Silver

Chapter 10 - now

I shadow Maria, on my third day at my fourth institution. She's been working in mental health for eighteen years. She's softly spoken, but firm with her patients. She believes in the system and is pleased to share her wisdom with me.

Maria has five patients that she supervises. Here, they are not called patients, but clients, as if they are paying for the service.

'They give us clients with similar needs, so that we can supervise them all at once. It's more efficient to manage people in a group.' Our group has five ladies, from thirty years of age to fifty-three. In the mornings, we accompany them to a belly dancing class in the gym. 'Thursdays are always belly dancing. The girls love it,' Maria says. I watch as five ladies gyrate to Middle Eastern music. The teacher is young, fit, bubbly and has a perfect round watermelon belly. The clients wear matching grey tracksuits, with red scarfs around their waist with dangling silver coins. 'It's a great way for them to start the day,' Maria says, enthusiastically.

After belly dancing we take them to art therapy. One of the ladies, Joanna, needs help cutting felt, she has a lifelong tremor in her hands that prevents her from doing delicate handiwork. I sit with her and help her cut and paste. She has to be almost forty. It reminds me of kindergarten, sitting at tables, lino on the floor, in a large echoey room, cutting and pasting.

Next, we take them to a gardening workshop. The gardener gives them gloves, little plastic pots and a packet of green bean seeds. The oldest lady, Irene, doesn't want to participate today. Something about the gardening upsets her. Maria takes her to the side so she's not disrupting the other ladies, 'What is it, Irene? You usually love gardening. Can't you feel the sun on your face today? Doesn't it make you feel good?'

'I want my own garden. I used to have such a lovely garden. It had jasmine around the entrance and lavender by the washing line. My husband built the garden bed at the back for the vegetables. When the children were little, we had swings out there. Max fell off the swing and broke his arm once. I want my garden ...' she started yelling. She puts her fist up to her mouth and cries like a police siren. Three men appear and take her away.

Maria returns to me. 'Nevermind. She'll be all right tomorrow. Don't let that bother you. We always keep focused on the task around here.'

The garden here is beautiful. There's a massive lawn area, lush green grass, with a cottage garden border. I recognise some plants that used to be in my old best friend Millie's mum's garden; long spiky purple flowers, and plants with silver leaves.

'They're planting green beans today,' Maria says proudly. 'Once they turn into seedlings, they'll take them out of the pots and plant them in the vegie patch. Greens, greens, greens. The chef cooks the vegetables we grow in our state of the art kitchen. He has a team of six in there. The clients here are really lucky. They eat better than me.'

'How many of these institutions are there in Sydney?' I ask.

'No one really knows. I mean, management would know. There's a central office somewhere.'

'Have you worked in any other places?'

'I worked in one other, before I came here.'

'Was there anyone there named Jarvis?'

'Not that I know of. How come?'

'Just wondering.'