But all Alicia said was:
‘That’s weird, the light is on.’
The light is on. In a blind man’s house. Weird?
‘Well, turn it off, then,’ Víctor said.
He was starting to enjoy the exercise. He wanted to carry on working.
‘No, you need to learn to do it yourself.’ The same old story. ‘It’s easy. There are lots of ways of knowing whether a light is on or off. If there’s only one switch, all you have to do is remember what position it should be in. If there’s more than one, you need to get close to the bulb to see if it is giving off heat. Without touching it, obviously.’
‘Maybe, but the thing is, I don’t give a damn one way or the other.’
‘That’s what you think.’
This was the point when things started to turn sour, because what Víctor found particularly infuriating was Alicia’s insistence that she knew what was best for him, what should interest him, what was important, better than he did.
‘You’re telling me that knowing whether the light is on or off will change my life?’
‘For a start, it’s wasteful.’
‘Oh.’
‘That drawerful of money isn’t going to last for ever, Víctor. I don’t know how much money you’ve got in there, but one day it’s going to run out.’
‘There’s a lot more where …’
‘I’d like to know when you last went into this room. I’m sure this light has been on for days.’
‘Or months. Maybe a whole year.’
‘Víctor, you could trigger a short circuit.’
‘That would be tragic.’
‘Enough of the sarcasm. Anyway, it’s a matter of discipline. Doing things properly is a matter of discipline. And when training the visually impaired …’
She had the nerve to talk to him about discipline. To him. He had spent the best years of his life on an island that floated in time, this is a deck of cards, this is how you hold the deck of cards, with your thumb you shift the top card two millimetres to the left, precisely two millimetres, bring your hand up like this, let the deck fall, this is a deck of cards, this is how you hold the deck of cards, with your thumb you … Discipline? Give me good instructions, give me something useful, instructions that will illuminate the island that is my life, and then you’ll see.
As Alicia held forth about the important points when training the visually impaired, Víctor crept up behind her and whispered in her ear. He knew she didn’t like him pressing against her, but he did it anyway.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what all this stuff is?’
And, just like that, Alicia’s tone changed.
‘I have no idea, but it’s bound to be something to do with magic.’
‘Bingo!’
Alicia detached herself from him so she could inspect the room, nose around a little.
‘What about this?’ she asked, standing next to the Proteus Cabinet.
‘What?’
‘This wardrobe.’
‘It’s a wardrobe, obviously.’
‘I know that, but what do you use it for?’
‘To disappear. Want to try it?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Come on, then, step inside, and stand there.’
Víctor’s voice took on a sombre tone as he began to explain the workings of the cabinet. It took some time before Alicia noticed. She was too busy watching the confidence with which he manipulated the locks and the hinges and thinking that his return to the stage was only a matter of time.
‘The best thing would be to be able to see how it works from the inside and outside simultaneously,’ Víctor said, ‘but that’s not possible. It’s a pity: you can’t be a spirit and a body at the same time. You have to choose. That’s life. Go right in to the back. I’m going to close this.’
Alicia stood in the triangular space formed when the mirror was slid back against the rear of the cabinet.
‘If this were a magic show, you’d hide in there before the start. I’d open the doors of the cabinet and the audience would think it was empty. Then I’d close the doors and make a little speech about a war between the spirits of the period.’
‘Sorry, what period?’
‘Eighteen eighty or thereabouts. It’s a long story, so we’ll skip over it. Anyway, I would explain to the audience that everything they saw was the product of science, that there were people capable of reorganising the molecules in the body to such an extent that they could appear and disappear at will. OK, that’s a bit of an anachronism. These days, I couldn’t talk about rearranging molecules, but I would use some pseudo-scientific jargon. And while I was telling them this, you would push the mirror back against the side. And then I would open the cabinet, except … I can’t seem to find the key …’
‘Víctor …’
Alicia was suspicious. For some time now, she had thought that Víctor’s voice was getting farther away, as though he were no longer standing beside the cabinet.
‘I know it’s around here somewhere. But obviously, since I can’t see … Even though the light is on in this room. What a waste, leaving a light on in a blind man’s apartment.’
‘Víctor,’ Alicia forced herself to remain calm, ‘that’s enough now, I can’t breathe.’
‘Oh, no. With the amount of air in that cabinet you can breathe for hours and hours. Besides, you should be happy …’
‘Víctor …’
‘I’m performing magic. Isn’t that what you wanted? Think about it, you’ve disappeared. I told you the cabinet was good for something. Oh, incidentally, I found out something about you. And I don’t think you’ll disagree.’
‘What?’
Indignation was beginning to rise in Alicia’s throat, but she still thought that Víctor was about to put an end to this prank.
‘You’re a little naive. Oh, and if you do manage to get out,’ he added, ‘don’t forget to turn off the light.’
Alicia had beaten on the doors, but had been unable to open them. She had waited a short time before kicking, though it was barely a tap with the toe of her shoe. She was a good person and was afraid she might break the mirror.
‘Hang on, woman. A little bit of discipline, please.’
Víctor had run his palms over the doors, as though saying goodbye. Then he had gone into the living room and turned on the music, loud. When she heard it, Alicia realised that he was no longer in the room and began to scream. A pity the third movement lasted only six and a half minutes, even though Stoltzman’s clarinet revelled in its slowness. The fourth movement began, allegro. It sounds like a machine gun. Another six minutes. Actually, a little less.
He is thinking about rewinding when he gets to the end and playing it straight through again. Forty-one minutes of music. It’s not much. He has been imprisoned in this blindness for a year and he hasn’t insulted anyone. Alicia wants to put herself in his place: so let her. It’s a question of discipline.
Turn down the music, Víctor. Don’t be a shit. Go to the studio and take care of that poor girl. Let her out of the cabinet, there are no such things as spirits. She won’t hit you when you set her free. You know a bit about her now; she’ll be offended, but she has too much dignity. She is not going to reward you with a hysterical fit. Besides, her need to redeem you is too strong. Anyone else would leave your apartment intent on revenge. Not her. She’ll go back to her place and go over the whole thing in her head, trying to work out how to turn off the wellspring of your pain once and for all. This battle is not between you and her, it is between the two of you and your blindness. She knows that the only way she can win is if you win. But you should prepare yourself for tomorrow. Because tomorrow she will make you sweat like the bastard you are.
Free Bar
Viviana hands her a checklist of Bach Flower Remedies and a felt-tip pen, offers her a seat and, before withdrawing, advises her to be led by her intuition. Alicia immediately crosses out the first five symptoms grouped under the heading ‘Fear
’, and moves on. The first symptom under the category ‘Uncertainty’ does not seem appropriate either. The opposite would be more likely. ‘Seeks advice and confirmation in others’ does not describe Víctor’s attitude as he seems to have decided that since he cannot see them, other people have ceased to exist. Or are simply an annoyance. She does, however, tick the box by the next four symptoms listed in this group: ‘inability to choose between alternatives’, ‘hopelessness and despair’, ‘easily discouraged after a setback’ and ‘uncertainty over one’s direction in life’. The third category, ‘Lack of Interest in Present Circumstances’, is the one that really forces her to think, because the answers seem ambiguous, even contradictory. She rules out the olive flower because it is prescribed for lack of energy. Víctor does not need energy. He needs to have his energy channelled towards an appropriate goal. Channelled – she’s starting to talk like Vivi.
Clematis is no use either, because although it is used to treat ‘retreating into one’s own world’, a symptom that clearly afflicts Víctor, it is also used for those who are ‘waiting for better times’. Víctor is not waiting; he refuses to see or admit that better times might exist. She does, however, put an X in the box next to honeysuckle: ‘living in the past’, although she would have rephrased it ‘refusing to accept the present’. She draws a circle around the X, then underlines it. White chestnut gets an X too: ‘persistent thoughts one can’t get out of one’s mind’. She crosses out mustard, because it would be unfair to say he was suffering from ‘deep depression with no known cause’. She has to concede that the cause of his depression is obvious.
When she reads the heading for the next category, ‘Solitude’, she suspects she will have to tick all the options. But, having read the list several times, she eventually draws a line through the whole category for the simple reason that the symptoms are too abstract. The following group is called ‘Hypersensitivity to the Influence of External Ideas’. Alicia looks up from the checklist and is about to comment to Viviana that this Dr Bach must have been imagining Víctor when he compiled the list, but she doesn’t want to break her concentration. Instead she marks a large X next to the first symptom in the group, ‘resistant to change and outside influences’. According to the checklist, this can be treated with flower of walnut. Víctor would probably need to swallow the whole tree. She goes on reading, underlining all of the symptoms in the group headed: ‘Discouragement or Despair’. She is not longer ticking the boxes because as she goes on it becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate. Besides, Viviana has already explained to her that she should whittle the list down to two or three basic symptoms. Two or three? That’s going to be difficult. Luckily, the last category is called ‘Over-Concern for the Welfare of Others’. She doesn’t even bother crossing it out.
She heaves a sigh and rearranges the three pages as though she has no choice but to shuffle them and trust to chance. Viviana glances over her shoulder.
‘That bad, is it?’
Alicia shrugs.
‘There’re too many there. You’d need a cocktail shaker.’
‘It’s just that …’
Alicia rereads the list quickly. Not only is she confident of every X, she almost feels inclined to include a couple of the symptoms she dismissed earlier. Viviana, standing behind her, massages her shoulders gently.
‘Hey … Why don’t we just give him a dose of arsenic?’ But Alicia is in no mood for jokes.
‘OK, don’t worry. Let’s start by trying to cut the list in half, then in half again, until we’re left with three symptoms. I’ll put on some music – you might find it helps.’
‘I know this,’ Alicia exclaims as soon as she hears the first notes of the violin, ‘“Forgetfulness”, by Piazzolla.’
‘“Oblivion”, Ali, it’s called “Oblivion”.’
Viviana played it a year ago and Alicia had whirled and whirled around the floor so much that she even forgot about herself. To the extent that Vivi had had to come over and whisper that the session had finished five minutes ago and everyone else was waiting to do the relaxation exercises. Alicia had immediately gone out and bought the CD, and for months she did not listen to anything else.
Now she and Viviana score the symptoms she has ticked from one to ten and dismiss anything that scores less than eight. Then they divide the symptoms into three groups – A, B and C – according to importance. In the first group there are three flowers: honeysuckle for ‘living in the past’; wild oat for ‘uncertainty over one’s direction in life’ and walnut for ‘resistant to change and outside influences’.
‘Let’s try these three for a couple of months and leave the rest till later,’ Viviana says. She opens the drawer containing the thirty-eight bottles of flower essences neatly aligned, hunts for the three they have settled on and takes them over to Alicia. ‘Who knows, you might find these three sort him out completely. Now, all you have to remember is the number three. Three symptoms, three drops, three times a day. Everything related to three has a beginning, a middle and an end.’
‘Let’s stick to the flowers, Vivi. Numerology is all very well but …’
‘It’s pure science. Just like Aristotle. Or Pythagoras …’
‘What if he refuses to take them?’
‘Can’t help you there. Personally, I wouldn’t rule out arsenic just yet.’
Or Valium, thinks Alicia.
‘Vivi …’ Alicia has already slung her bag over her shoulder and is about to leave. She is a little embarrassed about what she is going to say, but she feels she can be open about her weaknesses in front of Vivi. ‘Could I have something for myself?’
‘Sure. Got a free bar going all day. What can I get our little miss?’
‘Elm and oak.’
‘What are you planning to do?’ Viviana says, searching among the little bottles in the drawer. ‘Put down roots?’
They hug goodbye. The last bars of ‘Oblivion’ are still playing. As she fixes her hair in front of the mirror in the lift, Alicia hears the little bottles clink against each other. They seem inadequate weapons for an attack on a fortress. Upstairs, Viviana looks up oak and elm on the list: ‘overwhelmed by responsibility’, and ‘exhausted but does not give up hope’.
Light Years
He should hardly be surprised that her body is rigid and she seems reluctant to co-operate; after all, it is a strange position. They are both standing naked, strapped into Kellar’s levitation harness. He had to swear to Irina that this was not some sadomasochistic experiment. Now he grabs her below the knees and, with a jerk, pulls her legs up around his hips as though he wants her to ride him. Then he tells her to hold on tight. Trust me, he says. She goes along with him, but shows little enthusiasm. Víctor reaches behind him, fumbling for the lever that starts the levitating mechanism. In the twelve seconds it takes for the board to reach the horizontal position, he hugs Irina even tighter. She holds her breath. There is a click, telling him the mechanism has reached its resting point. Kellar used to grease it with dubbin before every performance; there are eighty-five cables attached to the ceiling, and the slightest noise could ruin the illusion.
The most interesting thing about this position are its limitations. Irina does not dare move her arms because she needs them to cling to the board. He cannot do much either; the harness is strapped around his waist and the board extends only as far as his calves, giving him no support for his feet. If he is going to do more, it will have to be confined to his abdominal and lumbar muscles.
They hover for a long time without doing anything. Since they are about the same height, their bodies are pressed against each other, their faces together. They are not so much making love as breathing each other in. She can tell that he is ready. All too ready, between their bodies, is something warm and hard, something with its own pulse. What is more surprising is that he finds she too is ready, to judge by the dampness between her legs.
Irina is in no hurry to start, however. If it were up to her, they would stay like this
for a long time. But she did not come here for a rest, still less for comfort or pleasure – she came to earn herself €230 euros. Plus tip. She knows Víctor is generous. Though she has not been in the profession for long, she has enough experience to recognise that, in this position, she has to take the lead. She lifts herself just enough to slide her hand between their bodies and reposition Víctor’s penis. She wants to thrust her hips but can find no way of supporting her weight and is afraid she will fall. All she can do is press herself against Víctor’s body. He places his hands on Irina’s buttocks and squeezes.
These hands have spent one year tracing boundaries. This is me and here is where me ends. Everything else is there and there is not a place, but a whole world. Irina’s buttocks are as round as the planet itself and he is inside her. Inside a floating world. They are eight feet off the ground, but they could just as well be light years away, in a galaxy barely discernible by its distant glow. His fingers exert only the slightest pressure, like someone testing a watermelon to see whether it is ripe. They both begin to breathe more deeply and their chests, as they expand and contract, generate just enough movement to make this much more than simply an embrace.