Free The Museum of Modern Love by Heather Rose Page A

he got back from buying takeout. And if he went out with friends while Lydia was sick, it put a pall on the whole evening. He quite liked it when she wentto hospital for transfusions because at least that way he could imagine she was travelling. He could watch the season reruns and stay up as late as he liked, turn the music up, sleep in their bed instead of in the guest room, which was always depressing to wake up in.
    He hated how the whole world seemed to be set up for two things: illness and death. Lydia’s mother had died of the same condition when Lydia was a child. Her father had ensured Lydia had the best of everything—schools, specialists. New York was good for that. And then Lydia became an architect and her work was extraordinary, despite everything. She might have had her mother’s physiology, but in other ways she was her father’s daughter.
    Once Alice was in her teens, she did the runs to hospital with things Lydia needed. But Lydia’s absences, knowing she was in hospital, watching the increasing frequency of attacks, the complication of medications, had always been terrible for Levin. It wasn’t how he’d imagined life would go. He had thought of them as they got older taking walks, seeing movies. Spending summers in Europe. He wanted to go back to Vienna with her, to London, to Spain. He wanted to have her beside him when they heard the Berlin Philharmonic again.
    Was he really meant to give up his own life to care for her every hour of the day? Had he really signed up for that? She didn’t want him to. That was why she’d done what she’d done. She’d given him his freedom. Something better for both of them. Wasn’t he doing just what she had prescribed? That’s what she’d said. Go and write. Make wonderful music. Know that I love you. Have no regrets.
    She might live another five years in her current state. Or another two. He had no idea. But she wanted to do it without him. She hadn’t asked for a divorce; she’d simply ensured he couldnot come and visit. Alice could visit. But Levin was freed from the obligation to spoon wet goo into her mouth or help her to the toilet. Maybe now she wore diapers. This was a hideous thought and he put it away again immediately. For better or worse? It was old-fashioned, he decided. Worse could be dealt with in a modern way. Care could be bought. Services could be acquired. Science, technology, it had all created options. If there was money, then why should anyone lose dignity? He did not have to see Lydia when nothing about her now was the woman he loved. And he could continue his life. It was tragic to lose her, but it would have been more tragic for them both to be prisoners to the one fate. Surely.
    Unbridled selfishness. The words came back again to haunt him. Was living his life selfish? Was his one quiet life really doing harm to anyone else? Lydia was looked after. She had the best care money could buy. Science might yet save her. Alice visited. Alice was her medical power of attorney. Alice would know if there was anything that wasn’t being done properly.
    ‘She’ll really never walk again?’ he had asked Alice, during one of the rare meals they’d shared after Lydia’s stroke.
    ‘They say not. I mean, they have to help her sit up. They strap her into her wheelchair because she likes to . . . Are you okay? You must have imagined that one day it would come to this.’
    ‘You know, I never did. I really never did. But I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.’
    ‘Really? I’m not.’
    ‘Are you angry with me, Alice?’
    ‘No. Maybe. Disappointed, I think.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, I’m not sure what to make of anything really. I think that other husbands . . . look, forget it. I think she wants you to be happy.’
    ‘So that’s a crime? You think I don’t feel guilty?’
    ‘I don’t think you do, Dad. I’m not even sure you should. And part of me even admires that you can be so selfish. That she can be so . . .