Parameters of greed

Should I be grateful or should I be spiteful? I have not made up my mind yet. You have taken my eyes. I never thought that you envied them, that you wanted them for yourself. Your eyes are fine too, I can see the colors so well. The harshness of the afternoon sun, the soothing calm of the tree shades; things I can never perceive on my skin but now the sights trigger a sensation somewhere.

I am slower than before, but I do not mind it. I cannot see beyond where the rays of light don’t reach. When I see the lovely paintings on your walls, I want to touch them. I want those colors on my fingers. I want to step inside that rainy street, holding a yellow umbrella, and feel her waist as I pull her close. I dipped my fingers into a bowl of water just to feel the liquidness, the wetness. I didn’t dare pour the water over my head. I am not sure if I am water-resistant. I have never been swimming, neither walked in rain. To think back, I spent all my working hours with you, following you. Sometimes I was your weapon, sometimes a shield from bullet rains, grenades, and always at the wheel of your speeding car, chasing or fleeing. I could see through anything, especially concrete, pick up the silhouettes of people on the other side, planning an ambush. I scanned through clothes for concealed packages, wires, guns, knives. I could detect the pulse, blood pressure, breathing rate and warned you when there were lying. My eyes were an intricate network reporting volumes of data to the interpreter. Did you think that owning them would bestow you with Godliness, make you invincible, unstoppable? Is that why you wanted what was assigned to me?

You don’t take me along anymore. It makes me wonder whether all I was to you was just my eyes. What I showed you made me worthwhile. I could decipher complex numeric codes and hack into systems. You must have taken my interpreter and implanted it on yourself. You did not discuss those plans with me. Did you think I would protest or stand against it?

I cannot shake off the feeling that I am useless these days. I roam around the house, explore the grounds. The waterfall is a delightful sight. I was tempted to dive in, an exciting way to verify if I am water-resistant. That’s where she found me. If I had my eyes, I could have checked her parameters, verified the baby’s health, gender, everything. But you have them now and you would keep a close watch; it is your first child after all. I had seen her with you before but she looked more beautiful than ever with the baby bump. Dark circles were forming under her big eyes, on her exhausted face. She looked into my face, searchingly.

“What are you doing these days?” she asked.” Do you feel left behind?”

I did but I could not admit to it. I was unable to say anything at all.

She lifted her hands to my face and gently touched your eyes on my face.

“Remarkable! Just marvellous! You have his eyes.” She exclaimed.

I faltered a bit at her touch and the excitement in her eyes and she led me to the rocks where I could sit. The sound of the mischievous water, spraying on the grass blades and the tiny yellow wildflowers calmed me. If I had my eyes I could tell her the names of the flowers, the creepers with red star-shaped blooms, the greenish moss on the rocks, the spiders, and other insects. I could tell her the chemical composition of the rocks, the mineral content of the water. But I have your eyes and I find them darting off to steal a glance at her, resting at her lips or shoulders or neck. We sat quietly; she, lost in her thoughts of you and I, tangled in her messy hair, tossed in the wind. The bluefish that appeared suddenly in the stream broke the silence between us. She wanted it for her fishbowl and jumped right in. I was too clumsy to catch it without my eyes. I felt embarrassed that I did not even know its name. It was my business to know everything that I saw. I sat on the rocks wondering if I could design a bluefish to swim in her bowl.

She started telling me funny stories about fishing, chasing a fish down the stream and losing the way in the hills. All those stories were about you. I watched her fingers blooming into a hundred shapes, along with her words. When I found my voice, the words were new, reflecting hers, allowing her to speak more. You had such an exciting life with her. The best of both worlds actually, action and romance. 

We went on long walks. You were never jealous of me spending the whole day with her. You had no idea what your eyes were coveting. She loved your paintings as much as I did. I discovered another layer of your character in your art. You have taken a moment of the sea’s boundless euphoria. You have absorbed it into the canvas.  When I look at those hewn stone steps leading up to the cliff and the waves crashing below, I feel at home. You have captured the breath of the wave, its rise, its ecstasy. My eyes tingle with a strange regret, homesickness, like a dam about to break. I want my legs to feel the waves, breaking against them into little bubbles, carrying away a bit of my despair.

She taught me to paint, to immerse myself in the waters that I couldn’t touch. The spraying on the rocks, the blueness enveloping and pulling away. But the more I painted, I found myself pining for her. She was next to me yet at a distance I couldn’t ever hope to cross.

You came once to your studio where she was helping me to bring life to images from your art. I had wished to see you at work because I had not yet mastered the brush like how you had. You did take the brush in your hand but only played around with it. You had come for her, to check on her. When you looked at her, my eyes gave you her protein deficiency, her lack of exercise and other parameters. You took her hand in yours only to scan her nails and advise her to eat more leafy salads. She searched in my eyes for that gleam which shone from yours. I wondered if she could see it when she looked at my face and panicked. I could not dare to look at her anymore, lest she saw how your eyes lit up and filled me with longing. If I had a heart, you would know immediately how fast it was beating that day.

Why didn’t you detect the tears she was holding back? Should I be grateful that you gave me your eyes? I could see how she shriveled even as her weight was going up. You did visit her, like clockwork. I suspect you had someone to remind you. I had always imagined both of you in a tight embrace at night. I had once come to raise an alarm when I picked up outlines of armed men outside the house. I didn’t think of knocking and I would have broken the door had it been locked. I don’t remember how she looked or if she had any clothes on but I know your arms were tightly wrapped around her. I realized that day how gentle you can be with someone you cherish. Till then I had only seen the side of you which unleashed destruction dipped in fury.

Why did you hurt her with your frigid detailing of her body mass? She was carrying your child and she was beautiful in that big outline. Statistics had taken over you. I hated my eyes when I realized that they had transformed you into me and yet I would never be able to take your place with your eyes. She would never want to sleep with cold steel wrapped around her. But I had become greedy now. You had always wanted what your eyes loved. And now I did not want to let go of what your eyes had shown me and yet I could not let you continue with mine. 

It is a good thing I do not have the parameters which you can measure. I can’t get caught. You have fitted me with a lesser interpreter but I can add new skills. I have persuaded her to take me on a road trip to the beach house to complete my painting. How can I recreate it on my canvas without ever experiencing it one time? She doesn’t know I have extracted my eyes from your face and loaded you in the car. You are heavily drugged and will continue so for some days. Would your empire crumble without you? Who can resist desire when the eyes covet?  The greed my eyes could never gauge in all the eyes around me. Did you ever see it flickering in those around you?

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