He is feeling stronger every day. He is ninety-one and now he can walk with a little help from a cane. He hasn't gone downstairs yet. Esperanza is still preparing the details. He has been watching nonstop the small TV she has brought upstairs for him. He has also asked for books, magazines. Today she gave him a radio. The world has changed in six months. This is his first day fully dressed. He wants to go downstairs. He is champing at the bit. He wants to confront his son, to ask him questions.
Esperanza was a doctor in the Philippines. She was driven out of her practice by the professional jealousy of her male peers in a country that does not really value women doctors. She came to Canada last year as a nanny. His son asked for her passport, to record the data. He never returned it. His son has a child of his own, has given him a grandson who is in school all day. A grandson he still has never seen, nor heard mention of but from the lips of Esperanza the Filipina nanny. Esperanza is expected to do other work around the house while the boy is away during the day. He is part of the other work.
She has convinced his son to allow her to attend church on Sundays. That is where she got the TV, the books, the magazines. That is where she got the radio. That is where she gets the Ensure.
He hears her coming up the stairs, her tread gentle, subtle and precise. He hears her soft knock on the door and her equally soft "Hello Mr. Douglas. May I come in?"
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