A Closed Book by Gilbert Adair Page B

–”’
    â€˜â€œI
have
to see, whether such is my active intention or not. It is an itch which scratches itself, an itch comparable to that which makes amputees worry over” – no, “fret over” – “fret over their missing limbs. For there is, seemingly, what might be called an etiquette of amputation, an Emily Postish” – that’s “Emily Post” plus “ish”, one word, no hyphen, please – “an Emily Postish list of dos and don’ts where the physically impaired are concerned, mostly don’ts, of course. Thus, one should not sit on an amputee’s bed at the exact spot where his leg would normally be, one should not violate the – the air space of his missing arm, etc.”’
    â€˜Do you want me to write “etc”?’
    â€˜Just the usual abbreviation, please. Are you getting all this?’
    â€˜Think so. But, tell me, we’re still on the same paragraph, right?’
    â€˜Yes. Well, actually, no. Now I think of it, no. New paragraph coming up. I’ll tell you when in future.’
    â€˜Okay. New paragraph. Go on.’
    â€˜Go on! Go on! Easy to say.’
    â€˜Or don’t go on, as the case may be.’
    â€˜â€œThe question” – I’m going on – “the question is more general, however, than that posed by blindness alone. In my own past, whenever an optician or ophthalmologist trained a torch” – no, a – a – a – what are they called, those slim little torches that opticians use?’
    â€˜A pencil torch?’
    â€˜A pencil torch, yes. “In the past –”’
    â€˜â€œIn
my own
past –”’
    â€˜â€œIn my own past, whenever an optician or ophthalmologist trained a pencil torch on my eye, or whenever I myself chanced to rub too hard and long on my eyeball, I seemed to catch sight of” – dash – “well, what precisely?” Don’t forget the question mark. “Well, what precisely? The retina? The eyeball’s inner surface? Its outer surface? Whichever” – colon – “cratered, cicatrized, lunar” – comma – “as raw” – no, wait, better underline “lunar”.’
    â€˜Right. Is “cicatrized” spelt with an s or a z?’
    â€˜Who cares? That’s the sort of thing we can fix up later. “Whichever: cratered, cicatrized,
lunar
, as red and rawly textured as the skin of a scrawny day-old nestling, as biliously opaque as a – as a gaudy glass paperweight, the sight of it was deeply disquieting. It reminded me of the earth’s primaeval convulsions in the horrendously vulgar
Sacre du Printemps
sequence of Walt Disney’s
Fantasia
” – wait, cut “horrendously vulgar”, this isn’t a work of film criticism – “in the
Sacre du Printemps
sequence of Walt Disney’s
Fantasia
. It reminded me, above all, that the eyes are two parts of the body, are things” – italicize – “
things
, units that can be lost, broken, cracked –”’
    â€˜Shouldn’t that be “lost, cracked, broken”?’
    â€˜Oh. And why?’
    â€˜Just that there appears to be an ascending order of seriousness and “cracked” is surely less serious than “broken”?’
    *
    â€˜Quite right, quite right. Well spotted, John. Keep taking the tablets.’
    â€˜We aim to please.’
    â€˜I’m going on: “that can be lost, cracked, broken, that, as I well know, can be disjoined from the head and held, even rolled around, in the palm of the hand. From inside my head” – ICs around “inside” – “from ‘inside’ my head it never occurred to me, unless I happened to think of it” – ICs around “think of it” – “that I had in reality two eyes, not one. From inside I was a human Cyclops”