The Blind Eye (24 page)

I told him it was highly unlikely. The risk of experiencing minor suffering during the process was more possible, and I smiled as I added that this wasn’t necessarily negative. Poets, writers, musicians and artists would all testify to the benefits of suffering.

And we are really only talking about minor discomfort here
.

But I didn’t want him to think that I was simply dismissing his concerns. Even if a long-term detrimental effect is unlikely, it is still a possibility, and neither he nor I (nor any of the others) should take this process lightly.

Everything that we do, everything that we experience, adds to the picture of who we are. It is retained within us
. They were words I had once spoken to Silas and I repeated them to Matthew.

We were unpacking the boxes as we talked, checking the labelling on the bottles to ensure they matched up with the provers and supervisors who are here. He held one up for a moment, turning the glass in his hand, and I must admit that, for the first time, I was curious.

I wonder what it is
, I said, almost to myself, and he grinned at me.

I smiled back as I told him that I am, after all, only human.

He looked at the bottle and then put it down.
It’s amazing, isn’t it?

I did not know what he meant, not at first.

That whatever it is has gone, has been diluted so much that it doesn’t exist
.

It still exists
, I said, knowing I was being pedantic, because I did understand him.

You once told me that it is like there is just a memory
.

I knew the explanation I had given him because I have given it to many of my patients. Think of the water as having a memory, I would say, of retaining all the necessary information about the substance that has been passed through it; and I would see them attempting to come to terms with the idea.

As I get up, the chill worse than I had anticipated, I think about how the power of this memory still amazes me. Each time I see it at work, I bow my head to its force, because it is far stronger than any matter, any substance, and its effects are extraordinary to witness.

2

I don’t know what made Silas lie to me when he told me that Greta wanted to talk to me. Perhaps he just felt that getting us together again would be positive, beneficial for at least one of us, perhaps even both of us.

At that stage, I did not even know that Greta had told him the story of our relationship. I must admit to an initial irritation when she confessed to having spoken to him about us. She knew he was my patient and it seemed to me to be an irresponsible act, an invasion. A few moments later I realised I was probably overreacting. I was too sensitive to a patient being privy to my personal life, too quick to infer that if I was seen as human I would not be as effective in my treatment. Probably the reverse is true. I don’t really know.

I was driving Silas home at the time he gave me her supposed message. I had found him at the bus stop after our appointment, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes fixed on the pavement. I almost didn’t disturb him, he seemed to be absorbed in thought, but then I remembered
there was a transport strike called for the early evening, a fact that I knew would have escaped him.

He was careful in his conversation. This is the way it often is with patients when you see them after hours. They are wary of imposing; Silas particularly so. We talked about our weekends. He told me he had no plans and I had to admit to the same. I had been asked out to dinner by one of Victoria’s friends but I did not know if I was up to hearing news of her.

When we pulled up outside his apartment block, he said that Greta had asked him to say hello.

I knew I had failed to hide the surprise on my face, and I pretended to search for money in the loose change I kept in the ashtray.

She asked me to give you her number. To say that she’d like to catch up
, and he handed me a slip of paper.

As soon as he closed the door, I let it fall to the ground, losing it in the pile of rubbish and papers that always clutters the floor of my car.

Later, Greta told me she had done no such thing.

She also said that only moments after she had told Silas what she had done when we were together, she wished she had kept silent. Silas had walked her home. Standing outside her door, she had told him it was a pathetic story and one that she would rather he forget.

It’s not so bad
, and he had reached for her hand but she had pulled away.
Trust me
, he had said,
I know
.

But she had felt ashamed. Unable to look at herself in the mirror, she had wondered how he would see her now. Switching off her light and getting into bed, she had told herself it would be best if she just kept away for a while. She did not have to go to the library anymore. She could finish off her work from home, and as she had closed her eyes, she had hated the importance of the place he had assumed in her life and how difficult it was for her, still, to allow closeness without fear.

3

Why do you wear a skirt?

Lucas was sitting on the floor of Silas’s room, pushing his Matchbox car across the rotting boards, carefully negotiating the rugged terrain. It was not even nine o’clock and already the heat was unbearable. The tiny window next to Silas’s bed provided the only ventilation in a house that baked under a tin roof, and it only opened three inches.

Most mornings Silas woke with a hangover, but this was the worst. He had told Lucas to leave him alone, but he had only backed a little closer to the door, and Silas could still hear the whine of Lucas’s attempts to sound like a car, punctuated by his insistent questioning.

Are you a poof?
Lucas asked, clearly uncertain as to what the word meant.

Silas rinsed his face over the sink. The water was tepid, and he could see Lucas in the mirror, still talking.

Jason reckons you are
.

It was drinking alone that was the problem. He had no outside check on how much he had consumed. But the truth
was, even if he had been able to find someone who would have been willing to keep him company, he would probably still have chosen to be by himself. He was going under and he knew it.

Martha reckons you must have been in some kind of funny business to come out here. She reckons you’re in hiding
, and Lucas revved his car a little harder in an attempt to get it across a cracked board near the door.
Steve just reckons you’re a wanker
.

Silas needed Panadol. As he fumbled through his bag, knowing he would be unlikely to find anything, he glanced across at Lucas. The boy’s freckled face was upturned, his blue eyes were watery with what looked to be conjunctivitis, and he was staring straight back at Silas.

No one seems to like you much anymore
.

Silas just turned and vomited once again, a dry retch that ripped at his throat, and made the pounding in his head even stronger.

Wiping his mouth, he pushed his way past Lucas and stumbled out into the burning heat of the morning, the boy’s voice thin and high as he called out a couple of times and then, realising it was useless, gave up and turned back inside.

There was no Panadol at Pearl’s, only Aspro and Bex, the cardboard boxes faded, the use-by stamps illegible. Silas picked up the least ancient-looking packet and, not being in any mood for conversation, waited for her to name the price.

She told him he looked like something the cat had
dragged in. She was chewing a caramel as she spoke. Silas could see it rolling around inside her mouth, caught momentarily in a gap between her teeth and then loosened again by the force of her suck.

Hear Mick won’t be walking for a while
, and a gob of sweet sticky spit landed on the edge of the Aspro box.
Guess that leaves the playing field to you
.

Silas had no idea what she meant. He counted out what he could only presume to be close to adequate payment and pushed the money towards her.

Hmph
, and she crossed her arms, pressing them tight against the strain of cloth across her bosom.
That’ll be another five
.

Silas added a five-cent piece to the pile.

Dollars
.

He was made of money and they knew it, each and every one of them. It was, in fact, the only thing he was good for, his only worth in a place like this.

Look at them
, and the sharpness of his tone revealed his anger as he wiped the layer of brown dirt off the box.

Pearl just unwrapped another caramel and popped it in her mouth, her tongue tracing the flaking edges of her pink lipstick, as she deposited the money into her cashbox and then held out her hand for the expected note.

Haven’t been so sociable lately
, and she peered at him through her thick glasses.

It was true, he hadn’t been visiting her as frequently.

Hear you’re up there every day of the week now
. She nodded in the direction of Rudi’s.
From the looks of you this morning, it hasn’t been doing you any good
.

Silas ignored her comment.

Pearl just shook her head.
You’re looking as bad as he does
.

Silas could only presume she was talking about Rudi.

Drinks himself into a stupor on a regular basis
. She sniffed in disapproval.
It’ll be the death of him. Not that he’d be missed around here
.

Well, she’d miss him
, Silas told her, suddenly aware of how impossible Constance’s situation would be without her father.

Pearl sucked hard on her sweet.
She’ll be all right
. Her eyes were sharp.
Seems to me she has no problems getting men to run around after her
.

Out in the stillness of the morning, the heat already ferocious, Silas looked up and down the empty street and wanted only to be out of there. He hated this town. He brushed his hand across his face, disturbing the flies that gathered the instant he was still, three or four of them circling slowly, waiting only for another opportunity to alight. He tilted his head back and swallowed an aspirin, the glare from the sun blinding him for a moment, the tablet getting stuck in the back of his throat, so that he was forced to cough, a sour powdery taste remaining in his mouth as he swallowed.