A Closed Book (13 page)

‘Yes, Paul, that’s clear enough. When do you want me to start?’

‘When we’ve finished what we still have to do. Or after lunch. Whichever comes first.’

‘Right.’

‘Oh, and John, see if you can put your hands on some little guide-book to Oxford’s gargoyles.’

‘Sorry?’

‘There are lots and lots of gargoyles in Oxford. On the college roofs, mostly. And since you obviously won’t be able to get a good look at them yourself, you’ll have to buy a guide-book. Every newsagent sells them.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not in the least. It’s what I’m here for. Besides, I haven’t been to Oxford for ages.’

‘Neither have I.’

He's gone. This needs some serious thought. But what precisely am I to think? Have I gone blind not only literally but figuratively? Am I becoming, as I feared I was becoming, stupid? Or is it perhaps the case that what John suggested is true? Accustomed to solitude as I am, accustomed to living in my own imaginative world (like an artist, indeed!), is it that I've started to see – to hear, to sense, whatever the appropriate verb might be – the latently abnormal in every manifestation of the overtly normal? When one comes down to it, the latent is all I know. If I no longer possess the humdrum human capacity to combine, harmoniously combine, the latent with the overt, the unfamiliar with the taken-for-granted, it's because, unlike those with eyes, there is absolutely nothing now that I can permit myself to take for granted. With John's presence, though, the overt, the taken-for-granted, has once more entered my life, and the balance is as yet so unequal everything suddenly feels askew, awry. John sits there calmly at the breakfast table, my breakfast table, describing a world to me which bears as little resemblance to the world I know as – yes! – as Holbein's ‘The Ambassadors' does to a Rembrandt self-portrait. The world I know, I say. But, after four years of no contact whatever with that world, four years of no newspapers, no wireless, no television and, above all, no interest, who knows what has happened
to it in the meantime? I can't help thinking of that whiskery old music-hall joke about British xenophobia – ‘Fog inChannel. Continent isolated'. Fog in my vision – to put it mildly. World isolated. Except that it's you yourself who're isolated, arsehole! You! You! You! It's you who've changed. The world described by John has changed less, far, far less, than you have. Oh, why did I allow myself to become such a recluse? Why didn't I
– ‘Now who on earth is that?'

‘Yes?'

‘Hello?'

‘I say, hello? Is someone there?'

‘Well, of course someone's here. Who are you?'

‘I'm from –'

‘Hold on, hold, will you. I'll get the door.'

‘Yes, yes? Who is it?'

‘Ah. I, uh … As I say, I'm from … uh …'

‘Speak up. Never seen a blind man before?'

‘Oh yes, I – that's to say, I assure you, it was just –'

‘For goodness sake, what is it? What do you want of me?'

‘Oh, well, I'm from your local Conservative Party Association. As you know – uh, as you probably know – we have elections – the local elections? – coming up
in a few days – and I was, I was, well, wondering, you know, I was wondering whether we could count on your support?'

‘You mean you got me up from –'

‘Yes, I'm – I'm tremendously sorry to have disturbed you. I – I didn't realize – well, thank you so much for your time.'

‘Wait.'

‘What?'

‘Wait there. Yes. Why, yes, there
is
something you can do for me. Look, why don't you come in?'

‘No, no, really, I can't. Thank you for – but, you do appreciate, I have several other –'

‘I'm not an ogre, I'm not going to eat you. Come in. It'll only take a minute.'

‘No, really no, I should be –'

‘What are you saying? You can't spare five minutes to be of service to a blind man?'

‘Ah. Well, I –'

‘Has the Conservative Party become so smug, so ungracious, so bereft of compassion, it can't even take the time to help out one of its less fortunate constituents?'

‘Well, uh, yes, when you put it like that. Yes, of course I must –'

‘Good. Then come in. We shall both catch cold chattering on the doorstep.'

‘Thank you. But only for a few minutes, you understand.'

‘Yes, yes, I know. Close the door behind you, if you don't mind.'

‘In here.'

‘Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. This is, uh …'

‘It's where I work. It's called a study.'

‘Aha. So this is where you work?'

‘With my amanuensis.'

‘With your …'

‘Now listen. At that Conservative Association of yours?'

‘Yes?'

‘There are computers, right?'

‘Uh, yes, of course. We're completely –'

‘Good. Ah, but wait, are they Big Macs?'

‘Are they what?'

‘Big Macs. Is it Big Macs you use or – Oh, bloody hell, I don't remember the name of the other sort.'

‘I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Big Macs are –'

‘Look. Look at this computer here.'

‘I'm looking.'

‘Recognize it?'

‘Of course, it's a – it's a Mac.'

‘Well, for God's sake, why have we been talking at cross purposes? So you do know it?'

‘Uh huh.'

‘Know how to use it?'

‘Yes. That's to say, I think so. It isn't quite the same model –'

‘But you can use it?'

‘Yes, yes, I can. What exactly is it you want of me?'

‘What I want of you – you know, you really ought to consult a doctor about that snorting of yours. It can't be healthy to snort as much as you do.'

‘Well now, look here, I –'

‘Sorry, sorry. A blind man is all ears, you know, all ears. But to come back to the computer, what I want you to do is switch it on.'

‘Switch it on? Just switch it on?'

‘Yes, just switch it on. I cannot myself, you understand. If you could do it for me, you'd be doing me a very great favour.'

‘You want it switched on now?'

‘Yes please.'

‘Well, uh, let's see here. I presume it's all plugged in at the back. Yes, yes, seems to be. Well, it should switch on just here. Like so.'

‘There it is.'

‘Ah yes. How well I know those chimes.'

‘Now, unless I'm mistaken, it'll take a few seconds for it to light up.'

‘That's right. It's just coming up now.'

‘Good, good.'

‘Well, Mr, uh – if that's all you – I'll – I'll be –'

‘No, no, stay. There's something more I need from you.'

‘Excuse me, you're hurting me.'

‘Am I? I'm sorry. But listen. Sit down here, will you?'

‘Now really, I just don't have the –'

‘Nonsense. I said it would be a matter of minutes and it will be.'

‘Well …'

‘Please just sit down.'

‘Oh well, all right.'

‘Good. Now tell me what you see.'

‘On the screen?'

‘On the screen.'

‘Well, for the moment not much. Just the usual icons. Hard disk. Anarchie. Documents. Launcher. Java. And the wastebasket, of course.'

‘What in heaven's name is all that?'

‘They're applications. They come with the computer. Would you like me to open up the hard disk?'

‘Is that what you're supposed to do?'

‘Look, I've done it already. Now I can see the list of folders and documents. Not that there are many. This computer hasn't been used much, has it?'

‘Hasn't it? It certainly feels as though it has.'

‘Well, there's next to –'

‘No, no, when I think of it, I suppose it hasn't. Tell me, do you see something called
A Closed Book
?'

‘A what?'

‘
A Closed Book
. Is there some – some folder or document titled
A Closed Book
?'

‘No. Nothing like that.'

‘Nothing at all? Are you sure?'

‘Quite sure.'

‘There must be. Take another look.'

‘I'm telling you, no. There's just the one folder. It's called
Truth
.'

‘
Truth
? Why, of course, yes, that would be it. Silly of me. John forgot to rename it.'

‘What?'

‘Never mind. Can you open it?'

‘Well, if you –'

‘Indulge me, please.'

‘It's open.'

‘Okay. Now read it.'

‘What? All of it?'

‘Just the first paragraph. Please.'

‘“I am blind. I have no sight. Equally I have no eyes. I am thus a” – uh –'

‘Go on, go on.'

‘“I am thus a freak. For blindness is freakish, is – is – surreal. Even more surreal than my blindness itself, however, is the fact that, having been dispossessed not only of my sight but my eyes –”'

‘“But
of
my eyes –”'

‘“But
of
my eyes, I continue to ‘see' nevertheless. What it is that I see may be ‘nothing' – I am blind, after all – but that ‘nothing' is, paradoxically, by no means beyond my powers of description. I see nothing, yet, amazingly, I am able to describe that nothing.”'

‘That's enough. Yes, that's fine, that's fine.'

‘Ah. Now, uh, I can't say how glad I've been to have – to have been –'

‘Bear with me for a few seconds more. Seconds, I do assure you, not even minutes.'

‘Well, all right, but –'

‘Just go to the end, will you?'

‘The end? The end of what?'

‘The last part of the file. You can do that, can't you?'

‘Ohhhh. Yes, I suppose I can. Let me – okay, I'm there. What now?'

‘Read to me again. Just start at some suitable place and read on. Please.'

‘Well then … I'll begin here, shall I? Um … “Paradoxically, perhaps, the question I have asked myself of
Sitting at the Feet of Ghosts
is not why it enjoyed the (for me) unparalleled commercial and critical success which it did – to be candid, I always knew that it was destined to please – but, rather, why I should have elected to write it at all. So utterly dissimilar to my other novels it is –”'

‘“
Is it
–”'

‘“So utterly dissimilar to my other novels
is it
, so superficially stylish and glamorous – I think of the period setting, of Venice, of the predominantly aristocratic milieu – that even now I have difficulty recognizing it as one of my own. Was it – by ‘it', I mean my original motivation – was it merely that, having been for so long described as a writer's writer, I craved just once in my career to be regarded as a reader's writer? Hardly. I claim neither knowledge nor understanding of the great invisible constituency of my readers.” Is that enough?'

‘No, no, not yet. Go on, please.'

‘“Or else did I hope to catch the collective eye of the theretofore indifferent critical fraternity? Again, hardly. It is, as I already knew, impossible to prejudge a critic's judgement unless –”'

‘Sorry, would you mind? “Prejudge” and “judgement” within the space of just two words. How could I
have let that pass? Change “prejudge” to “predict”, will you? No, wait. Change it to “anticipate”. Yes, “anticipate”. Do that now, will you?'

‘Really, I haven't –'

‘Just do it. It won't take a second.'

‘I've done it.'

‘Go on.'

‘“It is, as I already knew, impossible to anticipate a critic's judgement unless one happens to be cognizant of his tastes; and, in my experience, what the majority of critics like best is money. Or, finally, did I simply prefer to be a – a – a –whore than an old maid? In short, had I brazenly decided to, as they say, sell out? A third time, hardly. The writer who sells out always gets the better of the bargain, since his public is bound to feel short-changed and the work itself, in consequence, will not, cannot, endure. But I should doubtless not even try to comprehend my own novel's phenomenal popularity. How, after all, can I judge a work in which I myself am directly implicated? It would be exactly like the police force choosing to investigate its own corruption.” That's where it comes to an end.'

‘Thanks. Well, it all seems to be in order. Unless I've misremembered, it's word for word as I dictated it.'

‘Sorry, what?'

‘Nothing. Just a little nagging anxiety. Foolish,
really. Yes, thank you again. You read that very nicely.'

‘Well, thank
you
. Now can I go? I mean, would you mind if I went on my way? I really do have lots of other constituents to call on.'

‘Naturally you can go on your way.'

‘Thank you. By the way, you are a Conservative, aren't you?'

‘Me? I've never voted in my life.'

‘Well, really, I do think you might have –'

‘Come, come, my friend. You've just set a poor old blind man's mind at rest. You've done your good deed for the day.'

‘We're not the Boy Scouts, you know. But – yes, I'm – I
am
pleased to have been of assistance. So I'll just –'

‘Switch the thing off before you go, there's a good fellow.'

‘It's off now. So. I can't depend on your vote, I suppose?'

‘Absolutely not. This way, this way.'

‘I remember. Please, you're digging into my arm again. Do you mind?'

‘Just making sure you don't lose your way. Through here.'

‘Yes, yes, I know. Ow! I said, do you mind?'

‘Sorry, sorry. Oh, and incidentally, while I'm at it, it
is
Cook, isn't it? I mean, the prime minister?'

‘Cook?'

‘Roger Cook.'

‘Roger Cook?'

‘That's what I said. Roger Cook.'

‘Chap on television, you mean?'

‘Well, I'm scarcely likely to know that, am I? With these? Take a good look.'