Blinded

They got him on his feet, grabbed him by the arms, and, as they walked to the cars, Angel continued to scold him.

“We’re going to print it and put it all around your neighborhood and El Acebuche so that everyone knows the type of scum you are! You’ll last less than a cake in a fat lady’s tea party!”

“But… but, Commissioner, weren’t you the good cop?”

“Hey, we’re already late, if we lose Indaletius’s trail things will get ugly for you, very ugly,” he threatened impatiently.

“Give… give me some good stuff, for the nerves.”

“Take a pack of tobacco, if you play along you’ll get something better later,” he promised.

Before grudgingly getting him into the car, his partner checked if the recording equipment had suffered any damage while Angel answered a call on his cell phone.

“Hey,” he whispered, walking away, “yeah, I’m on it… as I promised, when I get the chance I’ll take care of them, our time has come. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful… I love you too.”

Concerned and thoughtful, he went back to the vehicles.

“Let’s continue with the operation, you’ll know what’s coming to you if you make a fool of us again,” he warned.

They carried on, this time driving closer to the car in front. When they arrived, they stopped at a strategic spot where they could oversee the operation.

With a pair of binoculars, they verified their main target was waiting for the next bus. Making himself known, the stutterer skidded around the plaza and stopped next to his friend pressing hard on the brakes. Angel listened to their conversation through his earphones, their greetings, their trivial talk. The stutterer almost gave himself away on mentioning the exact amount of the loot, which his partner was unaware of. They made their way to the prisoner’s house, next to the cemetery. The conversation was now about the present situation of their old acquaintances, they were catching up.

They had to park in the marginal neighborhood’s vicinity to keep from blowing their cover. The audio’s quality and intensity fell, but it was audible. After staying for a while in Indaletius’s old house, the criminals made their way to the cemetery on foot. Angel was excited, the prisoner had just confirmed that the loot was hidden there.

“Attention headquarters!” he called on the radio, “Tracking unit requesting backup at the cemetery. Confirmed, the money is in the cemetery.”

“Received, tracking unit! Backup units en route, we’ll set up by the door, follow them and keep us informed.”

“Received, proceeding.”

They moved closer from their position to the entrance of the cemetery. Recently opened, a lot of tranquility was felt in the air at that hour. They barely saw any visitors, which made it very easy to spot and follow the criminals at a certain distance. They went on for a while as they made their way into the great cemetery. They left the gardens and the streets of niches and entered the place known as the high class area, made up of family vaults and mausoleums, some luxurious, others in good condition, while others were a bit abandoned.

The stutterer stayed outside as the other one went down into a very old subterranean crypt, almost in ruins.

Angel hid behind a large tombstone, watching, sheltered between the feet of the angel that crowned it.

“Backup units in position,” he heard through the earphones.

The well-cared-for cemetery was very pretty that sunny morning. The color of the lawn and the tall cedars shone brightly. Suddenly, the green became increasingly brighter, as if it were dissolving along with all the other colors until they turned white, such a brilliant white that it burned the eyes, such a brilliant white that forced Angel to close and cover them with his hands. After being blinded by the inexplicable shine, and after some seconds of confusion, he opened them to a total darkness. He could not keep them open, the sticky eyelids prevented it. He told his partner to stay by his side; he was also in a similar state. He tried to contact the backup team, but nobody answered.

He was nervous, scared, very alarmed, and at the same time anxious for some answers, to know and understand what had happened and why it was happening.

They heard some voices coming from the main path of the cemetery. It was the stutterer and his friend.

“Help, we can’t see, we’ve been blinded,” shouted Angel.

“Shit… shit, they gotta be cops, they must’ve followed us,” said Culebra quickly.

The partners in crime hurried to make their escape. Angel took out his service firearm and, aiming blindly, ordered them to stop. He was tempted to open fire, but he did not want to risk shooting an innocent bystander. Since he did not get an answer, he raised his arm towards the sky and shot several times in the air, trying to scare them into hopefully making them turn themselves in. He waited a couple of seconds. Not a sound, not a sign, he gathered they must have fled. All he had left was hope.

“Backup team, we’re in trouble, they’re getting away, stop them at the exit.”

“Negative, we’re blind, we don’t know what has happened, we’re all blind, come help us,” they answered desperately.

Angel fell to his knees, helpless, and wept sorrowfully, not because of his blindness, but because he had not able to keep his promise. His tears were of rage and anger. His thoughts went back to the bank manager, forced to live the rest of his life stuck to a wheelchair. His romantic partner ever since they had met, many years ago. His long-awaited revenge for love was unresolved for the time being.

Chapter 2

The Author

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Upon opening my eyes all I can see is darkness, rather, in other words, I cannot see a thing, either way I cannot keep them open, my eyelids are strangely sticky. I do not know what has happened, after the inexplicable brightness I have been left blind. I must acknowledge that I am nervous, scared, very alarmed, and at the same time anxious for some answers, to know and understand what has happened.

I remain seated on my favorite sofa for a long time, hoping in vain for my poor eyes to work once again. I have my laptop burning over my lap. I have been bent over typing and tweaking the last chapter of my work, ignoring the elemental rules of ergonomics. I have been pressing the keys in a frenzy since very early in the morning. The early-rising muses that whispered incessantly into my ear had kept me awake. Ignoring my current new situation, I concentrated on my main worry, my novel. It had been more than an hour since I last saved the file and a terrible fear of losing my recent work invaded my tormented mind. After some endless minutes reflecting and considering infinite possibilities, I decided to leave the laptop on the cushion next to me, trusting that the battery would last enough for it to autosave.

I can finally focus on myself. Conscious of my weakness, I need help, without a doubt. I listen intently to the sounds of the lonely house, the quiet murmur of the refrigerator engine, the rhythm of my breath, the soft ringing of new messages on my phone. My phone! It is not that far, I cannot remember exactly where, so I will just have to feel around as I can, right and left. Due to its smooth surface and small rectangular shape it is unquestionable that I have found it. Though now another problem emerges. My first thought is to call my wife, who is working at the moment as a French teacher. I change my mind, today is her first day in that elitist private school after months of unemployment. Considering our lack of a stable job, I thought it best to tell her after work. I ponder over the possibilities of my next step. Contacting an ambulance service could be a solution. Once I lifted my phone I noticed it was impossible to dial a number while blind. I remember that one of my best friends, an expert in technology, had told me how to activate and configure voice dialing days ago. Why did I not follow his advice? Anyway, I will keep my phone in my pocket.

I need to pee. I stood up carefully and fearfully walked blindly with my protective arms in an horizontal position. The stab I received in my abdomen from the great dining table reminded me to move around very carefully. I cross through the doorway and press my hand on the hallway wall, following slowly as I take a few steps. The brush against one of the hanging paintings causes it to lose balance and I instinctively try to catch it. The result is disastrous. The corner of the frame falls on my fat toe, I shout out in pain, and the glass of the painting shatters to pieces upon landing on the floor. In just five minutes I have already had two accidents happen to me. If I do not liven up, this situation will not end well. I hear the crunch of the crystals under my slippers when I reach the closed door. I go into the narrow bathroom. Urinating on foot, as I usually do, does not seem like a good idea today, so I lower my pants and sit on the toilet. I usually wash my hands after this necessity, but, due to this situation, I should simplify my routines, though I may need a good washing of my eyes, they might improve miraculously. Half an hour of water over my face did not change my situation. I am still blind.

I barely drank a lonely coffee when I woke up, so I am hungry now. Going to the nearby kitchen and preparing something to eat seems like an arduous mission. I weigh the pros and the cons, but the rumbling in my stomach convinces me in the end. I set my plan in motion. I resort to the mental map provided by my memory to help me make it to the kitchen, walking the stretch calmly, without hurry. I manage pretty well. I remember the spatial dispositions of the furniture and where I keep each thing. Of course, I am not complicating myself too much, a pair of muffins and a cold small juice in a cardboard package will be today’s menu, until my wife comes home.

I make it back to the living room, lie down on the sofa, look for the television remote on the little table, and press a few buttons one by one until I hear the distinctive on sound. I manage to change channels little by little with difficulty, but I cannot find any broadcasting news channel. I leave it on an important national channel waiting for them to broadcast a news program. I must rethink my situation. It may be in my best interests to seek help from the neighbors, even go out to the street. I am full of questions. That adventure now seems a bit dangerous and risky. If I go outside I may get disoriented, lost, and unable to return home. If the door closes it feels like it would be very difficult to even put the key into the lock. I prefer not to take the risk, better to stay in the comfort of my home, waiting for my wife.

I do not even know what time it is. I am so disoriented that I have lost the ability to sense the pass of time. During the few hours of my affliction, I am discovering how difficult and complicated it is to live as a blind person. I feel defenseless and weak. Because of how unexpected it was, I jump out of fright. My phone suddenly began ringing. It took me a while to react and the call ended when I managed to pull it out of my pocket. I explore the edges of the apparatus, and, from the position of the gaps and buttons, I manage to identify its correct orientation. I wait a while and it rang again. I try to respond, but fail. I sense it is my beloved wife who is calling. It is a good thing she is insisting. Luck comes to my side and I manage to answer her call. She sounds very worried and tells me about her apocalyptic day, of her coworkers and students that are all blind. She, amazingly, is unaffected, out of a stroke of luck. She had tried to ask for official help, but failed. She naively asks me to go help her because she is overwhelmed. She weeps uncontrollably when she discovers my truth. She wants to come right away and help me. I tell her there is no hurry, that I can manage for now. I think it best to wait for aid from the government and that the children need her much more than me. Ana begged and implored me not to go outside, to avoid any possible danger, to be patient. She would be back when the circumstances allowed her to. We said goodbye with a kiss, an “I love you”, and a “see you soon”.

A little more relaxed, I focus on the television. The current program does not catch my attention, so I keep changing channels one by one without finding anything on what was going on. The technological possibility of listening to the radio through the television came to mind. I go through the sound systems, stopping to listen for a while, until I find something interesting,

a tired presenter broadcasting a short, repetitive fragment of news. He narrates that everything had started with a strong blinding light of an unknown origin. The presenter ventures off with several hypothesis, none of them confirmed. It could have come from an atomic bomb, something very unlikely, it did not seem like there was any devastation we know comes with that sort of weapon, besides, the country did not have any immediate threats nor motives for any aggression of that kind. Though, it did not rule out some new kind of terrorist attack. Maybe a large meteor entering the atmosphere caused a great flare. Another possibility could be a sort of unknown climatological effect or perhaps some anomaly caused by the sun, like a huge solar eruption. The presenter continued giving basic advice, like warning that venturing out on the street could be dangerous, it was better to stay home, since it was the safest place, and wait for help to arrive.

It seems that I am wisely making the right choices, though waiting in the darkness is so boring and tedious that sleep is getting to me, but, as I fall asleep, I believe this situation that is happening to us could be a good theme for a novel.

Chapter 3

Susan and James

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James always made an appointment by telephone. He left a message in Susan’s voicemail indicating the night he had available at the usual hour. Susan never gave him trouble and always adapted to his needs. Even if the time and night were already reserved, she would change her schedule for him, cancelling or adjusting the appointments others had. She considered him a VIP client for several reasons.

Firstly, because of the comfort of seeing him in her attic without having to go somewhere else, though she never worked home out of safety, she trusted him. Physically he was not ugly. He looked good, pretty tall with a sporty appearance, you could tell he did exercise and took care of himself. She liked him. Single without a girlfriend, pleasant, charming, and very chivalrous, she really liked him. He was pretty meticulous, the only one who always came with a gift. Sometimes a rose, at other times with some delicious liquor-filled chocolate, a book or a movie they talked about in a previous appointment, a bottle of good wine, or a lottery ticket. Another of the reasons she had a predilection for him was because he was blind from birth. She was inadvertently permeated with a feeling of compassion and a bit of sadness. Although, at the same time, she admired him for his level of self-improvement, for his courage, and for his bravery when facing his problems. She would happily take care, attend, and pamper him. She even fantasized that they could together quench her incipient maternal instinct awakened by her unyielding biological clock.

The next reason was because he always, always had his hands warm, even in winter. There was nothing more comforting for her than contact with warm skin.

The evenings began with some canapés and snacks soaked in soft sparkling wine, then, according to the occasion, they had sautéed meat or fish with a pleasant, engaging conversation, sprinkled with witty jokes and good humor. He would constantly make her laugh. They always had something aphrodisiacal and energetic for dessert to charge their batteries. Both of them knew what awaited them next.

A little slow music to dance fixed to each other and to warm up the room. With a diaphanous dress she pressed her breasts on him while feeling how a bulge swelled in his pants.