Illumination

Robin Chattaway remembered the few spots of rain that had felt like small electrical charges to individual nerve ends and he could not understand why he was not addressing the ball that had fallen at the foot of the tall pines. Where was his club? Everything was black and there was an acrid burning smell! Cordite? Ozone? Carborundum? Bang! His body had reacted instantly and he had rolled to his right in a belated attempt to shelter from another violent clap of thunder. Sharp, damp twigs felt painful under his forearm as the mushy, spidery feel of rain rinsed grass was thrust into his face. He opened his eyes and there was nothing. All other discomfort was instantly gone.

Robin blinked and tried to see the overgrown rough that he was

lying in but there was still nothing…….. He sat up and his mind raced: Why

can’t I see? What happened? Am I dead? This must be hell!”

“Robin! Are you all right?”

It was a relief to hear his friend. “Terry! What happened? I

can’t see!”

“We were struck by lightning!”

How could Terry be so stupid and inconsiderate? He reached out

towards the voice, “I’ve been blinded! Shit I’m blind!”

Robin smelled the mélange of soap, shampoo, and freshly laundered

cotton before she touched his arm. Her voice was as elegant as a delicate water

lily floating on the surface of a bottomless pit and he knew instinctively,

that if he tried to reach for it he would stumble.

“Mister Chattaway!”

“I can’t see!”

“Let me help you!”

He would later remember the feel of her hand on his arm as she

helped him from his seat and then walked him into the unknown. Her touch had

been soft and light but at the same time, incisive and confident; the same

light pressure a professional golfer uses when he grips his club.

She had guided him step by step passed the rows of reception

seats and through a doorway where she abandoned him, clinging to a marble wall,

while she procured a wheelchair. He experienced the short journey as a mixture

of whirling grunts, coughs, breathing, clippety shoes and door squeaks as if he

had been seasick, clinging desperately to the stanchions of a rolling ship. The

lingering smell of other people’s illnesses partly purged by hospital

disinfectant had finished him off. When she returned, she had found him lying

on the ground, unconscious.

 “Good morning!”

He had heard the voice before and he frowned and struggled to

remember as he came awake. It was a habit to reach behind him and find the light

switch. This time his hand touched the metal bars of the hospital bed-head and

there for an instant he could not work out where he was; bars, prison, dark,

prison, bars, no lights, where........and then the gentle touch of her.

“It’s okay! The same soap, shampoo, detergent and subtle

fragrance and he remembered.

“Sit up! I’ve brought you your breakfast.”

“Do nurses serve breakfast?”

“You’re a special case! I carried you in! Don’t you remember?”

The pillows felt somehow softer as she puffed them up behind

him. He could sense her soft breath, rhythmic and wild like a distant

whippoorwill through the early morning mist. Then the hard rumble of some

apparatus being brought to the bedside and the mouth watering smells of

porridge, tea, burnt toast, butter and fried egg as a tray was somehow

suspended in front of him.

“There you are!”

She put the spoon in his right hand and put his left hand onto

the rim of the porridge bowl. It did not matter that it was lukewarm. He was

hungry and the fact that he could get a series of spoonfuls to his mouth

provided him with a strange sense of achievement. The texture of the porridge

was sticky like glue.

“What is your name?” He gasped between mouthfuls

“Nurse Ackroyd!”

“No! Your first name!”

“Carrie!”

It was almost whispered and he felt a spiralling sensation in

the pit of his stomach........I looked up enviously at those on

board - straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie - Those silent leaves lie

undisturbed now, ’cause you’re not here! The hypnotic tones of

Justin Hayward rang through his imagination and in an instant that stretched

inside itself he pictured her, the Thames, the steamer and the grey Ironclad

‘Thunder Child’.

“Can I touch your hair?”

“Behave yourself! Here, let me put the butter and marmalade on

your toast for you!”

“What do you look like?”

He sensed that she had been disturbed by the question but the

crunchy toast, unsalted butter and sweetened Seville oranges obscured the

effect of her pheromones.

“I’ll come back and see you later. Mister Bromley will be here

about eight thirty.”

“What time is it now?”

“Six twenty five!”

“Thanks Carrie! I haven’t seen you yet but I’m really glad I met

you!”

“There you go...............!”

The clink and rustle of screens being folded together followed

by the syncopating sounds of uncoordinated casters on the hard floor as the

screens were dragged away made him realise that until that moment he had been

hidden from the rest of the ward.

“Mister Chattaway!”

It was the second time he had been woken in as many hours.

“Mister Bromley! I am the ophthalmologist.” The accent was

refined, posh, like one of the royals. The timbre of the voice was deep and

resonant.

“I understand you experienced supernatural intervention in the

form of lightening on the fourteenth. Can you see anything at all?”

“Nothing!” If it was divine intervention it did not help my

game.

The Consultant sat on the edge of the bed.

“Relax! Let me have a look at you!” He held open the lids of

Robin’s left eye then Robin heard a click.

“Can you see anything now?”

“No, Nothing!”

“...And now?”

“Still nothing!”

“Emmm! Keep your eyes open, look forward and keep quite

still.........!”

 “What do you do for a

living?”

“I am a writer!”

“You use a computer?”

“Yes! Mind you, this might mean that I’ll be using voice

recognition software from here on in.”

“What did he say?” Robin heard the bed neighbour’s voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The consultant fellow! What did he say?”

“I have to go to his examination room for a proper job.”

“Why the mask?”

“To protect my eyes from the light.”

He could smell Carrie’s unguarded, guileless fragrance before

she got close to him and before she spoke to him. His heart made a small leap

of excitement and at that same instant, he realised that he could see her.

Well, he thought it must be her! He could actually see a grey shape surrounded

by a lighter halo and silhouetted against continuous, impenetrable black.

“I can see you!”

“Don’t be silly! You’ve still got your mask on! Anyway, how did

you know it was me?”

“You’ve got a halo!”

“And you’ve got a vivid imagination. Take your mask off but keep

your eyes closed until I tell you. I have to put some drops in your eyes.”

Robin did as she asked but the image remained. A female figure

was clearly visible and was moving in his darkness. Was it Carrie? How could it

be real if he was seeing it with the mask on? Her silhouette moved in sequence

with the sounds that she made as she prepared the medication. His breath was

shallow as he scrutinised the shadow’s every movement and he synchronised them

with the rustles from her overall. They were simultaneous and he knew that the

shape he was seeing was his nurse.

“How could I conceivably see you with my eyes closed?” He had

touched her arm when she offered it to him the previous day. This time, the

feel of her was accompanied by something approaching an electric shock. Her arm

had been exactly where he had seen it, where he had positioned it in the picture.

“You couldn’t!”

She moved his hand and told him to lay back. She then pulled his

eyelids apart with her left hand and administered the drops with her right.

Even after the drops the picture was constructed in subtle shades of grey, but

he could see her. His eyes were closed but he could see her. She got clearer

and clearer. He could see her nurse’s cap, her hair, her eyes, her cleavage and

the top of her lacy bra. Even with eyes open and twenty-twenty vision, he

should not have been able to see such detail.

Carrie pulled the mask back over his eyes but it changed

nothing.

“This is incredible! You are beautiful! It’s wonderful! I can

see you with my mind!”

“What colour are my eyes?”

“The picture is in black and white. Hold your hand up and I will

point to it!”

“How many fingers?”

“Three!”

“Now how many?”

“One!”

“And now?”

“Five!”

“You can see!”

“I told you! You have a halo all around you. You are an angel!”

“Something has happened to you!”

Robin sat up in the bed and took hold of both her hands. His

voice was generous with admiration and desire.

“I’d like to kiss you!”

“Stay where you are!” She pulled back and her voice tone

betrayed her sudden realisation that things had gone too far. “The orderly will

be here with a wheel chair to take you down to Mister Bromley’s consulting

room.”

Carrie was instantly gone. Everything was gone! One instant he

could see her, the bed, the ward, everything. The next instant everything was

an opaque grey-black. Shock and exhilaration was followed by disappointment

accompanied by a grievous and total loss. At that moment he realised what it

was like to be totally blind.

“Carrie!”

“Come back! I can’t see!”

............... “Laws of nature are human inventions, like

ghosts. Laws of logic, of mathematics are also human inventions, like ghosts.

The whole blessed thing is a human invention, including the idea that it isn't

a human invention. The world has no existence whatsoever outside the human

imagination. It’s all a ghost, and in antiquity was so recognised as a ghost,

the whole blessed world we live in.”............

His finger pushed the pause button and he pondered the words he

had just heard. The image of the metal bed frame and the screens around his bed

was not as clear as it had been previously but everything was still there, in

its prescribed place.

Were the things he could see simply ghosts? It certainly was not

his eyes that could see them. Had his senses contrived to work with his

imagination and engineer an image that was close in form to what he expected?

Robin was lying back on the patio-recliner drinking the perfect

cup of coffee and listening to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

when he noticed that the ghosts had reappeared. He felt to check that he was

still wearing his mask as he became aware of the outline of the trees. He had

never really studied them before. They were just trees. The intricate shape of

the branches, the leaves and the trunk that allowed varying patterns of light

to filter through them was truly magical. Then he saw the gladioli; slender,

delicate and graceful like a beautiful woman. The lawn seemed like some magic

carpet that under laid the experience and which carried him on his incredible

journey. He noticed the wall of the house, each line of bricks, each brick,

each grain of sand that had been used in the bricks’ construction and he was

aware of the history of every grain. Time was not there. He was just aware. The

reflections on the full length windows were like another existence seen through

some sixth dimensional doorway. Everything was now. He knew that peace was only

visible when one appreciated all the parts of the great machine working in

harmony with one another.

It took him only a few moments to locate the Walkman and to put

the ear phones on...................

..... “Although surface

ugliness is often found in the classic mode of understanding it is not inherent

in it. There is a classic aesthetic which romantics often miss because of the

subtlety. The classic style is straightforward..........”

Robin continued to listen but he found it hard to relax and be

discerning when he was simultaneously wishing that the words would induce some

form of mystic sight. Nothing happened! The world was still shaded in total

blackness.

Frustrated, he pulled the earphones down around his neck and

turned off the machine. He tried once more to find correlation between the

seeing events and the other things that he had been doing but he found it hard

to concentrate. In the hope that music might help him relax, he felt down underneath

the recliner for the CD’s. When his searching hand knocked over the neatly

stacked pile he blasphemed.

Eventually his fingers closed over one of the plastic covers and

he realised that the only way he would know if it was music was to insert it

into the Walkman and to try it. He swapped over the CD’, relaxed back and

pressed the ‘play’ button. A voice! He was about to press eject when he

realised that he was listening to the words of Macbeth...................

Is this a dagger which I

see before me,

The handle toward my hand?

Come let me clutch thee:-

I have thee not, and yet I

see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision,

sensible

To feeling as to sight? Or

art thou but

A dagger of the mind, a

false creation,

Proceeding from the

heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet, in form as

palpable

As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall’st me the way

that I was going;

And such an instrument I

was to use.

Mine eyes are made the

fools o’ the other senses,

Or else worth all the rest:

I see thee still;

And on thy blade and

dudgeon gouts of blood,

Which was not so before. -

There’s no such thing:

It is the bloody business

which informs

Thus to mine eyes. - Now

o’er the one half world

Nature seems dead, and

wicked dreams abuse

The curtain’d sleep; now

witchcraft celebrates

Pale Hecates offerings;....

Robin clicked off the Walkman and sat up as a light dawned in

his mind. He had been glowing inside each time his mind had seen what was in

front of him and he realised that what he saw must have been reflected in the

strength and joy of his own feelings. When he was happy, pleased, joyful, and

positive he could see. When his mood turned negative and black, he saw black.

Could that be it? Could it be so simple?

He lay back to contemplate and to wait for his eyes to heal. His

brain commenced its search for the half remembered quotes that he would want to

study when he was back to normal. Jennifer was stood at the doorway and frowned

when she heard him muttering ......

‘That was the true light,

which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world.’........

‘I come into this world ;

that they who see not may see;

and they who see, may

become blind.’......

The vague shape of a sycamore emerged from the blackness and

Robin smiled.....

Robin stood holding the bouquet of lilies and waited for the

matron to conclude her instructions to a junior nurse. The anticipation of

seeing Carrie again and yet to see her for the first time gave him a warm

feeling.

“Excuse me sister!”

“Yes! Can I help you?”

“I was here two months ago and one of your nurses was especially

kind to me. I want to give her these flowers as a sign of my thanks and

appreciation.”

“All our nurses look after our patients well! It is nice of you

to want to acknowledge the work that they do.”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

“What is her name?”

“Nurse Ackroyd! Carrie Ackroyd!”

The ward sister frowned. “Are you sure that you are in the right

place? We have no nurse here with that name!”

“You must have!”

“I’m sorry, we do not!” Her tone was abrupt and caustic.

“My name is Robin Chattaway. I was in this ward for one night

two months ago. I had been struck by lightning and lost my sight. She helped me

into the hospital, fed me breakfast and she put drops in my eyes. She was definitely

here.”

The ward sister’s shoulders dropped a little as she softened.

She turned and looked at him with sympathy in her eyes and she reached for the

flowers. “I will ensure that the nurse that looked after you receives the

flowers.”

“Carrie Ackroyd!”

The ward sister smiled and Robin knew that this was how it

should be. Carrie must have used a false name to protect herself from grateful

patients such as he or this ward sister was being protective of her staff.

“Thank you, sister!”

Robin walked to the doorway of her office area and stopped. He

closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Another world was there beneath the

surface of his mind and he knew that the myriad of smells that invaded his

senses were a part of it.

Somewhere deep amongst all the smells, scents and fragrances was

her smell. He let himself be there. Deep in that other world he knew that she

really did exist.

Now that he could see again, his ability to view things with his

mind had had become more difficult. He found it harder to be contemplative and

became distracted by everydayness. He knew however that in common with everyone

else, his vision of the world around him and the responses that he solicited

would always be a reflection of his own mood and he wondered if there was any

possibility that she really could have been an angel.