The Museum

Ron was derisive, mean, tormenting. He had been my husband, but I never dreamed he would find me again, as I had changed my name and moved three times since I had received his last abusive, angry letter. His re-entry into my life filled me with terror.

I was shopping, in a large shopping centre near the Art Gallery and Museum. I had come to the city early, to see a new exhibit at the Museum, and after that I ate lunch at the Museum café and then returned to my shopping. The noise of a thousand voices filled the air, and people of all shapes and sizes, and all ages and races, walked or bustled by. A centipede-like line of young school children wearing bright fluoro vests made is way weaving through the crowds to the Museum foyer. People pushed strollers or prams with young children and babies, some leaned on shopping trolleys, other hurried past with a look of intense preoccupation. The bright lights of the shops, the hum of air-conditioning, the piped music, the smell of coffee, donuts and hot chips all assaulted my senses.

Then a man with a cane started heading straight towards me from outside the newsagency. He was dressed in a dark-green turtleneck sweater and black jeans and limped towards me. I was certain it was me he was aiming for, as he dodged people and resumed his path right ahead, to intersect with mine. He was wearing dark glasses, but I sensed he was glaring straight at me. I didn’t know who he was and felt intimidated by his intention of bailing me up in the middle of the shopping centre. Suddenly something about his appearance struck me like a slap across my face. It was Ron! There could be nothing pleasant about any meeting with him, and I decided to turn aside and try to avoid him.

If we did meet, it would be catastrophic. I had a presentiment of evil, of violence and angry harangues. I decided to run and hide. So, I turned and slid into Kmart amongst the rows of women’s clothing, towards the change room. I felt safer there, in the end cubicle with the curtain drawn, and sat there breathing heavily with fear, but trying to breathe softly, and holding every muscle as still as possible. Time passed. Surely, he would not find me there. It was getting late, and the store would close in about fifty minutes. Then I heard the unmistakable limp, thud, limp, thud of his stick coming from the room outside; I heard him circling the change rooms. As soon as I could hear him behind the change rooms, I tiptoed out and headed for a fire exit close by. I did not think he had seen me. The fire door creaked and banged and ruined any attempt to escape quietly. I ran in terror along the corridor. I came up to a group of freezers and refrigerators and the kitchen. People were tidying up, some washing dishes, others covering plates with plastic wrap for the refrigerator. Everyone was dressed in white, with white paper caps covering their hair, to be hygienic. They looked up in surprise at this scared looking intruder.

‘What’s up? There’s been no fire alarm, what are you doing in the Fire Escape?’

‘I’m trying to escape a predator,’ I gasped, and ducked through into the delivery area outside as I heard a thud, limp approaching the kitchen. In the delivery area there seemed no clearcut avenue to escape, so I jumped down and ran into the shadows along the lane. I found a small café around the corner, its bright light in the otherwise dark street. There were only a few couples and one solitary customer in the café. I ducked inside then suddenly realised he would follow me here as the most obvious place. I had a sudden brainwave, grabbed at my chest, and gasped out at the owner behind the counter, ‘Call an ambulance, quickly…my heart!’

I could hear the 000 call and the anxious urgency in the man’s voice, and hoped the ambulance would get here in time.

‘I need to lie down,’ I stuttered in fear, and, in reality, I did look like someone with heart trouble, as I was pale grey with panic and sweating profusely and my heart was racing. The poor owner led me to a corner seat where I could almost lie along the cushions, and mercifully I could hear the ambulance siren and soon could see the flashing lights. I didn’t dare listen for Ron, and with relief I was strapped down onto the ambulance gurney and an ECG machine was linked up, and an oxygen mask. I hoped the blanket and mask would obscure my identity, just in case Ron was watching.

Indeed he was. Halfway along the laneway he could see the ambulance parked outside the café and ready to leave with its flashing blue lights breaking apart the darkness. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to realise the truth. I watched him enter the café and look around quizzically. The excitement of having an ambulance attend someone at this little café captured the patrons’ interest, no no-one took any notice of him, and they were talking amongst themselves instead of worrying about this peculiar limping stranger.

‘Where is the ambulance going?’ he asked.

‘St Anthony’s Accident and Emergency is only three minutes away,’ was the reply.

‘Call a taxi!’ was Ron’s demand, ‘I’m her brother.’

No-one questioned him at all; in the unusual circumstance this seemed a strong possibility, with two strangers appearing out of the darkness of the same laneway at the same time.

I could hear all this happening as the medic bent over me to read the electrocardiograph. The back door of the ambulance was closed, and we took off to the hospital.

Reassuringly the medic said to me that, apart from the racing heart rhythm, there did not seem to be any indication of an actual heart attack. From behind the oxygen mask I looked at him appreciatively and felt my breathing relax a little. However, I realised Ron would find his way to the hospital too and would eventually find me.

At St Anthony’s I was hastily wheeled into one of the cubicles, lifted onto a bed, blood taken, and hooked up to machines monitoring my blood pressure and heart rhythm. I was given the same reassurance. ‘Apart from the tachycardia there’s no evidence of an acute myocardial infarction.’

‘You’ll be here a few hours until we get the results of your troponin levels,’ a doctor said to me, as he rushed by on his way to the next ambulance’s arrival.

Although I could not see him, I was afraid that Ron was still waiting. I had no idea why he was pursuing me, but I could tell he had some evil intent. I had seen the anger and aggression in his eyes. I hoped he was still waiting at the café for a taxi.

Why was he chasing me? It was years since we had finalised our relationship. True, I was the one who had broken it off, but after a few angry letters and my moving house, I believed he would not make any attempt to contact me again.

I had had what people call ‘a nervous breakdown’ after his persistent cruelty, and I had been admitted to a Psychiatric hospital for a fortnight. There his loud angry behaviour had had him banned from the ward, and the Social Worker who came to see me organised a payment for me from Social Security. She also advised me not to go back to him. ‘While you are here, think carefully whether you want to return to this marriage and continue to suffer the same derogatory insults and torment,’ she said.

When my thinking became clearer and I recognised that I owed it to myself to leave such and unhappy union, she helped me make an appointment with a lawyer. At that time, one spouse could serve the divorce papers on the other, and one-sidedly appear in court to finalise the marriage. He made no attempt to stop the divorce going through. By then I had left the area and believed I was free of him. I neglected to notice that my address appeared on the divorce papers, and then the abusive letters started.

I moved in with a friend, and the letters stopped. I was relieved and got on with my new life of freedom. A new job, new friends and freedom from worry and fear, made me a very happy person for three years. I re-adopted my maiden name. Then this fateful day.

Here I was in St Anthony’s Hospital waiting for tests to prove I had not had a heart attack. I felt guilty for my behaviour in tying up such valuable medical resources, and ordinarily I would have looked forward to leaving the hospital. But where was he? Had Ron followed me here and would he keep chasing me?

Three hours after my arrival I was told I could go and instructed to ‘take it easy’. I called a taxi and sat in the Discharge Lounge until it arrived, taking advantage of the wide expanse and all the other people around me. No sign of Ron! Thank goodness. When the taxi arrived, I had walked around the whole lounge and the lit-up area around the Accident and Emergency entrance. Surely, he would not have waited. What on earth could have been so important and pressing for him to wait around for three hours. I slid gratefully into the taxi and asked the driver to go back to the Museum to collect my shopping from the Cloak Room.

Ron turned and grinned maliciously from behind the steering-wheel, his crooked teeth and brown eyes gleaming, laughing a long malevolent chortle. I opened the taxi door and raced into the Museum. It was nearly closing time as I retrieved my shopping, and, with a backward glance to see if Ron was following me, I raced into the Ladies Room. I would spend the night there to avoid him.

I woke up suddenly, calling out in fear with sweat-soaked pyjamas. That was the worst nightmare I can remember.