Photo and Artwork by Talcum using Gimp 2.Second Sight.
Emily Thomson could see bridges. In her world of blackness she had discovered mathematics, music, and computers. She was a tiny frail woman, perfectly formed, with dark lustrous hair. You might not have noticed anything different about her, until you gazed into those misty coloured eyes with the unusually long mascaraed eyelashes. No bright earthy shades of natures colours would look back at you. No blues and greens, just the restless, shiftless gaze of the blind.
Emily Thomson was married. To another engineer. Theirs was a partnership of body and design complementing the mutual talents. Tom was supposed to be handsome, but Emily could not tell that, she could feel his arms and the love he gave. She could not see but remembered the wedding , designed so that she could touch the fabrics, smell the smells, feel the flowers and listen to the music. The flowers were black, her dress was black, the roses were black and everyone wore black. But she could touch the roses and feel the redness, and touch the dress and feel the whiteness. She could smell the flowers and the people with her, and she loved cake.
“Lets have a look at those eyes”, said Mike Williams.
“You know we can do something for you now. Don't you?” A moment of uncertainty about his meaning entered her mind. “ You know, we think we can do a transplant”. He paused a moment.
“I mean give you someone else's eyes. Oh don't worry. They will be perfectly good”.
“ Look- I'll be frank with you. We have been carrying out experiments on animals for the past 5 years, and after a bit of a dodgy beginning we have discovered how to get an almost 90% success rate. This means that we can move forward to trying the techniques out on a human volunteer.”
“I guess you are hinting that I might be your first victim”, she said. There was a slight emphasis on the word “victim”.
“I do not think for a moment that you are going to be one of the 10% failures. I think I have chosen someone who I can help and also who offers me the best chances of maintaining a positive attitude to what we have to try. Do you remember Richard Lazenby?”
Yes, she remembered Richard Lazenby. The murderer and rapist. He had abducted and killed 2 girls. It had been a shocking trial and all the way through those months he had protested his innocence. Marcia, one of the girls, was her flat mate at University. The questions - “ Had she seen anything?” The police had failed to understand the totality of her blindness.
It was Tom who had kept her sane, Tom had been a friend to both of them. The death of Marcy had left a hole, a wound, followed by a scar. Tom had filled it in, and then in time it had faded.
Without question, they had found Lazenby's semen inside one of the girls, and 10 years later they had executed him. There was an idea that he had not been alone and that he had a helper. It was never proved and never mentioned in the trial, apart from a brief reference to someone else possibly involved and never caught.. In the fullness of time the execution of Richard Lazenby had passed without comment. No dramatic appeals, just an acceptance of justice to come.
“ We have kept his eyes alive for 6 years, frozen, using our new techniques. You have a good tissue match. Will you help us?”. It was a question immediately impossible to answer.
Over the next few weeks she discussed it with Tom and her friends. “I am not sure that I can go through this. I have always been blind.”
“What if I have this done and I am the 10% ?”
“Will I see for a brief moment and then return to blindness? “
“Will I build hope on the chances of success and be met with failure? How would I manage afterwards- on a promise given and lost? I've never sought to be changed, nor think it possible 'til now.”
“It isn't for you Em, not just for you, it's for everyone after”.
“I'm just a Guinea pig” she replied .
“Yes but he has probably done this to hundreds of guinea pigs, and you are the first human to try it on. Trust him Em, he knows what he is doing. Think how it will change us afterwards. You might be able to be independent, drive a car , and live a normal life.”
“I did have a normal life, “ she answered him, ” until now. Having eyes to see through isn't normal, at least for me it isn't.”
Acceptance was inevitable. Not for herself, but for the next person, for the next people.
Waiting rooms are always the same. But for Emily, no year old magazines, TV listings and dessicated plants. She felt a touch on her shoulder and the voice of Mike Williams asking her to come. She held his silken hand as they walked down the corridor.
“This will take many hours of surgery. We have to join the nerves.”
“When you wake up you will be paralysed, we cannot allow you to move. We must wait while the nerves grow and unite, and then you will see. Don't worry , you'll be connected to a ventilator. We will breathe for you, we will feed you, we will care for you.” There was so much. Too many questions and so many answers. She would see the dawn and dew on lacy cobwebs.
Gradually the senses return. A hole in the fog that widens. The sound of machines, the click from the ventilator as it returned for the next cycle of air to her lungs. Her limbs felt like weights and she tried to move and was unable. She could feel the bandages around her head and and the pads of cotton wool where her eyes had once been. The days and nights were still as one. She could tell what time it was. It was days when Tom came. Days when there were more sounds and voices. She could hear distant traffic, there was a world continuing out there. Nights were relative silence aside from the relentless cycles of the machines, and regularly the nurses would come and lift her limbs and move them gently. She could feel the fluids dripping into her arms, the coolness fading away upwards as they mixed with her blood. Tom would bathe her lips with a sponge and she could taste the sweetness of the water.
“It will take a little longer.” Mike told her. “ We must let it heal itself before we can move to the next stage. We'll have you off this ventilator soon."
Was it vision? A row of yellow patches stretching to the distance. Two dark and fuzzy shapes under them. Was it a dream? No, she was awake! “At least I think I am.”
“ Damn.When will I be able to speak? When will they let me move?” She only had her own thoughts. She would lie there waiting to be touched, to feel a more tangible contact with the outside.
The vision was persistent. Like a silent video on replay. Every day it was getting clearer. A long road with sodium lamps and two girls walking. Then trees and something going on.
The long road with the street lamps and two girls walking. The car headlights picked out the colours of the clothes they wore. Two white ovals showed as they turned to see the approaching slowing vehicle. The blonde man wound the window down as they came along side. The girls stopped and she could see their lips moving. Conversation.
The long road with the street lamps and two girls walking. The car headlights picked out the colours of the clothes they wore. Two white ovals showed as they turned to see the approaching slowing vehicle. The blonde man wound the window down as they came along side. The girls stopped and she could see their lips moving. Conversation. The blonde man got out. One of the girls sat in the front seat. The blonde man joined the other girl in the back. Then the trees all fuzzy and distorted.
The long road with the street lamps and two girls walking. The car headlights picked out the colours of the clothes they wore. Two white ovals showed as they turned to see the approaching slowing vehicle. The blonde man wound the window down as they came along side. The girls stopped and she could see their lips moving. Conversation. The blonde man got out. One of the girls sat in the front seat. The blonde man joined the other girl in the back. There was something about the girl Emily recognised, diffuse, intangible and abstract.
The trees. A woodland. A clearing or a track. The girl was leaning against the car shaking her head. The blonde man looked angry. He grabbed her arm and was twisting it. His right arm swung in an arc as he back handed her in the face. He grabbed at the neckline of the top she was wearing. The fabric ripped and her breasts were visible in the lights. The blonde man paused.
She was sitting there crying, begging and pleading.
The blonde man had the tights in his hand and he was twisting them and he wound it round and round and round her neck. She was struggling and the blonde man pulled and pulled and pulled.
They drove away. Leaving the two bodies half buried in the leaves. The blonde man had short hair and the beginnings of crows feet around his eyes. He had a tattoo. A female shape intertwined with the coils of snakes.
There was a room with the whole of the wall mounted with a mirror. There was a couch with straps and an arm rest set at right angles with the same straps. There was a glass topped trolley with tubes and a box. It reminded her of a sparsely equipped hospital room. It was tiled and white and there were men in uniforms with holsters and heavy pistols. And the vision would fade.
Every day the video became more persistent. The same freeze frame shots and grim re-enactment.
At times she was free of it and then she could think. “What is this? Who is this? What is this?”
Then it came to her. Within this darkness she could see. Outside of the darkness she would see with a dead man's eyes.
She could hear the footsteps of Mike Williams and Tom, and feel them by her. “We think it is time to release you. We need to bring you back into the world again.” She knew it was Tom who took the hand without the drips and tubes.
“You have done well. Not long, just a small prick in your hand.” He wiped her hand with a swab and she felt the sting from the needle. He had his fingers around her hand holding the syringe firmly with his thumb as he slowly pushed the plunger inwards. She could feel the fluid entering her body.
She wanted to breathe, but the machine maintained its control, forcing air into her lungs. She tried to rip at the tubing in her throat but her hand was gently restrained.
“Good. You can move again. That's what we wanted to see. Just relax and wait a moment.”
There was a click and the machine stopped its relentless pulse. She could feel him taking something away from her throat and she sucked in a big lungful of air. Mike was still holding her other hand as she lay there. He ripped quickly away at the binding holding the drip tubes in place and withdrew the needle. She wanted to speak but somehow words couldn't form.
“It won't be long now. I think..... I think we will let your husband remove the dressings over your eyes. You havn't seen him before and it will be the event to welcome you back.”
She was gently lifted into a sitting position. She could feel Tom unwinding the bandage, round and round and round. Intermittent shafts of light escaped past the loosening pads of cotton wool. The padding fell away and she could see her legs stretched out in front of her. “So that is what colours are”, she thought.
“Look at me." said Tom. “ Tell me what you think.”
She looked at him, taking in the blonde hair, the slight hint of crows feet around his eyes and the small tattoo, of a female shape intertwined with the coils of snakes, that was etched into his upper arm.
