MrMisery Wrote:
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> Me? I'm not a drooler. I'm the assistant. I don't
> know what Miss Jones or Miss Kelsey could do
> without me. There are fifty-five low-grade
> droolers in this ward, and how could they ever all
> be fed if wasn't around? I like to feed droolers.
> They don't make trouble. They can't. Something's
> wrong with most of their legs and arms, and they
> can't talk. They're very low-grade. I can walk,
> and talk, and do things. You must be careful with
> the droolers and not feed them too fast. Then they
> choke. Miss Jones says I'm an expert. When a new
> nurse comes I show her how to do it. It's funny
> watching a new nurse try to feed them. She goes at
> it so slow and careful that supper time would be
> around before she finished shoving down their
> breakfast. Then I show her, because I'm an expert.
> Dr. Dalrymple says I am, and he ought to know. A
> drooler can eat twice as fast if you know how to
> make him.
>
> My name's Miz. I'm twenty-eight years old.
> Everybody knows me in the institution. This is an
> institution, you know. It belongs to the State of
> Virginia and is run by politics. I know. I've been
> here a long time. Everybody trusts me. I run
> errands all over the place, when I'm not busy with
> the droolers. I like droolers. It makes me think
> how lucky I am that I ain't a drooler.
>
> I like it here in the Home. I don't like the
> outside. I know. I've been around a bit, and run
> away, and adopted. Me for the Home, and for the
> drooling ward best of all. I don't look like a
> drooler, do I? You can tell the difference soon as
> you look at me. I'm an assistant, expert
> assistant. That's going some for a feeb. Feeb? Oh,
> that's feeble-minded. I thought you knew. We're
> all feebs in here.
>
> But I'm a high-grade feeb. Dr. Dalrymple says I'm
> too smart to be in the Home, but I never let on.
> It's a pretty good place. And don't throw fits
> like lots of the feebs. You see that house up
> there through the trees. The high-grade epilecs
> all live in it by themselves. They're stuck up
> because they ain't just ordinary feebs. They call
> it the club house, and they say they're just as
> good as anybody outside, only they're sick. I
> don't like them much. They laugh at me, when they
> ain't busy throwing fits. But I don't care. I
> never have to be scared about falling down and
> busting my head. Sometimes they run around in
> circles trying to find a place to sit down quick,
> only they don't. Low-grade epilecs are disgusting,
> and high-grade epilecs put on airs. I'm glad I
> ain't an epilec. There ain't anything to them.
> They just talk big, that's all.
>
> Miss Kelsey says I talk too much. But I talk
> sense, and that's more than the other feebs do.
> Dr. Dalrymple says I have the gift of language. I
> know it. You ought to hear me talk when I'm by
> myself, or when I've got a drooler to listen.
> Sometimes I think I'd like to be a politician,
> only it's too much trouble. They're all great
> talkers; that's how they hold their jobs.
>
> Nobody's crazy in this institution. They're just
> feeble in their minds. Let me tell you something
> funny. There's about a dozen high-grade girls that
> set the tables in the big dining room. Sometimes
> when they're done ahead of time, they all sit down
> in chairs in a circle and talk. I sneak up to the
> door and listen, and I nearly die to keep from
> laughing. Do you want to know what they talk? It's
> like this. They don't say a word for a long time.
> And then one says, "Thank God I'm not
> feeble-minded." And all the rest nod their heads
> and look pleased. And then nobody says anything
> for a time. After which the next girl in the
> circle says, "Thank God I'm not feeble-minded,"
> and they nod their heads all over again. And it
> goes on around the circle, and they never say
> anything else. Now they're real feebs, ain't they?
> I leave it to you. I'm not that kind of a feeb,
> thank God.
>
> Sometimes I don't think I'm a feeb at all. I play
> in the band and read music. We're all supposed to
> be feebs in the band except the leader. He's
> crazy. We know it, but we never talk about it
> except amongst ourselves. His job is politics,
> too, and we don't want him to lose it. I play the
> drum. They can't get along without me in this
> institution. I was sick once, so I know. It's a
> wonder the drooling ward didn't break down while I
> was in hospital.
>
> I could get out of here if I wanted to. I'm not so
> feeble as some might think. But I don't let on. I
> have too good a time. Besides, everything would
> run down if I went away. I'm afraid some time
> they'll find out I'm not a feeb and send me out
> into the world to earn my own living. I know the
> world, and I don't like it. The Home is fine
> enough for me.
>
> You see how I grin sometimes. I can't help that.
> But I can put it on a lot. I'm not bad, though. I
> look at myself in the glass. My mouth is funny, I
> know that, and it lops down, and my teeth are bad.
> You can tell a feeb anywhere by looking at his
> mouth and teeth. But that doesn't prove I'm a
> feeb. It's just because I'm lucky that I look like
> one.
>
> I know a lot. If I told you all I know, you'd be
> surprised. But when I don't want to know, or when
> they want me to do something don't want to do, I
> just let my mouth lop down and laugh and make
> foolish noises. I watch the foolish noises made by
> the low-grades, and I can fool anybody. And I know
> a lot of foolish noises. Miss Kelsey called me a
> fool the other day. She was very angry, and that
> was where I fooled her.
>
> Miss Kelsey asked me once why I don't write a book
> about feebs. I was telling her what was the matter
> with little eesh. He's a drooler, you know, and I
> can always tell the way he twists his left eye
> what's the matter with him. So I was explaining it
> to Miss Kelsey, and, because she didn't know, it
> made her mad. But some day, mebbe, I'll write that
> book. Only it's so much trouble. Besides, I'd
> sooner talk.
>
> Do you know what a micro is? It's the kind with
> the little heads no bigger than your fist. They're
> usually droolers, and they live a long time. The
> hydros don't drool. They have the big heads, and
> they're smarter. But they never grow up. They
> always die. I never look at one without thinking
> he's going to die. Sometimes, when I'm feeling
> lazy, or the nurse is mad at me, I wish I was a
> drooler with nothing to do and somebody to feed
> me. But I guess I'd sooner talk and be what I am.
>
> Only yesterday Doctor Dalrymple said to me, "Miz,"
> he said, "just don't know what I'd do without
> you." And he ought to know, seeing as he's had the
> bossing of a thousand feebs for going on two
> years. Dr. Whatcomb was before him. They get
> appointed, you know. It's politics. I've seen a
> whole lot of doctors here in my time. I was here
> before any of them. I've been in this institution
> twenty-five years. No, I've got no complaints. The
> institution couldn't be run better.
>
> It's a snap to be a high-grade feeb. Just look at
> Doctor Dalrymple. He has troubles. He holds his
> job by politics. You bet we high-graders talk
> politics. We know all about it, and it's bad. An
> institution like this oughtn't to be run on
> politics. Look at Doctor Dalrymple. He's been here
> two years and learned a lot. Then politics will
> come along and throw him out and send a new doctor
> who don't know anything about feebs.
>
> I've been acquainted with just thousands of nurses
> in my time. Some of them are nice. But they come
> and go. Most of the women get married. Sometimes I
> think I'd like to get married. I spoke to Dr.
> Whatcomb about it once, but he told me he was very
> sorry, because feebs ain't allowed to get married.
> I've been in love. She was a nurse. won't tell you
> her name. She had blue eyes, and yellow hair, and
> a kind voice, and she liked me. She told me so.
> And she always told me to be a good boy. And I
> was, too, until afterward, and then I ran away.
> You see, she went off and got married, and she
> didn't tell me about it.
>
> I guess being married ain't what it's cracked up
> to be. Dr. Anglin and his wife used to fight. I've
> seen them. And once I heard her call him a feeb.
> Now nobody has a right to call anybody a feeb that
> ain't. Dr. Anglin got awful mad when she called
> him that. But he didn't last long. Politics drove
> him out, and Doctor Mandeville came. He didn't
> have a wife. I heard him talking one time with the
> engineer. The engineer and his wife fought like
> cats and dogs, and that day Doctor Mandeville told
> him he was damn glad he wasn't tied to no
> petticoats. A petticoat is a skirt. I knew what he
> meant, if I was a feeb. But never let on. You hear
> lots when you don't let on.
>
> I've seen a lot in my time. Once I was adopted,
> and went away on the railroad over forty miles to
> live with a man named Mr. Radiophile and his wife.
> They had a ranch. Doctor Anglin said I was strong
> and bright, and I said I was, too. That was
> because I wanted to be adopted. And Mr. Radiophile
> said he'd give me a good home, and the lawyers
> fixed up the papers.
>
> But I soon made up my mind that a ranch was no
> place for me. Mrs. Radiophile was scared to death
> of me and wouldn't let me sleep in the house. They
> fixed up the woodshed and made me sleep there. had
> to get up at four o'clock and feed the horses, and
> milk cows, and carry the milk to the neighbours.
> They called it chores, but it kept me going all
> day. I chopped wood, and cleaned chicken houses,
> and weeded vegetables, and did most everything on
> the place. I never had any fun. I hadn't no time.
>
> Let me tell you one thing. I'd sooner feed mush
> and milk to feebs than milk cows with the frost on
> the ground. Mrs. Radiophile was scared to let me
> play with her children. And I was scared, too.
> They used to make faces at me when nobody was
> looking, and call me "Looney." Everybody called me
> Looney Miz. And the other boys in the
> neighbourhood threw rocks at me. You never see
> anything like that in the Home here. The feebs are
> better behaved.
>
> Mrs. Radiophile used to pinch me and pull my hair
> when she thought was too slow, and I only made
> foolish noises and went slower. She said I'd be
> the death of her some day. I left the boards off
> the old well in the pasture, and the pretty new
> calf fell in and got drowned. Then Mr. Radiophile
> said he was going to give me a licking. He did,
> too. He took a strap halter and went at me. It was
> awful. I'd never had a licking in my life. They
> don't do such things in the Home, which is why I
> say the Home is the place for me.
>
> I know the law, and I knew he had no right to lick
> me with a strap halter. That was being cruel, and
> the guardianship papers said he mustn't be cruel.
> I didn't say anything. I just waited, which shows
> you what kind of a feeb I am. I waited a long
> time, and got slower, and made more foolish
> noises; but he wouldn't send me back to the Home,
> which was what I wanted. But one day, it was the
> first of the month, Mrs. Brown gave me three
> dollars, which was for her milk bill with Mr.
> Radiophile. That was in the morning. When I
> brought the milk in the evening I was to bring
> back the receipt. But I didn't. I just walked down
> to the station, bought a ticket like any one, and
> rode on the train back to the Home. That's the
> kind of a feeb I am.
>
> Doctor Anglin was gone then, and Doctor Mandeville
> had his place. I walked right into his office. He
> didn't know me. "Hello," he said, "this ain't
> visiting day." "I ain't a visitor," I said. "I'm
> Miz. I belong here." Then he whistled and showed
> he was surprised. I told him all about it, and
> showed him the marks of the strap halter, and he
> got madder and madder all the time and said he'd
> attend to Mr. Radiophile's case.
>
> And mebbe you think some of them little droolers
> weren't glad to see me.
>
> I walked right into the ward. There was a new
> nurse feeding little eesh. "Hold on," I said.
> "That ain't the way. Don't you see how he's
> twisting that left eye? Let me show you." Mebbe
> she thought was a new doctor, for she just gave me
> the spoon, and I guess I filled little eesh up
> with the most comfortable meal he'd had since I
> went away. Droolers ain't bad when you understand
> them. I heard Miss Jones tell Miss Kelsey once
> that I had an amazing gift in handling droolers.
>
> Some day, mebbe, I'm going to talk with Doctor
> Dalrymple and get him to give me a declaration
> that I ain't a feeb. Then I'll get him to make me
> a real assistant in the drooling ward, with forty
> dollars a month and my board. And then I'll marry
> Miss Jones and live right on here. And if she
> won't have me, I'll marry Miss Kelsey or some
> other nurse. There's lots of them that want to get
> married. And I won't care if my wife gets mad and
> calls me a feeb. What's the good? And I guess when
> one's learned to put up with droolers a wife won't
> be much worse.
>
> I didn't tell you about when I ran away. I hadn't
> no idea of such a thing, and it was Harry and Joe
> who put me up to it. They're high-grade epilecs,
> you know. I'd been up to Doctor Wilson's office
> with a message, and was going back to the drooling
> ward, when I saw Harry and Joe hiding around the
> corner of the gymnasium and making motions to me.
> I went over to them.
>
> "Hello," Joe said. "How's droolers?"
>
> "Fine," I said. "Had any fits lately?"
>
> That made them mad, and I was going on, when Joe
> said, "We're running away. Come on."
>
> "What for?" I said.
>
> "We're going up over the top of the mountain," Joe
> said.
>
> "And find a gold mine," said Harry. "We don't have
> fits any more. We're cured."
>
> "All right," I said. And we sneaked around back of
> the gymnasium and in among the trees. Mebbe we
> walked along about ten minutes, when I stopped.
>
> "What's the matter?" said Joe.
>
> "Wait," I said. "I got to go back."
>
> "What for?" said Joe.
>
> And I said, "To get little eesh."
>
> And they said I couldn't, and got mad. But I
> didn't care. knew they'd wait. You see, I've been
> here twenty-five years, and I know the back trails
> that lead up the mountain, and Harry and Joe
> didn't know those trails. That's why they wanted
> me to come.
>
> So I went back and got little eesh. He can't walk,
> or talk, or do anything except drool, and I had to
> carry him in my arms. We went on past the last
> hayfield, which was as far as I'd ever gone. Then
> the woods and brush got so thick, and me not
> finding any more trail, we followed the cow-path
> down to a big creek and crawled through the fence
> which showed where the Home land stopped.
>
> We climbed up the big hill on the other side of
> the creek. It was all big trees, and no brush, but
> it was so steep and slippery with dead leaves we
> could hardly walk. By and by we came to a real bad
> place. It was forty feet across, and if you
> slipped you'd fall a thousand feet, or mebbe a
> hundred. Anyway, you wouldn't fall -- just slide.
> I went across first, carrying little eesh. Joe
> came next. But Harry got scared right in the
> middle and sat down.
>
> "I'm going to have a fit," he said.
>
> "No, you're not," said Joe. "Because if you was
> you wouldn't 'a' sat down. You take all your fits
> standing."
>
> "This is a different kind of a fit," said Harry,
> beginning to cry.
>
> He shook and shook, but just because he wanted to
> he couldn't scare up the least kind of a fit.
>
> Joe got mad and used awful language. But that
> didn't help none. So I talked soft and kind to
> Harry. That's the way to handle feebs. If you get
> mad, they get worse. I know. I'm that way myself.
> That's why I was almost the death of Mrs.
> Radiophile. She got mad.
>
> It was getting along in the afternoon, and I knew
> we had to be on our way, so I said to Joe:
>
> "Here, stop your cussing and hold eesh. I'll go
> back and get him."
>
> And I did, too; but he was so scared and dizzy he
> crawled along on hands and knees while I helped
> him. When I got him across and took eesh back in
> my arms, I heard somebody laugh and looked down.
> And there was a man and woman on horseback looking
> up at us. He had a gun on his saddle, and it was
> her who was laughing.
>
> "Who in hell's that?" said Joe, getting scared.
> "Somebody to catch us?"
>
> "Shut up your cussing," I said to him. "That is
> the man who owns this ranch."
>
> "How do you do, Mr. Weidemann," I said down to
> him.
>
> "Hello," he said. "What are you doing here?"
>
> "We're running away," I said.
>
> And he said, "Good luck. But be sure and get back
> before dark."
>
> "But this is a real running away," I said.
>
> And then both he and his wife laughed.
>
> "All right," he said. "Good luck just the same.
> But watch out the bears and mountain lions don't
> get you when it gets dark."
>
> Then they rode away laughing, pleasant like; but I
> wished he hadn't said that about the bears and
> mountain lions.
>
> After we got around the hill, I found a trail, and
> we went much faster. Harry didn't have any more
> signs of fits, and began laughing and talking
> about gold mines. The trouble was with little
> eesh. He was almost as big as me. You see, all the
> time I'd been calling him little eesh, he'd been
> growing up. He was so heavy I couldn't keep up
> with Joe and Harry. I was all out of breath. So I
> told them they'd have to take turns in carrying
> him, which they said they wouldn't. Then I said
> I'd leave them and they'd get lost, and the
> mountain lions and bears would eat them. Harry
> looked like he was going to have a fit right
> there, and Joe said, "Give him to me." And after
> that we carried him in turn.
>
> We kept right on up that mountain. I don't think
> there was any gold mine, but we might 'a' got to
> the top and found it, if we hadn't lost the trail,
> and if it hadn't got dark, and if little eesh
> hadn't tired us all out carrying him. Lots of
> feebs are scared of the dark, and Joe said he was
> going to have a fit right there. Only he didn't. I
> never saw such an unlucky boy. He never could
> throw a fit when he wanted to. Some of the feebs
> can throw fits as quick as a wink.
>
> By and by it got real black, and we were hungry,
> and we didn't have no fire. You see, they don't
> let feebs carry matches, and all we could do was
> just shiver. And we'd never thought about being
> hungry. You see, feebs always have their food
> ready for them, and that's why it's better to be a
> feeb than earning your living in the world.
>
> And worse than everything was the quiet. There was
> only one thing worse, and it was the noises. There
> was all kinds of noises every once in a while,
> with quiet spells in between. I reckon they were
> rabbits, but they made noises in the brush like
> wild animals -- you know, rustle rustle, thump,
> bump, crackle crackle, just like that. First Harry
> got a fit, a real one, and Joe threw a terrible
> one. I don't mind fits in the Home with everybody
> around. But out in the woods on a dark night is
> different. You listen to me, and never go hunting
> gold mines with epilecs, even if they are
> high-grade.
>
> I never had such an awful night. When Joe and
> Harry weren't throwing fits they were making
> believe, and in the darkness the shivers from the
> cold which I couldn't see seemed like fits, too.
> And I shivered so hard I thought I was getting
> fits myself. And little eesh, with nothing to eat,
> just drooled and drooled. I never seen him as bad
> as that before. Why, he twisted that left eye of
> his until it ought to have dropped out. I couldn't
> see it, but I could tell from the movements he
> made. And Joe just lay and cussed and cussed, and
> Harry cried and wished he was back in the Home.
>
> We didn't die, and next morning we went right back
> the way we'd come. And little eesh got awful
> heavy. Doctor Wilson was mad as could be, and said
> I was the worst feeb in the institution, along
> with Joe and Harry. But Miss Alias, who was a
> nurse in the drooling ward then, just put her arms
> around me and cried, she was that happy I'd got
> back. I thought right there that mebbe I'd marry
> her. But only a month afterward she got married to
> the plumber that came up from the city to fix the
> gutter-pipes of the new hospital. And little eesh
> never twisted his eye for two days, it was that
> tired.
>
> Next time I run away I'm going right over that
> mountain. But I ain't going to take epilecs along.
> They ain't never cured, and when they get scared
> or excited they throw fits to beat the band. But
> I'll take little eesh. Somehow I can't get along
> without him. And, anyway, I ain't going to run
> away. The drooling ward's a better snap than gold
> mines, and I hear there's a new nurse coming.
> Besides, little eesh's bigger than I am now, and I
> could never carry him over a mountain. And he's
> growing bigger every day. It's astonishing.
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