"Come, come," he said gruffly, and I took my hand away.
When the ordeal was over, he tied a black bandage over my eyes, laid me
down on the lounge and lectured me. When he stopped for breath, I
interrupted.
"What hope is there?"
He hesitated.
"Oh! Tell me the truth."
"Well--I guess the chances are even--of your seeing enough for ordinary
work. But they will never be strong. You'll have to give up books.
You must keep your eyes bandaged--complete rest--six weeks--then we can
tell how much damage you've done. It is only a guess now."
We talked business. I had enough money saved for a private room and
good treatment, so he put me into a cab and told the driver to deliver
me at the hospital.
It was an appalling experience, that ride. Try it yourself. Ride
through the streets with your eyes darkened: you will hear a thousand
sounds you never heard before, even familiar sounds will be fearsome.
Every jolt, every stoppage will seem momentous. I was glad the doctor
did not come with me, glad that no one saw me so afraid.
At last we stopped and I heard the cabby call.
"Hey! there. Come out and take this man."
I revolted at my helplessness, pushed the door open and stumbled as I
stepped out. I would have fallen heavily, if an orderly had not been
there to catch me.
"You must be careful at first, Mister," he said. "You'll get used to it
in time."
That was just what I was afraid of--getting used to the darkness!
However, his words jogged my pride. The ways of the gods seemed funny
to me again, and I joked with him as he led me up some stairs and into a
receiving room. The house surgeon, to me only a voice, was nervously
cheerful. He kept saying, "It'll be all right." "It'll be all right."
He seemed to be dancing about in all directions. My ears had not become
accustomed to locating sounds. I suppose he moved about normally, but
he seemed to talk from a different angle every time.
"This is Miss Barton," he said at last. "She is day nurse in your ward.
She'll make you comfortable."
Mechanically I thrust my hand out into the darkness. It was met and
grasped by something I knew to be a hand, but it did not feel like any
hand I had ever seen.
"I'm glad to meet you," I said.
With some jest about people not usually being glad to meet nurses, she
led me off to the elevator and my room.
"You've quite a job before you--exploring this place," she said with
real cheer in her voice. "There are all sorts of adventures in this
_terra incognita_. Everything is cushioned so you can't bang your
shins, but watch out for your toes. At first you'd better stay in bed
for a few days and rest. Have you all you need in your valise?"
"I don't know. A servant packed it."
"Well then. That's the first bit of exploring to do. I'll help you."
Her voice also jumped about surprisingly. There was something weird in
being in a room with an utter stranger whose existence was only
manifested by this apparently erratic voice and by hands which unsnarled
my shoe laces, handed me my pajamas, and put me to bed.
"I must run off now and attend to Mrs. Stickney, next door--she is very
fussy. The night nurse, Miss Wright, comes on pretty soon, at six.
She'll bring you your supper. When you wake up in the morning, ring the
bell, here over your head, and I'll bring you breakfast. Good night."
It was when she had gone and I alone there in the strange bed, that I
first felt the awful void of the darkness. I do not like to think of it
now.
It was probably not many minutes, but it seemed hours on end, before
Miss Wright brought me my supper. She sat on the edge of my bed and
helped me find the way to my mouth. She was considerate, and tried to
be cheering. But I did not like her. Always her very efficiency
reminded me of my helplessness. And her voice seemed too large for a
woman. It gave me the impression that she was talking to someone
several feet behind me.
They had, I think, mercifully drugged my food, for I fell asleep at
once. When I woke I had no idea of the hour. For some time I lay there
in the darkness wondering about it. I did not want to wake anybody up.
But at last I decided that I would not be so hungry before breakfast
time. After much futile fumbling I found the bell above my bed. In a
few minutes Miss Barton's voice--even after all these years, I think of
it as the type of sunny cheerfulness--announced that it was near eleven.
When the breakfast was finished, with joking cautions against setting
the bed on fire, she filled my pipe and taught my hands the way to the
matchbox.
In the weeks which followed, I lost all track of the sun's time. I came
to figure my days in relation to her. During the "nights," when she was
off duty, the darkness was very black.
It would be impossible for me to give in detail the evolution by which
Miss Barton, my nurse, changed into my friend, Ann. It began I think
when she discovered how utterly alone I was. The second day in the
hospital I was given permission to have visitors, and I sent for my
employer's man of law.
"Whom do you want to have come to see you to-morrow?" Miss Barton asked
when he had gone.