The Rules of Seeing

by Joe Heap

  ‘Come on,’ Nova says, grinning, ‘or the ice cream will go melty!’

  Twenty-Two

  December

  NOVA WAKES FIRST. KATE’S face is pressed into her shoulder and she can feel her breath. She wishes she had her camera to take a picture, but maybe that would be weird. Then again, what isn’t weird about this situation?

  One of Kate’s arms is thrown over her torso.

  Nova remembers the night before – how they stayed up and told each other stories and stupid jokes in Kate’s bed. Just like the first night she stayed, when they’d eaten junk food from the petrol station until they’d crashed. She’d known she was falling asleep, but Kate hadn’t told her to go to the sofa, and Nova didn’t want to.

  They’ve slept in the same bed every night for the last month.

  Every night, they’ve stayed on their sides of the bed.

  Every night, Nova has kept her hands to herself.

  Except sometimes, when she wakes, Kate has moved in the night so that she’s curled up against Nova’s side, or is pressing her face into Nova’s shoulder, or has a leg thrown over Nova’s hip, and she makes little noises in her sleep like she’s whimpering …

  In short, Nova is going crazy.

  She wants to reach out and touch. She wants to stay in bed, with Kate so close, but she’s scared of being caught awake. Caught looking, because that’s something she does these days. An old habit she’s fallen back into. She had slid back down on the game of snakes and ladders to a much earlier square, but not right back to the start.

  She can recognize Kate’s face again.

  She takes a deep breath, smelling Kate’s shampoo – like warm honey – then slides herself out from under the duvet.

  Kate wakes, but doesn’t remember how close they were a few moments ago. She’s fascinated by Nova’s gracefulness. She moves slowly, consciously, putting her socks and hoodie on. Kate keeps her eyes half closed, so Nova doesn’t realize she’s being watched. A guilty pleasure, but Kate doesn’t stop.

  Like everything in these fragile days, Kate knows it can’t last, but doesn’t want to be the one to end it. Someday, Nova is going to have to go back to her life. She’s already helped Kate more than enough. Her body is healing and the panic attacks come less often. Nova has her own problems. Kate is being selfish.

  Nova doesn’t move as though she’s blind, but not exactly as though she can see. She moves through a shifting landscape, mindful of everything around her. Kate wants to see the world the way she sees it, to understand. Finally, Nova leaves the room, and Kate drifts back to sleep.

  Nova wakes her, setting a tray down on the bedside table.

  ‘Hey, there, angel face.’

  ‘Mmph … M’rning.’

  Every morning, Nova has made her coffee in a cafetière that Kate had never even taken out of the box. Kate had made cups of instant for the builders, bought fresh for herself from a tiny shop on the corner with one stool and a raffia camel in the window. She had forgotten the existence of coffee grounds in the sparsely populated kitchen, but somehow Nova found them.

  Some days Nova goes into work. But most days she can take calls in the study, or she’s off shift and will stay in the flat with Kate. They will talk, or listen to the radio, or Nova will watch Kate daub colour onto her latest paint-by-number kit. Every morning, and every night, she is there in Kate’s bed. They never talk about why she stays. Never talk about how they’re basically living together. Kate would get her a key, for when Nova does go out, if she weren’t here all the time to let her in.

  Today there is a plate of buttered toast to go with the coffee, and a collection of tiny jars that Kate pinched from the last hotel she stayed in. They sit up in bed, spreading jam (Kate) and honey (Nova). A third jar is wholegrain mustard, but Kate doesn’t point this out. They eat and drink in silence. Nova feels a familiar tension. Each of them is waiting for the other to make the next move.

  RULE OF SEEING NO.248

  Body language isn’t a single language at all, but an infinite number of dialects. One person’s hunched posture is not equal to another’s. A frown is not always a frown. Sometimes, it is enough to know that something is being communicated.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ Nova asks, at last.

  ‘Nothing. Hiding away. What about you?’

  Nova shrugs, then tries to remember if she always shrugged, or if it’s something she learned from watching other people. ‘Nothing. Off shift for a couple of days.’

  Her statement is an implied question. Kate treads carefully. She can’t handle Nova leaving right now.

  ‘We could watch one of your movies, if you like?’

  Nova smiles. ‘That sounds good.’

  They go and find the bag of movies the doctor gave Nova, and start to sort through them. Nova looks carefully at each of the covers, finding the title, reading each of the letters by placing her thumbs either side of it, blocking out anything unnecessary, before moving onto the next one.

  She’s been practising, with Kate’s help, and the films are part of it. Though she’s not back to where she was, some of her progress returned, as though a withered version of it had persisted in her head. From her flat she brought the packs of cards – SHAPES, BODIES and OBJECTS, and sometimes Kate will take them out and try to read her fortune.

  ‘The Wizard of On?’ Nova asks, frowning at a film.

  ‘Oz – that’s a Z.’

  ‘Ugh, I’m so bad at this.’

  ‘I think you read a lot quicker than if I were learning Braille.’

  ‘I don’t think I can read this one …’

  She hands it to Kate, who looks at the sweeping, red handwriting.

  ‘Casablanca.’

  ‘Ah. What kind of films do you like?’

  Kate stops to think about the question. It used to be so straightforward. She liked the kind of films that she and Vi went to see. Films with explosions and gunfights. The kind of films she enjoyed were like theme-park rides – they had thrills and sudden drops. But she can’t say that she likes that sort of film any more. Violence seems very violent, these days.

  ‘I don’t know what films I like. Maybe we can find some in here that I like.’

  ‘You’ve not seen any of these before?’

  ‘Um … this one.’ She picks up The Sound of Music. ‘I watched this when I was a kid.’

  ‘What about this?’

  She holds up a plain case – just a picture of the ocean and the words The Big Blue. Kate takes it from her and reads the description on the back.

  ‘It’s about the rivalry between two deep-sea divers,’ she explains.

  ‘Does it sound like the kind of film you might like?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out.’ Kate opens the case. Inside is a handwritten note, in large, careful writing. ‘I think this is from your doctor.’

  ‘Could you read it to me?’

  ‘Dear Nova, about your embarrassing rash …’

  Nova snorts. ‘You’re funny!’

  ‘I’m really not,’ she says, laughing. Anyway, it says, “Nova, thought you might enjoy the pictures of the sea, of fish and dolphins, and people moving in a totally different world, weightless.” That’s nice of him.’

  ‘He’s a nice guy. But I think he saw me as his project. Like, if he could teach me to see, it would be a big achievement.’

  ‘Oh, you were his Eliza Doolittle!’

  ‘His what?’

  ‘My Fair Lady? We should watch that too. Are there not many people like you, then?’

  Nova screws up her lips for a moment. ‘Some. Not many. People who’ve been blind from birth …’ She trails off, as though deciding how to phrase something. ‘Well, we don’t always cope well with learning to see. I think he was hoping that, with the right treatment, I might be different.’

  ‘Oh … Do you want some more coffee?’ Kate feels stupid, changing the subject, but doesn’t know what to say.

  ‘I made you uncomfortable.’ Nova smile
s.

  ‘No … I just know what it’s like, wondering if things are going to get any better.’

  ‘Things aren’t so bad, are they?’ Nova puts her arm around Kate’s waist.

  ‘Not right now.’

  Nova grins, thinks for a second, then, ‘Pop!’

  ‘What?’ Kate asks.

  ‘To drink – if I’m going to watch a movie, I think I should have pop. And popcorn.’

  Kate laughs again. She can’t remember the last time she laughed this much, every day. Maybe never. Maybe not in her whole life. Sometimes she still feels like shit. But there is so much laughter as well.

  ‘Well, I can do you the popcorn, but I’ll have to go down to the shop for the fizz.’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No, I’ll go now.’

  Nova smiles and goes back to reading the cases. Kate walks to the door with a sudden, hollow feeling in her stomach. This is part of the deal they made on that first night. Kate had scrawled it on the back of a paper wrapper from an 80% cocoa chocolate bar.

  WE (NOVA AND KATE) HEREBY DECLARE THAT

  NOVA WILL LEARN TO SEE

  IF!

  KATE LEAVES THE HOUSE SOMETIMES

  IF!

  NOVA WILL LEARN TO SEE

  IF!

  KATE LEAVES THE HOUSE SOMETIMES

  IF! …

  It continues down the wrapper, the writing getting smaller and more cramped, as Nova dictated it to her. It had made her laugh at the time, but now she wishes more than anything that she didn’t have to keep up her side of the bargain to stop Nova sinking back into blindness.

  There is an envelope on the mat, addressed to her in handwritten capital letters. Kate tears it open with her thumb, but there is nothing inside. Frowning, she scrutinizes the envelope for anything to identify the sender. The postmark is London, but that’s all. Maybe it’s from her mum. It would be typical of her to forget to put the letter in before sending.

  She slips her shoes on, takes her keys from the bowl by the door, and hovers, hand raised to the lock. She thinks of the soft covers on her bed, and wants to crawl back in there. Ridiculous – she pushes the key into the lock and leaves the flat.

  While Kate is gone, Nova tidies the bedroom, shaking crumbs off the sheets. When that’s done, she sits on the bed and closes her eyes, enjoying the perfect quiet. She’s relieved that Kate seems to want her to stay, even if only for the time being. More than any other thing she wants to stay in this place where time is soft.

  Kate returns with the rustle of plastic bags, peering into the bedroom. To Nova, she looks pale, her expression unreadable. Nova can read her face better than anyone else she knows, but right now her face isn’t saying much.

  ‘You tidied the bed.’

  ‘Thought I’d be helpful. You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ She doesn’t sound convinced. ‘I forgot to ask what you like, so I got a few.’

  They go to the kitchen. From a plastic bag, Kate produces three bottles – one bright red, one bright green, one brown (though it’s so close to black that Nova can’t tell the difference).

  ‘Cherryade, limeade and cola.’

  ‘The colours are so different!’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘That’s something I never realized when I was blind. How ketchup is red and mustard is yellow and barbeque sauce is brown … and those ice-cream parlours with twenty flavours, all a different colour.’

  ‘I guess I never thought about it.’

  ‘You probably did, when you were a kid. At some point, you had to learn all that. But then you forget that there was a time when you didn’t know.’

  Kate smiles – a shape Nova takes pleasure in recognizing.

  ‘So what colour would you like to try first?’

  ‘The green? Is that green?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That one, then. Is that cherryade?’

  ‘No, cherryade is red. Like cherries. This is limeade, like green limes.’

  ‘Ah, of course.’

  Kate goes to the kitchen and puts the corn kernels in a saucepan, then melts some butter. She shuts the curtains over the window and turns the lights off. When everything is ready they sit on the floor with their backs to the sofa, the TV table pulled close, glasses of fizz and a bowl of warm popcorn between them. Kate presses the right button on the remote control, a task that is still difficult for Nova, and the movie starts.

  The Big Blue starts in black-and-white – something Nova has never seen on screen before. Early on, after the operation, she often saw things in black-and-white, as though her mind was a faulty television, colour flickering in and out of her transmission. They pause while Kate explains this to her.

  Now the scene is in colour, but there is so little colour in the landscape Nova can hardly tell the difference – Kate explains that it is an ice lake, and that it’s the white snow, blanketing everything. Nova can only see a field of pure white, with bands of shade, which must be hills and valleys. She can make out the buildings easily though, clear and rectangular, picked out against the surrounding nothingness.

  The film passes in a kind of trance. Nova sees through the camera underwater, looking up at air bubbles moving over the layer of ice. Their shapes, like the light and shade of the snowfield, seem abstract. Waves, seen from above and below, change constantly. She’s never sure what she is seeing, but after a while she stops trying. She enjoys the glittering light, the shifting shades of blue.

  When there are fish, or dolphins, Nova tries to watch them in motion, to understand what they look like in real life. She saw fish at the zoo, but they didn’t move like this. The first time she saw a dog walking down the street she thought it was another animal altogether. Though she had carefully memorized the shape of the animal from the flashcards in the rehabilitation ward, the motion of the dog, trotting down the street, each leg in motion and each leg doing something different, baffled her.

  ‘Are those fish?’ she asks.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  She watches as a group of fish circle and flash in the light. Fish are even stranger than dogs, she decides – they glide from one place to another without moving themselves at all.

  Nova finds it hard to focus on the story of the film – a series of conversations interspersed between visions of the ocean – but she enjoys watching the characters diving deep under the water. They dive without oxygen, only goggles and flippers, holding their breath for minutes on end. She has always perceived the world on one level, and even if she went to a different floor in a building, it seemed that the building had moved, not her. But the pictures of their bodies descending, until light is leached from the water, show her a world of great depth and height. She can see their bodies clearly against the field of blue.

  Slowly, she moves her body closer to Kate, feeling the warmth between them. Kate doesn’t respond until, with a gentle sigh, she rests her head gently on Nova’s shoulder.

  Nova can’t focus much on the film after that.

  Later, when night has fallen, they lie facing each other in Kate’s bed again. Nova looks into Kate’s eyes, but can’t read her expression.

  ‘You okay, bean queen?’

  Kate smiles sleepily and nods. ‘Yeah. Thanks for a nice day.’

  They look into each other’s eyes for a long time. Usually, Kate will tear her gaze away after a couple of seconds. Nova knows that this is because making eye contact is weird for people. Looking at a thing that is looking at you, looking at it … an endless feedback loop. That’s what must be so compelling, Nova thinks, why people can fall in love at first sight. When you make eye contact, when you hold someone’s gaze, it’s the closest thing to knowing that you’re not alone in the world.

  Tonight, Kate doesn’t look away. In the morning, neither will remember who fell asleep first.

  Nova sleeps and dreams that she is sitting on the corduroy-lined armchair in her paternal grandmother’s living room, eating a plate of potato dumplings wit
h sour cream, listening to her grandfather (dead before she was born) telling her that he is going away to war – a war that has been going on forever and from which he will never return – and Nova wants to tell him not to go, except her mouth is full of potato and she’s worried that she will get sour cream on her grandmother’s armchair, so that by the time she has swallowed, her grandfather has fallen silent and Nova reaches out but he isn’t there any more …

  Kate sleeps and dreams that she is standing in the supply cupboard of her primary school, looking around at the shelves piled with pastel coloured sugar paper and bottles of acrylic paint, while Nova sits on a plastic chair in front of her, peeling and eating clementines and wiping her sticky hands on the sugar paper. When Kate tells her not to, she says that it’s sugar paper and sugar paper is supposed to be sticky, and won’t listen when she argues against, until there is a pile of sticky, crumpled paper at their feet, and Kate can hear footsteps – heavy, police-issue boots – approaching the cupboard …

  Twenty-Three

  ‘YOU’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE?’ Kate looks up at the sign – ZEPHIRELLI’S – over the door to the café.

  ‘Once or twice.’

  Nova was in New Scotland Yard for the morning, and Kate met her afterwards to wander up through London. The city was bustling. They trudged up the wind-tunnel of Lower Regent Street, through Piccadilly Circus, with its shimmering adverts for luxury watches and hamburgers, until they reached Soho. Nova finds the city a little overwhelming, but she has Kate here to help her if she needs to close her eyes.

  RULE OF SEEING NO.250

  Cities, like forests, grow upwards. Tower blocks, multi-storey car parks and lampposts, all perpendicular. But, unlike the forest, which is seeking sunlight, cities reach for another resource – free space.

  Kate hasn’t told the police about the empty envelopes. They’ve been arriving every couple of days for the last fortnight. She hasn’t told Nova either. It would only make her worry.