The Manual of Darkness

by Enrique de Heriz

  Besides, if he’s grumbling it’s because he always was a whiner. Nobody really wants to throw him out. Monet devoted the greater part of his life to cultivating opium because in his day it was thought to be a cure for cataracts. As we’ve already pointed out, no one here suffers from cataracts or any other visual impairment. But a little opium never goes amiss when certain memories start to nag. Or old vices, as with good old Ray Charles. Or when Bach starts to bore them rigid with his endless fugues and counter-fugues. Will Víctor have enough of a sense of humour to understand this story?

  Opening and Closing

  ‘And now I want you all to imagine your body is full of hinges.’ Although Alicia has been taking biodance classes with Viviana Szpunberg for more than four years, she is still surprised by the grating tone of her deep voice, as though her vocal cords were intended to be played with a bow. ‘Forget everything we’ve talked about and imagine that your body is full of hinges. Today we’re going to work on the concept of opening and closing. With the whole body. The whole body, remember.’

  It all started with a leaflet picked up in a bar late at night, and even now she doesn’t know why she chose biodance rather than ju-jitsu, Pilates, belly-dancing or kundalini yoga. Curiosity, maybe. And the desire to do something with her body. Express herself. At the beginning of each session, they all sit on the floor in the lotus position and tell each other how their week has been. Just twenty minutes; nothing too detailed. Just something to ease their burden. Alicia manages not to say anything that might compromise her too much and listens carefully to what everyone else says, though without ever becoming too involved. Then Viviana puts on some music and gives instructions: today, we are going to explore the limits of our body; today, the sense of balance; today, the ability to go beyond; today, the need for the other. That kind of thing. It’s not dancing exactly, since everyone does whatever they like, they’re not even expected to move to the rhythm of the music. All Viviana asks for is total commitment. The first year, Alicia felt so self-conscious that for several sessions she barely moved at all, apart from rocking slightly so no one could accuse her of not taking part. She watched Viviana, expecting her to give instructions, something that would tell her exactly what she should do. As though some invisible jury – or one that was ever present in the watchful eyes of Viviana, someone Alicia still did not know how to refer to: teacher, therapist, guru – were judging her. It’s not a dance competition, Viviana used to say. Do whatever you feel, it doesn’t matter if it’s awkward, just move, allow your bodies to speak. Getting used to it, and a couple of private conversations with Viviana, put an end to her awkwardness. The second year was a liberation. She participated in every session with genuine passion; pouring out – in addition to pints of sweat – everything about her day-to-day existence that words could not express. From that moment, she turned biodance into a more constructive, more complete experience. Now, the very idea of missing a session is unthinkable. That is not to say that every Tuesday goes perfectly. Sometimes her body has only hateful things to express, but that doesn’t matter. It’s all part of the therapy. And when it does happen, she has no problem throwing herself against a wall or crawling across the floor like a black beetle, to the astonishment of the neophytes who join every year.

  Today she tells everyone that she’s happy because she has her first blind person. She doesn’t need to say any more. They know she has been waiting for months. She doesn’t talk about the problems. When they’ve finished speaking, Viviana asks them to get to their feet and puts on some music. The music is always a single melody repeated for the whole session. It’s part of the ritual. On the third or fourth repeat, Alicia forgets the music, or rather, she becomes a part of it, so much so that the melody and rhythm become part of her body, tracing a spiral around her and protecting her from the gaze of others, from embarrassment. Today, the music is a playful clarinet. Jewish music, thinks Alicia. She remembers having heard melodies like this in a film, a troupe of musicians, maybe playing at a wedding. Or maybe they were Gypsies. Whatever, it seems more appropriate to a march than a dance: it’s a two-step, almost a hymn.

  Alicia starts with the obvious, the hands. Open and close, she splays her fingers wide as though she wants to project them, detach them from herself. Then she closes them tightly, not caring that her nails are digging into her palms. Little by little, she brings other parts of her body into play. She spreads her shoulders, slowly stretching her arms behind her until her hands touch behind her back, then folds them back across her chest, curling her torso into a ball. This is just a warm-up. She has not even begun. She is still thinking about what she is going to do. Viviana calls this self-awareness. Don’t think. We’re not here to think, she tells them, we’re here to express ourselves. Suddenly, she thinks of her toes; these can be opened and closed too, though as she does this, it becomes difficult to maintain her balance as she wheels around the room. She always spins, sometimes simply on the spot, sometimes hugging the walls, sometimes circling the other dancers. It is part of the process that allows her to put everything out of her mind, the music, time, the world. Now she is opening and closing her navel without even realising it, her abdominal muscles contracting and relaxing as she breathes deeply. And suddenly she realises that air is the key that can open and close all the doors in her body; she opens her lungs, really opens them, and an explosion of air comes from her mouth, which has also just opened and closed, because now every muscle in her body seems to be following some predetermined pattern, though clearly not one she has made. She can open and close several parts of her body simultaneously. Her attempt to bend her knees and ankles at the same time almost sends her sprawling to the floor, but she catches herself in time because the dance, the spiral she is tracing, saves her. She feels like an astronaut, spinning in zero gravity, and at precisely that moment, she makes her first leap. Though seen from without, jumping might not seem like opening and closing; every time Alicia launches herself into the air, hurling herself forward, she feels her whole life opening up only to close around her again as the soles of her feet strike the floor. By the fourth leap, she feels as though some mysterious hand is compelling her to fly, and although it is only a fleeting impression, she jumps so wildly that she has time to open and close every possible muscle before she lands again. Her groin takes the force of the blow and Alicia contracts her vagina. The vagina, she thinks, I forgot about the vagina. She goes on spinning, opening and closing it continually. It’s easy. Like trying to hold it in when she needs to pee. And then Viviana’s voice roars over the music: ‘I said your whole body, damn it. You don’t think your eyes are part of your body? Alicia, you should know this better than anyone.’ She opens them wide, so her face looks almost comical, like an actress in a silent film. At this moment, she cannot help but think of Víctor, the ghost of Víctor, with his eyes open on nothing, and the dance is over. She stops, frozen in the middle of the room. The magic has melted away. Besides, she really needs to pee now. It doesn’t matter: the session is almost over. They’ll do a few relaxation exercises and then everyone will head home. No one talks. They should think about the meaning of everything they’ve done, Viviana always says to them, telling them to take deep breaths. And everything they didn’t do. Especially the things they didn’t do.

  As they are leaving, she gives each of them a piece of paper with the details of today’s music: Lustige Hasidim, Alicia reads. Margot Leverett and the Klezmer Mountain Boys. She might buy this one. Sometimes, Viviana makes a little comment: you were magnificent today, Ali. Pity about the end. Thanks, Vivi. Alicia says her goodbyes and goes out into the street with the peaceful, contented weakness that comes with physical exercise. Your life is good, Alicia.

  There Is Not A Place

  As she starts up the hill at Mayor de Gracia, Alicia lifts her bottom off the bicycle seat so she can lean her whole weight on the pedals. She cycles with such fury that she arrives ten minutes early, though she doesn’t realise this since she has not looked at he
r watch. Even Víctor’s cheerful tone as he greets her over the intercom does nothing to mollify her. She drags her bicycle into the entrance, banging her foot against one of the pedals, then drops it with a crash and dashes up the stairs as fast as she can, still muttering to herself. When she gets to the top, she finds the door ajar, as it was yesterday, and senses Víctor’s presence on the other side. She is about to push the door and walk in, but then she takes a step back and decides to have done with these ambushes once and for all. She reaches out her hand, closes the door, and rings the bell. She waits for two or three seconds, then rings again, keeping her finger on the bell until he opens the door.

  ‘Look, Víctor,’ she says almost before she sees him. ‘Sorry … Look, listen, do whatever the hell you want. I’m paid to come here to help you as best I can. Maybe I don’t have much experience, but I’ve spent a lot of time and effort preparing for this. This is my job. It’s what I do. And I’m good at it. If you don’t want to carry on, fine. Call ONCE, tell them you don’t want me to come any more and I’ll take my act elsewhere. In the meantime …’

  ‘There’s a problem with that …’ Víctor interrupts her. He seems different. His voice is light, delicate. ‘I don’t know how to use the phone, and even if I did, I’m not sure I’d be able to dial the number. But we’re going to sort that out today, aren’t we?’

  He reaches out his hand at precisely the height of Alicia’s elbow, and with his other hand, he gestures for her to come in. The difference in his voice makes her heave a sigh of relief, but she does not drop her guard.

  ‘You’ve been shut up in here for a year, haven’t you? And I don’t suppose you spend most of your time lying in bed. Every now and then you go to the kitchen or the bathroom. In fact, you’ve just come to the door and you obviously didn’t bump into anything. So maybe, for the moment, you don’t need a guide while we’re in the apartment. When the day comes that you want to go out, I’ll be happy to lend you my elbow. You can have my whole arm. But right now I need to know if you can walk in a straight line by yourself.’

  Víctor shrugs his shoulders and walks up and down the hall. As he comes back for the third time, Alicia finds herself obliged to correct him.

  ‘Without touching the wall.’

  ‘Am I touching it?’

  ‘With your right hand. Obviously if you need to touch it, the most logical thing would be to put your arm out in front of you. That way you won’t bump into anything. For example, you’ll notice the dresser before you reach it. Bring your fingers together,’ she tells him as Víctor keeps walking. ‘Perfect. And you can bend them a little. You don’t need to touch the wall with your whole hand. The back of your little finger is enough. It’s the one part of your hand where it doesn’t matter too much if you prick it or burn it.’

  When he gets to the end of the hallway, she asks him to turn around and walk back, this time without using his hands. After three steps, his right shoulder grazes the wall. Without saying anything, Alicia puts her hand on the small of his back and pushes gently to centre him. Víctor takes six steps with apparent confidence, walking so quickly that Alicia has to intervene so he won’t smash his face against the wall. He stands motionless and sighs, then waves his hands around. He needs to touch something.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she reassures him. She would like to stroke his back, to soothe him. ‘It might seem easy, but no one can walk in a straight line with their eyes closed. We have an image of our body that is symmetrical, one that doesn’t conform to reality,’ she explains. For the first time she feels comfortable. She could recite whole pages about balance and orientation from her notes. ‘We all have one leg shorter than the other, or we favour one foot, or tilt one hip without realising it. It’s something we generally don’t notice because our sight corrects the imbalance. You have a tendency to veer to the right. It’s important that you know that and learn to correct it.’

  They practise for twenty minutes, until Víctor finally manages to negotiate the length of the hallway without swerving. When he gets to the end, he turns around, takes a couple of seconds to ensure he is centred, then runs to the other end of the hall where Alicia is waiting, biting her lip so as not to shout out a warning when his hip comes within an inch of the dresser. She has to stop his body with her own. Something very much like an embrace.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ she says.

  ‘I call it the kamikaze method.’

  ‘Well, I call it stupid, but I’m not going to tell you not to do it. After all, it’s your head that you’re going to split open. In any case, I can teach you to protect yourself.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘From everything. From bumping into things. And don’t tell me you don’t need me to. Right now, I decide what you need and what you don’t. Raise your left hand. Now bend your elbow as though you want to grab your right shoulder.’

  Rhythm, thinks Alicia. That’s what is missing. If yesterday it felt as though she had stepped into a cage where time stood still, today everything seems to be passing in a flash. She gives orders and he complies. Does his utmost to comply. Manages to do so with unexpected skill. He is prepared to do each task as many times as necessary. It works.

  ‘Don’t stick your elbow out so far. And move your hand away from your shoulder slightly.’ She continues to give instructions. ‘Palm turned out. Stretch out your fingers and bring them together. That’s it. Good, now relax your hand a little. Perfect. Now the other arm. Bring your right hand over to your left thigh, but don’t actually touch it. The idea is that your arms create a sort of protective barrier. The left arm protects your top half, the right arm protects the bottom.’

  ‘And I look like I’m doing karate.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Alicia says, though she cannot suppress a smile. ‘More like a footballer in the wall when someone is about to take a free kick.’

  Or a blind person who doesn’t even know what he’s protecting himself from, she thinks.

  ‘And what use is all this?’

  Carefully, making sure she makes no sound, Alicia picks up a chair and sets it between them.

  ‘Come towards me slowly,’ she says. At his second step, Víctor bumps into the chair. ‘I’ll let you work out for yourself where that would have hit you if you hadn’t had your arms in front of you. Depending on where you are, you might need to bring your left hand up to protect your face. But we’ll come to that later.’

  We’ll come to that. Perhaps deciding when the time is right for something is the most important aspect of her profession. Víctor’s attitude makes it seem as though he could be taken out into the world right now. But she only has to look at him to see how the awkward gestures he has just learned barely protect him from the air to realise it is too soon. To stumble at this point, to fall or take a painful knock, might have drastic consequences for the whole process. She has managed to run a thread right into his lair, now she has slowly to draw Víctor out. But the thread is made of flimsy materials: trust, desire, panic, need. With the slightest jolt, it could snap.

  Víctor is still standing with his arms in the defensive position.

  ‘You can put your arms down now,’ she says. ‘Relax. Now, for this next bit, we’ll need more space.’

  Quickly, fearful that this interruption might break the spell, she pushes the dining table and chairs into one corner of the living room and the sofa into another. Then she guides Víctor to the centre.

  ‘Do you know where the door to this room is?’

  ‘There,’ Víctor answers, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

  ‘There is not a place. It’s no good to me. Is it in front of you or behind?’

  ‘Behind me.’

  ‘Exactly. What’s in front of you?’

  ‘The wall. Well, the bookshelves. And you.’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve moved the furniture. Now the table is on your right and the sofa is on your left. Turn around. I mean, turn and face the other way.’ Víctor does so and stands with his back to her. �
��What’s in front of you?’

  ‘My bedroom.’

  ‘And behind?’

  ‘You.’ A long pause. ‘OK, the bookshelves.’

  ‘To your left?’

  ‘The table, and the sofa is on my right.’

  ‘Very good. Make a quarter-turn to your left, please. Try to turn without moving from that spot. Where’s the door to your bedroom?’

  ‘There. Sorry, I mean to my right.’

  Víctor answers confidently, without stopping to think, though he seems puzzled, as though he thinks this is a waste of time. Alicia knows that it is still too soon, that she will have to confuse him a little more before his sense of direction deserts him. For fifteen minutes, she has him spin around in the middle of the room like a top, but every time he is able to identify correctly the cardinal points of his apartment.

  ‘Now I need you to pay careful attention,’ she tells him. ‘I’ve taken a pen from the dresser. I’m going to drop it on the floor and I want you to tell me where it lands. Or rather, I want you indicate where you think it’s landed.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’ This is the first time he has refused. Maybe he didn’t hear her correctly.

  ‘Not that pen, no. You can use anything else.’

  ‘Oh …’ Alicia stares at the Parker pen. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was so valuable.’

  ‘It was my father’s.’

  Rhythm, Alicia, don’t stop now. No questions.

  ‘OK. We’ll use a coin.’

  She takes one from her pocket and throws it a few inches in front of Víctor. He stands for a moment, as though sniffing the air, then points to the right place. Alicia goes over and, as she bends down to pick it up, she cannot help but stare at Víctor’s toenails again. The day she teaches him to cut them, or rather the day she gives him a reason to want to cut them, will be a major victory. Maybe by that point it won’t be a problem, asking him what happened to his father, or why he’s so alone. Maybe she will tell him stories about the Gallery of Famous Blind People so they can laugh together. But right now she has a different battle to fight.