The Manual of Darkness

  If you weren’t so crazy

  Alicia locates room 224 and walks quickly towards it, but before turning the handle, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. It is not Víctor’s fault that she hasn’t slept a wink all night. And even if it is, now is probably not the best time to take it out on him.

  Yesterday her boss phoned her around dinner time to say that someone from the hospital had phoned ONCE asking them for help with a blind man who had been brought in after an accident and had no listed next of kin. After making sure that he was not in immediate danger, Alicia had decided not to visit him straight away. Instead she spent the night going over things in her mind, trying for the umpteenth time to work out where she had gone wrong. She also hoped that Víctor would have spent those long hours learning valuable lessons: if he weren’t so stubborn, if he weren’t determined to isolate himself from the rest of the world … if he weren’t so crazy. Because that is the first thing she would like to say to him right now as she opens the door and hears a television playing too loudly: if you weren’t so crazy, everything would be much easier.

  On the other hand, although Víctor took his life in his hands, and although his actions meant that she had to give a more detailed explanation to the office than she would have liked, it is undeniable that, in daring to go outside on his own, he has taken a large step forward. A reckless, foolish step towards a cliff, but a step nonetheless.

  The first thing she sees as she opens the door is a television mounted on the wall. It is on. She has to step inside to be able to see the bed. If she didn’t know that Víctor was blind, she would think he was watching TV. The bed is slightly raised, he is holding the remote control in his right hand and his face is turned towards the screen. It is 9 a.m. A panel of journalists is discussing the measures needed to tackle the economic crisis. Alicia is worried that she might startle Víctor if she says hello – he may not have heard her come in – so she retraces her steps to the door and, without closing it, knocks gently.

  ‘Come in,’ Víctor says, not turning his head.

  ‘It’s Alicia.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh what, Víctor?’

  ‘Oh, Alicia. Hello. Come in.’

  ‘You mean, oh, what a surprise? Oh, how did you find out?’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘ONCE called me.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘No, it’s not OK. You could have called me.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know your number off by heart. Besides, I’m not used to this phone.’

  ‘Would you mind turning off the TV for a minute?’

  ‘I thought you’d be happy I was watching TV.’

  ‘Víctor …’

  Víctor turns off the television, but goes on staring at the screen.

  ‘Víctor, look at me.’

  ‘Don’t ask me to perform miracles.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to perform miracles. I’m asking you to look at me when you’re talking to me.’ Alicia reaches out and, taking Víctor’s chin, turns his face towards her. ‘Let’s start as we mean to go on. I’m glad it wasn’t serious. I’m delighted you were brave enough to go out by yourself, although I would have preferred it if you’d warned me.’

  ‘Well, next time I will. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘No problem, it’s my job. What did the doctor say?’

  ‘Contusions to the hip, dislocation of the collarbone, fracture of I don’t remember which metatarsal.’

  ‘You’re not in plaster.’

  ‘No, but I have this.’ Víctor puts down the remote control and lifts the sheet slightly to reveal his left arm in a sling. ‘And apparently, I’m not allowed to put any weight on this foot for a couple of days.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘Not much. They’ve got me sedated.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’

  ‘I was run over by a motorbike.’

  ‘I know that much. In fact that’s all I know. I mean before that, what happened. Why did you go out? Where were you headed?’

  ‘It must have something to do with that flower potion you gave me … I suddenly felt the need to break with the past, open myself to change and … What was the other thing? Oh yes, put an end to uncertainty. Is there one for alleviating pain? Opium drops, perhaps …’ Someone knocks at the door. Víctor is silent for a second or two, his face turned towards Alicia as though holding her gaze, then he says, ‘Come in.’

  The door opens and there is the sound of quick, dainty footsteps, as though a cat has entered the room. Alicia turns and sees a child toddling towards her with a shy smile. He must be about two; it’s difficult to tell. The little boy stops next to her, opens his mouth as though to say something, hesitates, then turns back towards the door. Crouched in the doorway is a woman: she nods quickly three times, urging the child on. The boy turns and looks at Víctor again and finally says:

  ‘Hi, Víctar.’

  ‘Hey!’ Víctor says, his face suddenly lit up by a smile. ‘That must be Darius.’

  The woman comes over to the foot of the bed, takes the child in her arms, whispers something to him and ruffles his hair gently. Then she looks at Víctor and says:

  ‘I bring Darius because in morning I look after him.’ She glances shyly at Alicia. Still holding the child in her arms, she comes to the head of the bed, and, lowering her voice, she adds: ‘It is best not to telephone agency in morning. They not like.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to give me your mobile number. Alicia will help me write it down. Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you. Alicia is the light of my life. Irina … a friend.’

  They exchange a nod and Alicia remembers the woman she saw leaving the other day while she was waiting downstairs for Víctor. A neighbour. She has never seen Víctor so happy; neighbours and friends, neighbours and lovers. There are many possible combinations. Irina whispers something in Darius’s ear. Alicia cannot tell what language she is speaking, but she can see that Irina is encouraging the boy to give Víctor a kiss. At first the child resists, smiles, then laughs to himself, and eventually brings his face up to Víctor’s. He hugs him and sits in his lap.

  ‘So, you must be Darius,’ he says. ‘Does Darius have tickles?’

  Watching them play together, Alicia feels uncomfortable, out of place, as though she has no business watching this domestic scene. She thinks perhaps she should leave, but she cannot take her eyes off Víctor: she has seen him smile many times, but always with a trace of cynicism, which has now vanished completely. He has just asked Alicia for a coin and it is now dancing across his knuckles. Then he runs through the classic tricks: the coin appears and disappears, shifts from one hand to the other, appears out of Darius’s ear, becomes two coins. The child watches, mesmerised. After every trick, he shouts:

  ‘Maimult.’

  ‘Maimult is “more” in Romanian,’ Irina explains the fourth time.

  ‘Víctor,’ Alicia interrupts after a while, ‘I was going to suggest we work for a while, but I can see you’re in good hands.’

  Did she sound too brusque? Why does it bother her to see him so happy? And that business with the phone number. She doesn’t know which agency they’re talking about, but it seems clear that Irina is here because Víctor called her. Is that the only number he knows by heart? Was it easier to dial than hers? Is she jealous?

  ‘Are you coming tomorrow?’ Víctor asks, not even turning his face towards her.

  Irina keeps a hand on the small of Darius’s back to make sure that as he bounces happily he doesn’t end up on the floor. A family, thinks Alicia, they look like a family.

  ‘Sure. I don’t know what we can practise while you’re not able to walk, but I’ll think of something.’

  ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I left the drops you gave me at home … The keys are in …’

  ‘Your right-hand trouser pocket.’

  ‘And I think my trousers are in the wardrobe.
’ As Alicia is rummaging for the keys, she hears Víctor’s voice again. ‘And since you’re going to the apartment anyway, I need you to bring me some money from the dresser drawer so I can pay Irina.’

  Irina and Víctor begin to bicker. She refuses to take his money and he insists that that is what money is for. If you weren’t so crazy, Alicia thinks as she closes the door to the room as quietly as possible, I might be able to work out what’s going on in your life.

  A neighbour who charges? What kind of arrangement is that? Barcelona is full of Romanian women who do all sorts of domestic work, looking after children and pensioners. Why not a blind person? Alicia knows what Víctor is like with money and she is sure that Irina is being paid handsomely. She remembers they mentioned an agency. He has rented an arm, thinks Alicia, Víctor has rented an arm and a pair of eyes. Give him a while and he’ll tell me that he doesn’t need to learn how to cook, or how to walk on his own. That he doesn’t need anything. That Irina takes care of everything.

  The Light of Your Life

  So, I’m the light of your life, she thinks as she slots the key into the lock. She opens the door and, even before she turns on the light, she is overcome by the strange sensation of emptiness. The bare shelves in the hallway rise up like skeletons, but Alicia does not realise the scale of the looting until she comes to the living room and finds it empty. Worse than empty: the sofa and the television stand like two corpses pushed back into a corner. Two chairs face each other in the middle of the room, as though a pair of ghosts are engaged in an intimate tête-à-tête. It looks like a combat zone after the battle, but from the orderly position of the few things that remain, it was a battle never waged, a surrender. She goes into every room. Spends fruitless minutes trying to understand why the studio has been spared this carnage.

  Back in the hallway, she sees a folded piece of paper on the dresser under the Parker pen. She picks up the pen, unfolds the page. It is an invoice from a removal firm. On the back, someone has written: ‘Sorry, couldn’t wait any longer. Since you haven’t come back, we’ll just close the door behind us. We’ll take everything to the warehouse for storage. If you need any further information, you’ll find our phone number on the invoice.’ Beneath the illegible signature, someone else has added: ‘We’ve swept the floors.’ Alicia puts down the piece of paper. She stares at the telephone. Eight, zero, three, she thinks. Click, click. The agency. With her little finger, she presses and holds the number two. On the fourth ring, someone answers. As soon as she hears the greeting, Alicia hangs up as though the receiver has burned her fingers. A massage parlour. Víctor hasn’t rented himself an arm, he’s rented himself a pussy. She would never have guessed – the woman looks like a housewife. And then there’s the kid. It’s difficult to put a kid in the scene that she is imagining. Or Víctor. She’s not about to judge him. Click, click. He has every right, granted. Besides, who is she to interfere in other people’s lives. But … A prostitute? Congratulations, Víctor, she thinks suddenly. In spite of herself, she feels the corners of her mouth curve into a smile. Congratulations: you can eat, dress, fuck. You’ve dealt with every need. Now I really don’t understand why you went outside. I mean, you have everything here. The only thing left is for Irina to shave you once in a while. Remember to ask her to cut your toenails. I hope the money in the drawer lasts. How much does a prostitute charge? And how do they charge? By the hour? By the fuck? Depending on the task? This much for a blowjob, that much for helping you to the bathroom?

  She walks slowly to the bedroom. The bed, as always, is unmade and there are orderly piles of clothes on the chest of drawers. Only the grey outline where the picture frames hung attest to the presence of the removal men. Alicia sits down on the bed. She looks at Lauren Bacall. What you must have seen, hanging there, she thinks. She has to get round to watching that film. Without knowing why, she imagines Víctor to be somewhat passive. Irina, the consummate professional, devotes herself to giving him the pleasure agreed upon. Irina dressed, undressed, sucking, stroking. Irina listening. Alicia imagines Irina listening, after sex probably, relaxed, all defences stripped away, to stories from inside the fortress. Click, click. She is still holding the Parker pen. She lies back on the bed. Closes her eyes. Jealousy spurs her imagination: Víctor is whispering things in her ear. Nothing to do with his blindness. He is telling her about his childhood, about his father, telling her how he came to learn magic. Then she imagines Víctor’s weightless body on top of her. She has never made love to a man as skinny as he is. She imagines she can feel his bones. She sits up suddenly, as though she has just woken from some unfathomable dream. She has work to do. She is paid to work, just like Irina, and they share a similar objective: Víctor’s well-being. The light of your life.

  She picks up a clean change of clothes, making sure not to disturb the order of the piles. Before leaving the apartment, she goes into the bathroom and puts into her bag the three small bottles of Bach’s Flower Remedies.

  And Have Not

  ‘I’ve brought you a couple of things to keep you occupied,’ Alicia announces as she comes into the room. ‘One is your favourite film.’ She places a portable DVD player in Víctor’s lap and rummages in her bag. ‘I thought we might watch it together.’

  While she busies herself, plugging in the machine and putting in the DVD, Víctor cannot hide his excitement and starts telling her everything he knows about the film, what happened before, during and after the filming, but Alicia puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him to wait, to save all the details for the end, to let her watch it without knowing anything.

  Next come the practical issues. The player is set on Víctor’s lap with the screen turned to face Alicia, who is standing next to him. They each take one earpiece, which forces Alicia to bend down because the cable is too short for her to stand upright. It is not very comfortable. She pulls a chair next to the bed and sits down. This is better, though now she has to crane her neck because the seat is lower than the bed. The Warner Brothers’ logo appears, a voice announcing the title in Spanish, and Víctor immediately whips out his headphones. He refuses to listen to a dubbed version of the film. Alicia presses various buttons to get back to the menu and changes the set-up. They start again.

  ‘Here comes Humphrey,’ she says. ‘He’s wearing trousers so short you can see his ankles.’

  ‘… a sailor’s cap cocked to the right,’ Víctor chimes in, ‘black shoes, dark socks, a white shirt, a scarf knotted round his throat, his jacket slung over his shoulder. He’s walking through a crowd of people, goes up to a booth and buys a one-day fishing licence. It costs him five francs, the official folds it in three, hands it to Bogart and tells him … Want me to go on?’

  ‘OK, I get the message, you don’t need a running commentary.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d like to imagine I’m in a cinema.’

  ‘All right … wait there a minute.’

  Alicia pauses the film, walks over to the window, rolls down the blind then makes her way back to the chair. She is about to sit down, but changes her mind.

  ‘Shift over a bit,’ she says, nudging Víctor’s elbow.

  She takes off her shoes, lies down next to him on the bed and presses play. He is under the sheet; she on top. Their shoulders touch, their heads are almost pressed together. For what feels like an age, Alicia has to bite her lip to stop commenting on how strange it is that all the actors are shorter than Bogart, how unconvincing she finds the fishing scenes, her feeling that the plot and the atmosphere have been lifted wholesale from Casablanca.

  ‘The music’s not bad,’ she concedes.

  Víctor doesn’t answer. Perhaps, with the earpiece in, he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he’s just concentrating. Alicia finds it difficult to understand why it’s so important to him, this film about a bad-tempered fisherman and an old drunk ripping off an irritating Yank on a fishing trip. It is precisely thirteen minutes before Bacall shows up. Or, more precisely, her voice. ‘Anybody got a match?’ She could have said ‘It?
??s seven o’clock.’ It doesn’t matter. It is her voice, rather than the words she says, which exudes sex. Alicia hears the words in stereo, because a split second before she speaks, Víctor says the line aloud: ‘Anybody got a match?’ Alicia looks at Víctor. The light from the screen casts shadows on his face. He turns towards her for a moment, as though he wants to share with her a complicity he has cherished for years: now you’ll see; this is the good bit. Alicia envies Bacall’s long, slender fingers in the few glorious seconds while she opens the matchbook, strikes a match and brings it up to her face to make sure that the camera catches the fire in her eyes.

  If these people were real, it would be impossible to fall in love with them. He would stink of petrol and raw fish. She is a petty thief on the run from God knows what. It is the light which transforms them into gods. Alicia does not want to miss anything that happens on the screen, but she gives Víctor a sidelong glance, watches as his lips mouth every line of dialogue, even sing along with Bacall. Slightly out of tune, because the earphone means he can’t hear his own voice. But he is happy. It is a blessed memory. They kiss for the first time. She initiates everything. She sits on his lap and kisses him. A real kiss. Not just lips pressed together, eyes closed, camera trained on the backs of their heads as in most of the films back then. He speaks, she speaks, then she kisses him again. The kisses are short, but passionate, intense. Alicia does not dare to look at Víctor now. He can tell they are kissing only by the silence that interrupts the dialogue. And because he knows the film by heart. Silence is the sound of the light. Sharing it like this feels almost indecent.

  The end comes. Bacall goes over to the pianist to say goodbye. He interrupts the song he’s playing and asks her: ‘Hey, Slim, are you still happy?’ and, as one, Bacall and Víctor reply, ‘What do you think?’ She turns towards the camera and walks away. The pianist plays a cheery phrase. She responds by swinging her hips gently, clearing a path through the crowded bar. For three seconds, the whole world sways with her hips. Today, we’re going to work on the impossible. Imagine you are happy and move. Float, damn it. The camera closes on the pianist; roll the credits. Alicia reaches out and turns off the DVD. They sit there in complete darkness. If she leans her head a little it would be resting on his shoulder. Víctor’s beard would tickle her forehead. It is several minutes before she breaks the silence.