, full of all those mongols, nitwits, water-logged patients, and other kinds of freaks, was making the guard's skin crawl.He quickly dropped Arlo onto an empty cot in the farthest corner of the ward and hurried out.

As Arlo's first day in the children's ward came to an end, the sun cast long shadows across his distorted face.Then, the rhythm of his life began to be determined by sunrise and sunset. In the outside world, life distributed rhythms, but here there was no life.The rhythm pulsed through each patient's soul. Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset.The seasons eased this pulse a little, but it was always the same. Repeating itself over and over, it numbed even time itself.

As time went by, Arlo's body changed slightly. If the years had passed like hours, these changes would have been noticeable. His legs had drawn up towards his small belly like dried roots.Both of his arms were bent at the elbows and stiffened.The fingers on his hands, bent double at the wrists, resembled claws: With crooked and open paws.His head leaned more and more to the left day by day, and his tongue curled up like a snake.

Arlo's eyes changed too. Small orbs that locked on space for long periods of time,it turned vaguely inward.One day, they turned, shivering, to the ceiling above the bed.A dimly glowing light bulb emerged from the fog and came into view for the first time.

3 years after Arlo's arrival in the children's ward.Another incident escaped their notice: The caregiver lost her balance for a moment while giving Arlo his weekly bath. While trying to lift Arlo into the large, claw-footed tub, he dropped him headfirst into the water.Picking the child up again, she dried the water from his eyes with a towel and asked urgently, "Are you all right, my poor baby?"

The towel hid the obvious smile on Arlo's face.

***

A number of different nurses and caregivers took care of Arlo and they found the five-year-old easy to handle. Not in a position to complain, Arlo spent each day in his cot, his head bowed and his gaze darting around the room. No one could read his thoughts or see his emotions. Arlo was growing and desperately wanted to express himself. All the others could see were his twitching, shaking smiles.Since he was incapable of responding further, his statements were dismissed as the shallow actions of a mentally disabled person.