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Blindness

Mark Pearce

    A blind man sat alone on a park bench. He wore dark glasses and had a white cane and a cup at his side. He was a regular fixture in the park, like the muggers and the squirrels. People would occasionally drop money into his cup. Sometimes they took money out. It was all the same to him.
    A woman approached. She was in her mid-thirties and fairly plain. She carried a sack lunch.
    “Is anyone sitting here?” she asked.
    The blind man felt around on the seat beside him. “No.”
    The woman sat. After an awkward pause, she spoke: “Nice weather we’re having.”
    The blind man held his hand out to his side, palm up, feeling for rain. “Apparently.”
    “Do you come here often?”
    The man turned his head to the left and to the right; he leaned forward and turned left and right again, then sat back in his original position. “It’s hard to tell.”
    There was another long pause. “You’re not very talkative, are you?” said the woman.
    “Not very.” She started to speak, but he cut her off. “And don’t ask if I’ve read any good books lately.”
    “You don’t have to be so touchy.”
    “Look, lady,” he said, “why don’t you sit someplace else? It would be difficult for me to find another bench.”
    “I could tell you didn’t want to be alone,” said the woman cheerfully. “That’s why I came over.” She smiled pleasantly and opened her sack. “I’m on my lunch break. I work at Haammerlick and Bruester–you know, the attorneys? I’m just a secretary, but I hope to learn the business someday. Anyway, I usually eat my lunch alone in the office because I can’t afford to go out like the others. I just sit and stare out the window and watch the world go by while I eat my sandwich.” She pulled a carefully wrapped sandwich from her sack. “Would you like some?’
    She held it out. He leaned toward it, sniffed a few times, then shook his head No.
    “I made it myself,” she tempted.
    “So I guessed.”
    The woman cheerily began eating. “Anyway, like I was saying, I decided that today was such a beautiful day, there’s no sense eating at the office, so I just packed up my lunch and headed for the park.”
    “It’s not safe in this park, lady. Lots of dope fiends and crack addicts. They’d kill you for a bite of your sandwich.”
    “I’m safe here with you.”
    “Don’t count on it.”
    The woman smiled and looked around. “I like to come sit in the park. It takes your mind off things. You can just sit and daydream and nobody bothers you.”
    “That hasn’t been my experience.”
    “Do you think I’m overweight?” she said.
    The question startled him. He lifted his fingers tentatively in her direction, then lowered his hand back into his lap. “I hesitate to find out.”
    “I joined this exercise group one time,” she said. “On the first day, they told us to wear loose fitting clothes to class. If I’d had any loose fitting clothes, I wouldn’t have had to be there! And exercise videos are worthless. I’ve sat and watched those things for hours. I even bought a treadmill once. I got the kind that was electric, so I could leave it running, day and night, even while I was at work–”
    “Isn’t it time for you to be back at work now?”
    “Oh, no. They never care when I come back.” She looked wistfully at the falling leaves. “I was supposed to attend college, but I had to go to work to help out my family. I’ve thought about buying a pet. With a dog or a cat, you never have to be alone. You’ve got something that loves you and can’t get away. Do you have any pets?”
    “I have a bird. I don’t consider him a pet so much as a potential meal.”
    “You should get married.”
    “How do you know I’m not?”
    “No ring.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “Are you Jewish?”
    “Only on my parents’ side.”
    “I have to marry a Catholic.”
    “That’s a relief.”
    “I don’t think my family would approve if I married a man who was sort of Jewish.” She looked at him sideways. “I don’t suppose you’d consider converting?”
    “To Catholicism?”
    “Would your family disapprove?”
    The man fiddled with the button on his shirt sleeve. “I don’t think I have much family.”
    “I know I do,” said the woman, wrinkling her nose. “Cousins, uncles, brothers, aunts. Around Christmas we have a full house.” She turned to him. “You don’t celebrate Christmas much, do you?”
    “Not every year.”
    “I love Christmas. The lights, the presents. It’s a shame you don’t get Christmas. What do Jews get?”
    “Shafted.”
    She took another bite of her sandwich. “I think it’s best not to be bitter in life, don’t you?”
    “I haven’t given it much thought.”
    “Boy, I sure have. That’s all I ever think about, how it’s best not to be bitter in life. You can’t just go around feeling bitter about all the things you ought to, or you wouldn’t have time for anything else.”
    The man spoke quietly. “What are you bitter about?”
    “Oh, lots of things. Like you being Jewish and I have to marry a Catholic. Like everybody else gets to go out for lunch, and I have to sit in the office and eat these lousy sandwiches.” Her eyes teared up and she began to lose control. “Like I was supposed to go to college, and instead I had to stay home and help out my parents, who are Catholic anyway, and how am I supposed to find a husband if everyone I meet is either married or Jewish?” She stopped abruptly; she reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue. She silently packed her trash into her sack. “It was very nice meeting you,” she said softly. “I’ll leave you alone now.” She wadded up the sack and prepared to go.
    The man spoke quietly, tentatively. “Will you be back tomorrow?”
    The woman felt a catch in her throat. “I could be.”
    “I’ll be here.”
    “Maybe we could talk again,” she said.
    “That would be nice.” He rubbed his Adam’s apple. “You know ... I don’t see why I couldn’t marry a Catholic.”
    The woman sat very still. She could not quite allow herself to believe what she had heard.
    “Are you asking me to marry you?” she asked.
    “It was only a matter of time before you asked me,” he said. “This is a preemptive proposal.”
    She looked at him a long time. “You wouldn’t mind being married by a priest?”
    He pointed to his dark glasses. “How would I know?”
    The woman smiled, a relaxed, tender smile, and took his hand. She leaned back contentedly.
    “All right,” she said, “but Christmas we’ll have to spend with my folks.”
    The two of them sat quietly, hand in hand, as the shadows of the afternoon lengthened into night.

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