The Blind Eye Read online

  And then, after three days of wondering where he was, she saw that he was back. She looked up to notice him pushing the heavy doors open as the late afternoon sun was slanting through the high windows, the thin streams of light making it difficult for her to see him clearly as he made his way, hurriedly, towards her desk.

  She did not have enough time to conceal the shock. You look terrible, she told him, her voice a whisper in the quiet.

  He nodded towards the exit and she glanced at her watch. There was only half an hour until closing.

  I have to finish, and she flicked through the thick wad of pages she still hadn’t read. She only had a couple of months of pay left on the project and she was a long way behind.

  Please, and the urgency in Silas’s voice startled her.

  Outside, in the warmth of the sun, they sat side by side on the library steps, and Greta waited for Silas to speak.

  It’s getting worse. He lit a cigarette, his hand shaking as he put the match out, his sleeve pushed up just enough for her to see the latest damage he had inflicted upon himself.

  She was, she told me, at a loss as to how to respond. Have you talked to Daniel? As he shook his head, she wished he had other friends.

  She put her hand across her throat, aware of Silas’s eyes on her again, and wanting to cover the softness of her skin near the top of her breast, because she suddenly felt uncomfortable at the memory of the night they had spent together, flitting at the edge of each conversation they had.

  I can’t help you, and Greta shook her head. I’m just not able to.

  I know, and he shifted slightly, moving away from her, breathing in before he continued because there was something he wanted to say, she could see it.

  When I was away, there was someone I met. His words were hesitant and she could tell he hated his inability to pick the exact ones he needed.

  And I fucked up badly.

  She, too, had inched away from him. We’ve all done that.

  He shook his head. Badly.

  She did not know if she wanted him to continue, but when he reached for her, she knew he was trying to let her know that it was all right. He was not going to do or say anything that would damage the tentative beginnings of the friendship they had constructed, and she felt herself relax, slightly.

  If something I did caused all that’s happening to me now, then I just don’t see how I can expect to fix it by seeing Daniel. He can’t take hack what happened.

  Greta did not understand. She looked at him. But that’s not what you are seeing him for.

  Silas stubbed out his cigarette. He pushed up his sleeves, not bothering to hide the full extent of the damage from her. Greta stood up. She stepped backwards down the stairs to street level, and he did not follow her, nor did he call her back. She looked towards one end of the road and then to the other. She unknotted her cardigan from her waist and wrapped it around her shoulders. He was watching her as she made her way towards him again, her arms wrapped tight around her chest, the glare now gone from the sun so that behind him, the facade of the library was becoming little more than a darkness.

  She picked up her bag. I have to get my things. They’ll be closing soon.

  He didn’t try to stop her.

  She rubbed at her temple and stared at the ground. He bent his head so that he could catch her gaze from where he sat, knees to his chest, there on the step below the one on which she was standing.

  Am I too much of a mess? His smile was rueful, but his eyes were serious.

  For what?

  For a friendship.

  No, and she was surprised to find herself uttering what she had always known was inside her, a trust in him, despite what had passed. But you need to talk to Daniel, or someone.

  I know.

  As she reached down to help him up, his hand warm in her own, she realised how much she had missed seeing him around.

  I guess it was then that I knew, she told me later.

  What? I asked her.

  That I had fallen for him, and she smiled as she looked down at the table. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself.

  I watched as she bit her lip.

  You know what he’s like.

  I told her that I did.

  6

  When I went to Port Tremaine, I saw that Thai’s house was just as Silas had described it: a double-fronted wooden cottage that was slowly collapsing into the earth, the dry paint flaking off in great strips of pale blue, the colour fading to a dirty white.

  There were still toys in the front yard: broken plastic cars, a decapitated doll, a water pistol, all littered across the dust. If I hadn’t heard she had moved, I would have thought the place was occupied. Torn curtains hung in the windows and the front door was open, hanging on one hinge only.

  Packed up about a year ago, Pearl had told me.

  She had not let me into the shop. We had conducted our conversation through the flyscreen door. Closed up, she had explained, too old for this carry-on, and she had indicated the rows of sagging dust-covered shelves behind her, still stacked with boxes and tins, mostly food, all of which would have been well past their use-by date.

  I walked around Thai’s house, looking into each of the empty rooms, wanting to see it as it would have been when Silas was there over four years ago. The cottage out the back, where he had stayed, was still furnished. The single bed was covered in mouse droppings; the stuffing was bursting out of the mattress. On the floor was a pile of paperbacks, the pages yellowed and water-stained, the covers bent back and torn. I wondered whether they had been Silas’s, left behind in his rush to get out of there, and as I picked one of them up, moths fluttered out, tiny, blind and white, their wings beating furiously as they attempted to make it towards the light from the window.

  Outside Silas’s mother’s house, I saw the bath. It was rusted through, leaning lopsided on the one leg that remained. I did not go any further than the door. Not only was the floor collapsed, the smell caused me to pull back. Peering into the darkness, I could just make out the bulk of an animal, a wallaby I presume, the flics thick around its rotten carcass, and I stepped back into the brightness of the day with relief.

  Walking around the building, I saw that it was one of the largest houses in the town and one of the oldest. Silas’s guess that this was where his mother had come for holidays was probably correct. Wealthy rural families had owned a few of the places here. It was hardly a glamorous seaside resort but it would have provided a brief period of respite from the unrelenting heat of the summers in the country that lies beyond the ranges.

  Silas had no idea how often she had visited this place or when she had stopped, but this was not surprising. He knew little about her life before her marriage.

  We didn’t touch on anything for long, he told me once. We never went beyond a light-hearted banter, the kind of social chit-chat that you might have at lunch when you are trying to amuse each other.

  Whenever I asked him about his father, he would look out the window and tell me they’d had little in common. I do not know whether this was the way it had always been or whether Silas’s shame at his father’s business activities had caused this breakdown. It may have been that the possibility of any kind of relationship had been too severely hindered by his father’s delusions; he never told me.

  I do know that Silas’s father died shortly after his return from Port Tremaine. I read the articles in the paper, the features written by various investigative journalists that attempted to unravel where the money had gone, the diagrams that marked out the numerous trust funds, some of which Silas was the sole beneficiary, many others of which were tied up for years in the control of various solicitors and shelf companies. It was all so complex that later, when I was treating him, I did not wonder at Silas’s inability to deal with it.

  Silas did not go to either his mother’s or his father’s funeral.

  I should have gone to hers, he told me. I missed her, and he looked down at the floor. I had so little
to fix me to the ground, to the world, I suppose. He shifted in his chair.

  Losing her had shaken him. She was that one thread, a very fine one, I know, that had linked him to the earth, and when she died, he had felt there was nothing, no matter where he was, to keep him steady.

  belladonna

  Belladonna

  Clinical. – –Atropa Belladonna. Deadly Nightshade.

  Characteristics. – –Belladonna acts primarily on the brain, and Teste very acutely explains the diversity of its action on men and animals by suggesting that it acts with an intensity proportionate to the brain development. On goats and rabbits it has no poisonous action whatever. On carnivorous animals it acts with moderate intensity. On man it acts with highest intensity. But on idiots, as Hufeland mentions, it has no more action than it has on some of the carnivora.

  John Henry Clarke, A Dictionary of Practical Materia Medico

  1

  It took an hour to walk to the garden. Silas went each morning, leaving as soon as he woke, the heat in his room unbearable by eight o’clock, particularly after long nights of smoking and drinking with the others on the verandah.

  The sand was on fire beneath his feet as he followed the track that skirts the edge of the mangrove swamps, the mud rank to the smell, rich and rotting, before he turned inland, into the low-lying scrub, desert brush, saltbush and gorse all scratching at his flesh, scoring red crisscrosses on his skin, tiny pin-pricks of blood to mark where he had been.

  This was when he was alone; he was not at Thai’s with the kids screaming around him, he was not at Pearl’s, drawing out the tales he knew she wanted to spin, and he was not at Rudi’s, pressed against the wall by the constant flood of words. For that hour he did not see anyone, and in the absence of all eyes but his own, he did not know who he was or what he was doing in this place.

  But when he came down the slight dip in the hill and saw the sunlight hot on the metal fencing and beyond, that garden holding within it the promise of Constance, his pace would quicken.

  It was beautiful, he tried to explain when he first began talking to me about it. Mesmeric, and he would stumble for words to do it justice.

  There was that town and then that place. Two completely different worlds. In one, everything was dying and in the other, I had never seen so much life. But strange life. Plants I had never seen before — fleshy tubular flowers, sticky stamens, gaping mouths, drooping heads; it was like a dream, and Silas looked at the ceiling in disbelief at what he was trying to express. A sort of terrible caricature of a Freudian nightmare.

  I smiled. The worst kind.

  All he wanted was a few moments alone with Constance, and each day, when Rudi let him in, he would look for her, remaining hopeful despite the fact that they had still only exchanged a few words.

  He was surprised when, about three weeks after his first visit, she was simply there at the gate, keys in hand, Rudi nowhere in sight. The problem was that he found himself unable to speak. His throat was dry from the heat, and he brushed at the flies that gathered in a thick swarm as he tried to summon the words he had imagined.

  He’s waiting for you, she said, and stepped aside, indicating that he should walk as he always walked, up the path that led to the shack.

  It’s you I’d like to see, he told her.

  Her words were direct as she snapped the padlock closed. What for?

  He could not think of an appropriate reply. It was simply that he was obsessed with her, lifted high on a glittering wave of infatuation, so high that he felt dizzy with the sensation.

  Do you want me in your article as well?

  He had forgotten the story he had used and, once again, he was relieved she could not see his embarrassment. He told her he wanted her to show him the garden, he wanted to know how she made it all grow, why she had done it, what kind of a life she led, his questions tumbling out in an excited rush.

  I want to know it all. He was relieved to see the faintest smile on her face. If you’ve got the time.

  As her smile deepened, she appeared, for a moment, like a child. The wariness dissolved, and all Silas wanted was to hold this moment still.

  Maybe you could start by showing me your favourite, the one you love, the flower you are always with, and, forgetting once again that she could not see, he pointed towards the softness of the silky cream petals folding across each other, their smell heady in the heat. Or any of them, I don’t mind.

  The light was dancing in her eyes so that they shone, like moonstones, as she listened to him.

  And then maybe I could show you what it’s like out there, and he leant forward, his tone more serious now, urgent. Because you don’t have to stay here. There is so much to see. We could do it. Just open that gate again and keep going.

  Any levity in her expression dissipated. She stepped back, and Silas knew he had said too much.

  There is nothing wrong with my life. Her voice was low.

  I know, Silas rushed to apologise, reaching for her, her skin cool beneath his touch.

  Besides, and she brushed his hand away, I am blind. Showing me the world would be pointless. Her last words were almost a whisper in the silence that had descended – the branches of the trees overhead were suddenly still, the slow sway of the flowers, the rustle of the leaves, the flicker of insects were all gone in that moment – and they both stood, apart again.

  I am sorry, Silas said. I don’t want to upset you.

  She had a leaf in her fingers, and she twirled it, back and forth, in a rapid blur of brilliant green. He reached out to still her, but she seemed to sense his presence and moved away.

  I don’t know what came over me, he told her, wanting only to see her smile again, I was just trying to get to know you. I didn’t think. Her expression had not changed. I’m quite happy just to be here, he insisted. I’m not being patronising. I want to learn from you. There was a desperation to his words now. All I’ve ever done is make a complete mess of my life out there. I need to change. I want to change. He did not know what he was saying. He was only aware of the distance that had grown between them, and the limited time he had before Rudi came, once again, to claim him. Please, he asked, can’t you trust me?

  Constance let go of the leaf she had been holding. He deserves respect, and she nodded in the direction of the shack. He believes he will finally be recognised again.

  Silas glanced down the path, fearful that Rudi was making his way towards them.

  I know, and he could only think to lie to her. I will do what I can to write something that will be read.

  It could have been the heat, or the amount he had drunk the previous evening alone in his room, or perhaps it was the richness of the scent that clung to her skin; it did not matter what had caused it, but he felt faint, and he held onto the nearest tree in an attempt to steady himself.

  Don’t make a fool of him.

  As he sunk to the ground, he reached for her. I am sorry, he said. I probably just need a drink of water.

  Her hand was cool and dry around his wrist as she told him to hush, to be still, it would pass. Just close your eyes.

  He leant forward, his palms pressed against his face, and that was when he felt it, the stickiness of the warm blood trickling between his fingers. It was just his nose, that was all it was, and he looked at the red stain on his skin.

  Here. She was right there by his side, her sweetness overpowering, and she was holding a flower, a rose-pink blossom, spread open against the whiteness of her palm. Go on, and she pressed it closer.

  He would have done anything she asked.

  Periwinkle, she told him, a slight smile once again tracing the corners of her lips. Used for hysteria. As she helped him up, he saw the amusement in her eyes. Witches have been known to put them in love potions, but they are also very good for nosebleeds.

  As he crushed the petals into his mouth, he wondered how she had known what was wrong with him, and he looked across at her in wonder.

  Can you help me up? he asked
, wanting to feel her touch again.

  She told him to stay as he was for a few more moments, and because she seemed to be about to turn away, he opened his mouth to speak again, wanting only to hold her there with him.

  So everything, all of this, and he indicated the garden as he searched for a question, a comment, anything to get her attention, has a use, a purpose?

  Her smile was wry now. It depends on what you mean by purpose.

  Do you use them all for healing?

  She turned her face towards the sun, now high overhead. There’s not a lot of people who come here to be healed.

  But he used to treat people, and, without thinking, Silas nodded in the direction of the shack, aware as soon as he did so that she could not see his gesture.

  She was facing him directly now and there was a hardness in her expression he had not noticed before. That was a long time ago.

  What happened? Silas asked. To the others?

  She tapped her toe against a rock, the sound repetitive and harsh in the quiet. There’s nothing mysterious about any of it. There were disagreements and gradually they left. All of them One by one.

  Silas held onto the trunk of the tree and pulled himself up. But he decided to stay?

  She had turned away from him.

  It must get lonely, it must be difficult, sometimes.

  Not particularly. Her tone was sharp.

  For him, Silas said, the memory of Rudi drunk, the first night he saw him, flashing across his thoughts.

  You are in no position to judge. Your own capacity for consuming poisons hardly indicates a peace with the world.

  If he was alarmed at her apparent ability to read his mind, he did not have a chance to let it register, the anger in her words increasing as she continued.