CHAPTER 24
The danger of all vision is its aftermath, the dull
inescapability of the absence of vision.
WALLACE FOWLIE, Rimbaud
Let him believe in vast goals, Voyages and Dreams
Endless and immense, across dark midnights of Truth,
And summon you to soothe his soul and fevered limbs,
O Sister of Charity, O mystery, O Death.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD, “Sisters of Charity”
1. Dark Night
The eye ward of Saint John of God Hospital was a barely-lit place:
Several of the patients had undergone serious procedures and were
sensitive to bright light. For the fully-sighted, the aspect was eerie.
Upon entering the shadowy room from the stark white corridor
visitors often hesitated. Perhaps they feared the blindness inside was
contagious.
The silence was also striking; without televisions or visual
stimuli, without awareness of their surroundings, most of these
newly-sightless patients had drawn inside themselves, unsure how to
relate to a world that seemed to have abandoned them. Sprout
shuffled slowly past the array of beds, searching, scanning the
darkness for a familiar shade of grey. Each step brought shooting
pains down her belly, a pain she regulated with her breath, and when
that didn’t work, by concentrating on a deeper, more diffused ache.
Finding him in the darkness she sat down carefully next to his
bed and watched for a long time as his chest rose and fell almost
imperceptibly. His eyes were covered with bandages, an intravenous
tube ran to a clear bag suspended in the air. She placed her hand
upon his.
“This is the hospital where Martin died,” Sprout said quietly. She
did not want to wake the others. “I watched him go.”
Rise. Fall. A long period of nothing.
“I don’t want you to go too,” she said, “Please.”
ABYSSINIA
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