Elena Knows Page 7
The car moves, and Elena is thankful there’s someone to move it for her.
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Add the two women who work at the health insurance office to the list of suspects, Inspector Avellaneda. You really think that’s necessary, Elena? the officer asked, beside her on the curved root of the ombú tree in the square. It was after they’d stopped meeting at the police station. We did more than humanly possible for that woman, Avellaneda, and the people in the neighbourhood are beginning to talk, the chief had said a few days before. What are they saying, Chief? They’re saying we’re taking money from her, Avellaneda. Assholes, how could they think we’d do that to an old lady? That’s how their minds work. But the officer didn’t have the nerve to tell her not to come back. For her sake, but also for his own. By that point meeting with Elena had become the task he most enjoyed, like a chore taken on grudgingly that ends up becoming an important ritual. Avellaneda was surprised to find himself looking forward to their meetings, given how little he’d been able to do for the woman. He made up an excuse, they’re having my office painted, you’ll see how good it looks, Elena. And Elena didn’t believe him, but she went to meet him in the square anyway, and she talked to him there like she believed his lie. Rita treated those two girls at the health insurance office very badly, she insisted. Well, Elena, that doesn’t sound like enough of a motive. Seriously, I’m telling you, very, very badly, do you understand, Inspector? I understand, but you don’t just kill every person who treats you badly, if so, how many of us would be left in the world, I’d have to kill more than one boss I’ve had, not in the force, on the building site, I worked as a builder before this, Elena, did I tell you that? No, you didn’t. And my brother, first my brother and then my bosses, my brother would have to kill his father-in-law, my sister-in-law would have to kill my mother. Even though I’m a bachelor, I’m not sure I’d still be alive, said the officer. You would, Inspector, Elena assured him, You seem like a good person. Don’t trust appearances, Elena, the uniform can be deceiving. Don’t be silly, Inspector, Elena says, laughing, that uniform isn’t helping you. You are a good person, Elena. But Elena shook her head, You say that because you never saw me fight with Rita. I’ll add you to the list, then, said the officer, in an attempt at humour, but the second it was out of his mouth he knew it was stupid and inappropriate. Why not, Inspector, she answered, You have to investigate everyone, I’d be thrilled if you did, even if you started with me.
Rita’s interactions with the women at the health insurance office became increasingly tense as Elena’s illness got worse and the expenses that needed to be reimbursed grew. Elena had witnessed multiple examples of mistreatment. Her daughter’s blatant mistreatment of the insurance agents and their polite mistreatment of her, disguised behind soft voices trained specially in the Central Office. Their tone of voice didn’t help, Rita always got angry with people who spoke quietly. I don’t trust them, Mum. They said she’d maxed out the expenses allotted for physical therapy, that the prescription said five hundred but the insurance only covered three hundred. Three hundred what? Pills. That the generic brand the doctor had prescribed didn’t match the medication he asked for, that a treatment wasn’t covered by the plan that Rita had paid religiously for the two of them for twenty years. Have you tried to get it through the public medical service, PAMI? They hadn’t tried with PAMI, they’d avoided all mention of the public medical service ever since they’d waited over an hour for a PAMI ambulance to help Antonio who lay dying of a heart attack on the kitchen floor in the house where Elena now lives alone, only for it to finally arrive five minutes after he’d died. The siren wailed down the street, getting closer and closer to the house, but Elena already knew it wouldn’t do any good. They did try at what had been previously called the Institute for the Lame, which the mother and daughter still called by its old name; it had been changed years ago to avoid offending anyone but the new name was exhausting to say. Go to the National Services for Rehabilitation and Promotion of Disabled Persons, on Ramsay street, Rita, and get her a disability certificate, that’ll simplify things for you a lot, the girls at the insurance office had told her when the expenses began to multiply astronomically. But Rita didn’t see the need, What good would it do? Well for example every time you bring in a request for physical therapy I have to get it authorised by an auditor at the Central Office and that takes time, also in the case that they do authorise it, I have to discount it from your allotted quota, then your physical therapy runs out, do you understand? No, I don’t understand. Let me explain then, with the disability certificate you don’t have that limit on treatments and everything’s much quicker. What will the next limit be and why do I have to go somewhere to certify that my mother is disabled, are you blind? The girl lowers her gaze. Look at her, I dare you, Rita demands. What do you think? The employee looks up but doesn’t respond. Isn’t this enough? It’s not for me, I know your mother well enough by now, I need the certification in order to… But Rita interrupted her before she could finish, Do you really think she needs a certificate to show she’s disabled, why would you ask for something so obvious? It’s for the Central Office, they need the piece of paper. And you’re not able to tell them no. Even if I tell them no, they’ll ask for it anyway. It’s not enough for you to tell them, her medical chart isn’t enough to prove it, the letter from her doctor isn’t enough? Those are the rules. Tell them I’ll bring her in there, parade her in front of anyone who doesn’t believe us, so they can see her, but you can’t make my mother suffer through more of this bureaucracy. None of their pleas changed the paperwork required by the Central Office. So off they went, to Ramsay street, fourteen months later. You’re giving me an appointment for next year?, Rita asked the secretary at the front desk of what had been the Institute for the Lame, which to her surprise was an old, much-extended mansion set in tree-lined grounds. There are no earlier appointments? There are a lot of people who need the same thing. Well I hope those people are still alive fourteen months from now. When the date of the appointment finally arrived Roberto Almada got the bank to give him the day off and to lend him a car. Is it really necessary to bother that man, Rita? Tell him he doesn’t need to put himself out for me. He’s doing it for me, not you, Mum. They got there on time, both women in a bad mood, especially Rita, who was sure there would be some problem, some little thing that would mean she’d have to come back again, a piece of paper that was missing, a signature, a stamp, some miniscule requirement that when revealed to be lacking would suddenly become of utmost importance. But that’s not what happened. They waited a little while, Elena told Rita she’d prefer for Roberto to wait in the car, We wouldn’t want them to think he’s the one here to get certified as lame, Rita. And Rita, despite being furious at her mother’s comment, must have had similar worries because she sent him outside without any argument. They sat in the waiting room surrounded by other people seeking the same certification. A couple holding hands and taking turns cuddling their baby with Down’s syndrome, an elderly mother dragging along a daughter who covered her face with her handbag like she was some famous actress who didn’t want to be photographed, a man in a wheelchair who was missing both legs. Elena stole glances at them, made up back stories for them based on the shoes they wore, the movement of their feet if they were able to move them or their stillness if they couldn’t, and when she couldn’t gather enough information from what she was able to see or what her imagination was able to fill in she would ask Rita about them. Shut up, Mum, would you like people to talk about you like that?
There were ramps everywhere, all the offices had signs showing the name and title of the person they’d find inside, on the walls were posters with step-by-step instructions on how to complete the process. In any event, they didn’t wait long at all before they were seen by a female doctor who within three minutes had looked through the folder containing copies of Elena’s ID, her health insurance card, the last receipt from her retirement pension, the medical chart they’d had Dr Be
negas’s secretary make a copy of, the completed and signed forms, and without even looking up at Elena signed the piece of paper that from now on would tell anyone who wanted to know that Elena was disabled. Parkinson’s, she wrote on the page. Is that it? Rita asked when the doctor handed her the paper. Yes, that’s it, the doctor said, Your mother’s case is very clear, it leaves no room for doubts. It’s just that they always make us jump through so many hoops, Doctor. Here? No, not here, but the insurance company, the hospitals. Well yeah, the doctor agreed, They want you to get exhausted and give up, don’t let them win, she said. I won’t, doctor, don’t worry. Before you leave don’t forget you can get a sticker for your car, and our legal advisor will be able to answer any further questions you might have. They didn’t have a car, so they didn’t need the parking permit or the license plate registration fee waived, but they went to see the advisor. They shared the room with the couple who had the baby with Down’s syndrome and a girl who was there with another girl who was blind. The lawyer told them that the first thing they should do was get their certification laminated, and to keep it under lock and key. You wouldn’t want to have to go through all this red tape all over again. Elena thought that, even though she couldn’t see his face, the lawyer must be a handsome man, and a nice guy since he was worried about her and the time she’d invested in that process. Those of you who want the parking sticker and the exemption from license plate registration fees can apply today, said the legal advisor, and Elena knew that he was looking at everyone even though she couldn’t see just like the blind girl couldn’t either. Law 22,431 protects your rights, here are the phone numbers you can call if you have any questions, he said, pointing to a line on the model certificate that he then circled in blue pen on each of theirs. And the most important thing I have to say to you is that from here on out, no one, at any health insurance company or any hospital, can try to charge you or refuse to authorise your medication or the treatment you need for the disabilities that you suffer, since starting today those expenses aren’t covered by them, but by the State. This sentence made it clear why the health insurance company couldn’t just look at Elena to see her disability. Payment upon delivery. The lawyer shook each of their hands, Elena hid her wadded up handkerchief inside the sleeve of her sweater and held hers out too. She would’ve liked to sit a while holding that soft strong hand, but Rita rushed her out, saying, Let’s go, Mum, the doctor has to shake everyone’s hand, and she pulled her by the shoulder and guided her out. As they were leaving, the doctor called out to the couple with the baby, Stay for a second, I want to talk to you. He’s nice, I told you he was nice, she said to Rita, but her daughter was several steps ahead and didn’t hear her.
Elena walked out onto Ramsay street crying, when she got into Roberto Almada’s car he asked her, What’s wrong Elena, why are you crying? They treated me kindly, son, she said, and couldn’t say anything more.
After she received the disability certificate the fights with the girls at the insurance office became less frequent, they couldn’t refuse everything anymore since someone else was picking up the tab, and that meant that Rita had fewer reasons to let rip at them. Until that afternoon when she asked them to authorise the two boxes of Madopar. Dr Benegas was going to be away for a conference and he didn’t want Elena to run out of medication. She handed the prescription to the girl who usually helped her. This prescription doesn’t say continuous treatment. So? So I can’t authorise two boxes if it doesn’t say continuous treatment. The prescription says two boxes. Yes, it says two boxes but it doesn’t specify continuous treatment. There’s no cure for Parkinson’s, how could it not be continuous? You have to ask the doctor to write continuous treatment in those exact words. You can shove those exact words up your ass. I’m just doing my job. Obedience is no excuse, if your superior gives you an idiotic order and you obey, it’s because you’re an idiot too, and I regret to inform you that idiocy also requires continuous treatment even if no one will write it out for you in those exact words. And then Rita ripped the prescription out of the girl’s hand and left the office in such a hurry that she left her mother sitting in the waiting area. None of the girls dared to say anything. They just stood there behind the desk, and Elena opposite them, stooped over, head down, drooling onto the shirt she’d bought with her last pension cheque. Elena imagined that the insurance company girls must be uncomfortable with her sitting there, opposite their desk, so she tried to stand up but she couldn’t. The phone rang, neither of the employees answered it. Elena rocked forward and with an effort was able to stand, gripping the arms of the chair. But the chair began to slide out from under her and Elena with it, and one of them unfroze and ran to catch her. In that moment the door opened and Rita barged in, Don’t you dare touch her, she said, the employee let go and Elena wobbled again. Let’s go, her daughter ordered. I wish I could, Elena answered.