Bionics
by Liesl Jobson
The sandwiches linger on a stainless steel platter in the rec room of Harmony Home where my grandmother works. A net thrown over keeps flies off the food.
"Take one," says my grandmother, but the bread has splayed apart, revealing thick smears of institutional margarine under dried out curls of ham.I wave them away, saying, "No thank you, Gran," even though I am hungry and feeling faint. A strong lemony antiseptic never quite covers the scent of piss, even in Gran's office where her cigarette smell is comforting. She is the matron. I need a quiet spot where I can study for my test tomorrow.
"What are you studying today?"
"Love in the Time of Cholera. It's our set work."
Gran shepherds me along, like she does with her patients, into the nurses' lounge that is empty, but for a cigarette balancing on a silver ashtray.
"Sit here," she says, opening a window that lets in a fresh breeze. "Your mother will be here soon." I say, "Yes, Sister," as she leaves and then drag on the abandoned cigarette.
Some patients are visible in the next room. They never wash their hands after they use the bathroom, most of them, even though my grandmother is always reminding them.
A woman with snapping dentures and lips the colour of beets hovers over the sandwiches. She scratches her head with fake nails, then fingers each one, peeking inside, looking for something she never finds. Around her wrist is a yellow armband that she plucks like a nervous tic.
A bearded guy with purple eyes says, "Help yourself and move along, Beryl."
She tells him she's researching the transfer of technology between life forms and synthetic constructs. He says, "Quit picking at the food, will ya?"
She tells him that evolutionary pressure forces natural systems to become optimally efficient. A fly on the cast-off netting rubs its legs together and I wonder how often the linens are laundered.
He says, "What would Jesus do?" She looks at him as if to say, "Jesus would tell you to go fuck yourself," but murmurs instead, "I'm needed at the university."
He reaches for a wilted piece of parsley, holding it in one hand, offering it to her. With the other hand, he opens his trousers zipper, and touches himself.
Liesl Jobson is a Johannesburg musician, photographer and writer. Her writing has appeared in The Southern Review, The Mississippi Review, Sleeping Fish, Literary Mama, Per Contra, Temenos, FRiGG and elimae. She received the 2005 Ernst van Heerden Award from Wits University for "100 Papers," her anthology of flash fiction which will be published by Botsotso in Spring 2008. She edits poetry for Mad Hatters Review and Poetry International, South Africa.