To Show a Blind Person the Sight of the World Without Using Your Voice

Chapter 3: Toxic Questions Cloud My Mind

Makoto Tachibana

He fell ill.

Quite literally; he collapsed in the hallway almost immediately after showering, with rising fever.

I'm listening to his shallow breathing as he lies in my bed to get some rest. He's not unconscious anymore, but he was slipping in and out of it for almost half an hour before he finally was awake enough to drink a little bit of water.

Now, he's sleeping again; snoring and whimpering just so lightly as he deals with his exhaustion and high temperature. I already knew he wouldn't be doing great after walking around in those wet clothes in the cold autumn air like that; he's bound to get sick.

Fortunately I got mom to agree on letting him stay with us, at least until his fever has gone down and he feels good enough to help us figure out where he lives.

So, this is where we are now; the guy shivering underneath my blankets, and me sitting on a futon, wrapped in a blanket and with my back against the wall. I thought it would be best if he slept in my bed, because he seemed to need to rest more than I do.

There's a knock on the door, distracting me from the shallow breathing for a brief second.

"Yeah," I reply almost right away. "Come in."

The door slides open and not long after mom asks me if the guy's condition has gotten any better.

"Doesn't appear to be that way," I answer, listening to a soft rattling as mom sits down on the futon right beside me. "He's still deep asleep, and I think he might be in pain; he keeps whimpering."

"You always murmur too when you're sick," she tells me in a voice that makes it sound like she's nostalgic about a fever. "I'll check on him in a second, but I reassure you it's just part of a cold."

She wraps her hand around me so I can rest my head on her shoulder. I catch myself closing my eyes and all of a sudden my breathing gets much calmer. Mom and I haven't hugged in ages, I forgot how nice and calming mom's hugs can be.

We sit there and just let the minutes, maybe even hours, tick away.

Just when I'm sure I'm about to fall asleep, mom shifts in her seat. "I found something out just now." She pauses, combing with her fingers through my hair. "You want to know what?"

"Yeah," I say, because the way she's talking in a mysterious tone makes me curious.

"Well, apparently your friend here was carrying a backpack with him," mom tells me. "And inside there was a little notebook, it was soaked and most of the ink smudged over the pages but-"

"But?" I whisper when mom dramatically cuts off her sentence.

"Let's just say, I know what his name is."

My mouth gapes, I didn't think I would find out his name until he wakes up next morning.

"Tell me," I beg her, because just knowing this guy's name would be enough to me. I know nothing about him, not how he looks, the sound of his voice, so knowing his name would open a whole other world to me; it would give him a real identity.

"Okay, okay." Mom chuckles softly before saying, "According to what was in his notebook, his name is Haruka Nanase." She pauses, giving me some time to think about the name.

It just a name, a first name and his surname, but to me it means so much more.

"Haruka Nanase," I silently repeat; it rolls off the tongue nicely.

"Yeah," mom's voice sounds more worried now, though. "There's something else I found out."

I shift in position, eager to know what else she found out; maybe she found out where he came from, or why he was sleeping on our backyard porch. Whatever she found out, I have to know.

"Okay, but Makoto." She pauses shortly before telling me that I might not like what she's going to tell me next. "He explains it on the first page of the notebook; Haruka's completely mute."

I frown at the pain of a twist appearing in my stomach. Even though I could've seen it coming, as Haruka hasn't spoken a word yet, but it still is like a punch to the gut.

Mom sighs, and she knows she doesn't even have to say what she actually was planning to; I know dead well that this means communicating with Haruka will be more than a little hard.

Mom presses her hand against the side of my head, patting it softly to comfort me as I think about how ever since I was very little, I've always mainly used people's voices to recognize them; to see them as a person rather than this unknown thing.

I've never known how my parents or my younger siblings look, nor have I ever seen my own reflection in the mirror. I was born with bad vision due to a genetic disorder called Retinitis Pigmentosa; sounds like a Harry Potter spell, but to me it was more like a curse.

The little sight I had during the hours between afternoon and dusk was colorless and possibly pretty hazy, but I don't remember because I lost it all as soon as I started to develop cataracts in both eyes.

This was a surprise to my parents, who'd been told that most kids with RP don't go completely blind.

I was just three when I lost all vision, so since I had gone blind so early it didn't cause many problems; I read and wrote Braille at the same age sighted kids learned to read and write their first sentences.

And even though I used to be a happy child, there were things I had questions about. Things like why I went blind, why my siblings were born completely healthy and why I never was granted the right to see what the world, or the people around me, looked like were just a couple of the toxic questions that clouded my mind all day and night. And they still do, sometimes.

Like right now, because I wish I could just see what this Haruka Nanase looks like and see his responses to things visually instead of having to go off of the little sound he does make; it's unfair.

A soft grunt awakens me from my thoughts; I must've actually fallen asleep, because I'm lying underneath a blanket and I don't hear mom's voice when I ask her if Haruka's waking up.

I take my hand through my hair and sit upright before asking, "Haruka, are you awake?"

For a moment I'm sure he's gone straight back to sleep again, but I then suddenly hear a knock. It's the sound of knuckles onto a wooden surface, and it couldn't be more like music to my ears.

"Ah, I see," I answer, catching myself smiling at the thought of being able to communicate with Haruka just a little. "Are you feeling a little better?"

There's no response, not even when I add, "Knock once for yes and twice for no."

I take a deep breath and crawl off my futon, wondering if maybe his fever has knocked him out again. I reach my bed, carefully hovering with my hand above Haruka's face until I'm sure I'll only touch his forehead. There's hair sticking to the sweaty surface and it's clear that his fever hasn't gone down.

"As I thought," I mumble. "You're burning up."

I don't wait for a reply before getting onto my feet, saying, "I'll see if I can get you some nice vegetable soup, according to mom that's good when you're sick."

A hand grabs the fabric of my shirt, it jolts me back weakly, but it's hard to let me know that Haruka doesn't want any broth. So instead of going downstairs, I sit down next to the bed on my knees.

Now I hear Haruka's breathing even better.

I smile when I hear him getting much calmer after I tell him, "I'll be here whenever you need something." And thus I know he heard me, and he's glad to know I'll stay with him.

At first he keeps holding onto my shirt tightly, but eventually his grip loosens.

As I sit there, I wonder if Haruka was born unable to talk, just like I'm born unable to see.

I wonder if Haruka thinks about the world the same as I do; a cruel and unfair place.