by Don Wilcox
“What’s that funny sound?” someone asked.
“That’s when the rain began to spatter down and we closed the hoods over us. And that’s where the record ended.”
“But what was that last noise that sounded like a kiss?” one of the youngsters asked.
“It’s time for you children to get to bed,” Miss Yost snapped.
During the robotcycle rides of ensuing days Linda learned rapidly. She took in the symphony of dial sounds with keen ears, played them over on records, dreamed them at night. Dave was a good teacher. He gave her practice at the controls and she learned to get around in the suburban neighborhood she knew. But never guessed how soon a serious task would fall upon her.
Dave chilled at the strange feeling in his eyes. He said nothing, waited a day—two—three. His eyes grew tired, dim. Perhaps the time was near.
As if to deny the horror he felt, he told no one. His evenings with Linda were too rapturous now to blight with a mention of his tragedy. Time enough for that.
Then, without any further warning, came the fatal night. They started home from an open air concert in Grant Park. Linda listened to the singing instrument board as people moved past them. They hesitated until the crowd thinned, then moved out into the stream of motor traffic. Their craft had long since proved itself highway-worthy.
“I must be off our route,” Dave commented apprehensively.
“No,” said Linda, intent upon the instruments, “this is right.” They floated along slowly.
“I wonder why so many cars are driving without lights,” Dave complained. Again Linda took exception.
He became nettled, nervous. “The instrument board has gone haywire.” He rolled the craft out onto the shoulder, stopped, got out, gasped. “Great stars! Our own lights are off. Everything’s dead black. What do you suppose—?”
His own words told him the answer. Linda knew too. The shock of finding everything suddenly black was a familiar nightmare with her. Dave was blind.
So this was the tragic moment he had rehearsed in his mind so often. Until now he thought he was prepared for this emergency. Here was the robot-cycle he’d put hundreds of dollars into to do his bidding. But curiously, cold reality froze his faculties. He was seemingly paralyzed. The craft’s controls he had wielded so deftly as long as his eyes kept working, now defied him. His hands went limp.
It was late, but the cars still streamed by on the outer shore drive. Here they sat, tragedy stricken, blind, both of them.
But not stranded. For Linda had learned the dial sounds without benefit of sight. She and Dave changed places.
An hour later, having rounded the Loop, they rang at an apartment house for Eddie Biddle, who gladly came to the rescue, escorted them to their separate homes.
Dark days at last. A crisis in anyone’s life. In spite of Dave’s iron constitution, his loyal friends, his sympathetic sweetheart, the reality of blindness shook him. New troubles bombarded him too fast for him to remember that, had he escaped this fate, he would never have won Linda.
Linda understood his trials, eased his fall, led him step by step into the ways of darkness. She felt a glow of pride in having a personal responsibility. How much more vital and personal than her one former self-expression, music. Here she was actually needed as a companion and mate. She counted the days until the house would be finished and they would be married.
An electric organ went into the house.
Linda contributed everything she could to Dave’s fund. She saved and sacrificed on every corner. Her small inheritance from her parents was in the care of Mother Rafferty’s Home, and Mr. Sleem refused to release it to her until she finished her courses. However, Miss Yost advanced a loan on it, and Linda invested it.
Dave’s first month of blindness came to an end. It did not bring him ease over his new situation. He was sensitive about his eyes, covered them with blindfolds.
At last the house was ready. Tomorrow he would marry Linda. Life would then be as perfect as it could be for a blind person. A lovely wife, fine friends, a specially arranged house, robot transportation, and soon a workshop, an occupation—what more could a blind man ask of life?
Such was Dave’s outlook on that memorable Saturday in midsummer when, as he changed his blindfold, he looked up to see the afternoon sun glaring over the housetops . . . looked up to see the sun glare . . . to see—!
His sight restored! By what miracle he neither knew nor cared. The bald fact was there. He could see again! His blindness was gone!
He cried the news to the rooftops. Strob and Eddie were floored. He phoned it to his physician who, to his utter surprise, confessed he half expected it. “Your worries are over,” he said.
He leaped into his robotcycle—force of habit—and sped southward. He would deliver the great news to Linda in person.
Down the outer shore drive he spun at high speed. But as the instruments sang their weird harmonies, sober second thoughts filtered into his mind. A sudden sickness came over him—a feeling that he was headed for a crash.
Not a robotcycle smash-up. Something far more serious.
CHAPTER IV
Sleem’s iron Fist
Tomorrow Linda would become Mrs. David Melbourne and everything would be different.
But today was just another revolting day in Mother Rafferty’s Home. The same old ugly troubles, only worse. Ironical, it seemed to Linda, that with her personal happiness so nearly perfect she should still be mired down in this awful hole.
To everyone else but Linda, Sleem was more disagreeable than ever. He was suave and polite to her. It burned her up that he thought he could still break up her match, keep her here.
Since Mother Rafferty’s death last week, he had seized the reins, stiffened his old disciplines. New rules. New punishments. While the inmates still mourned the death of their benefactor he clamped the new regime on them. He was the superintendent now. Mother Rafferty had signed the leadership over to him in her last hour.
His first official act was to fire Miss Yost without notice. Linda was shocked. She owed the matron money. Miss Yost would need it now.
But Linda’s appeal to Mr. Sleem for her inheritance money only met with polite refusal. Though her courses were finished, he trumped up other obligations for her. She hadn’t made her quota of baskets, she hadn’t fulfilled her hours of housework, she owed the home some more organ concerts. In the meantime he would keep the money on deposit for her at interest.
She seethed with rebellion but held her tongue. Dave would be here soon. He would soothe her, help her find the way out. Then tomorrow—she would be out of this mess for good.
Her ears caught a familiar click from the street. Dave locking the robotcycle. His footsteps on the walk were good to hear. How much more confidence than he had during his first weeks of blindness!
There was a strange excitement in his manner as they went into the reception room together.
“We’ve got so many things to talk about,” he began, adding, “in confidence.”
She gave his hand a warning pressure. There might be someone in the room. He nearly forgot that. She reminded him that the blind do well to survey the premises before they sit down to talk in confidence. He was strangely impatient as they did so.
“Tomorrow you can forget that rule,” he said. “We’ll have the privacy of our own home. All this fear of being watched will be over. And you’ll be through with Sleem forever.”
“I hope so,” she trembled, then poured out her troubles and fears.
“Don’t worry, dear,” he comforted. “There’s nothing to keep you from running out of this place—even tonight if you want to.”
“We could elope,” she laughed. “That would be one for the papers—two blind persons successfully elope!”
Two blind persons! Dave looked at her, bit his lips, held his breath. It was gloriously good to see her again, yet he scarcely trusted himself to look at her. He was on thin ice. He must tell her at once. Great stars! How he hate
d to break into her rhapsody.
“Oh, Dave!” She drew close to him. “I can’t tell you how happy you make me. This is the way it had to be for me. Both of us in the same world, even though it’s a dark world. Love has to be equal. I know it’s been dreadful for you to have to go blind, Dave, but if it had to be—I’m thankful you came my way. I—Pm trying to tell you I couldn’t marry you if you weren’t blind.”
She put her fingers to his forehead, brushed them lightly over his eyelids. His heart pounded audibly.
“Linda,” Dave’s low voice throbbed. He couldn’t think of losing her. In all the furious turmoil that fought within his mind, he never slipped for an instant on that point. Linda was the most important thing in the world to him now.
“What is it, Dave?”
“Linda, I—” He shuddered to say what he must say. Another word or two and her castle would shatter. Dreams, plans, home, robotcycle, electric organ—all would crash to the earth in a heap, and crush Linda to the very soul. His nerves went soft. “Linda—we’re going to be very happy.”
That was all he could say. She nestled her head against his shoulder trustingly.
Light footfalls sounded at the door.
“Sleem,” Dave whispered. “He’s coming in.” Linda gave a start. Dave quickly added, “I’ve learned his footstep.”
That was nearly a bad break. Did Linda suspect he could see again? Dave felt the perspiration pour over him.
The footsteps moved away. “We’re alone again,” Dave said casually.
“Are you sure?” There was nothing suspicious in her tone, yet Dave found her words accusing. He must sidetrack her doubts. Her words burned in his mind. “I couldn’t marry you if—” Like a great weight placed upon his head came the realization that she must never know. He would play blind for her through the coming days, even down through the years if necessary. He must hold her illusion together at all costs.
Her hand brushed across the table top, picked up a fleshy volume printed in braille, turned the crusty pages carelessly. “Read to me, Dave. Something soothing.”
He kept his eyes off the open page, passed his trembling fingers over the raised letters, pronounced the words slowly as they came to him.
“Never . . . deceive . . . a . . . blind . . . person . . . for . . . in . . . doing. . . so . . .”
He stopped, mopped a clammy hand over the back of his neck. “You’re not reading as well as you did the last time,” she murmured, “but I love to hear you. Please go on.”
“Let’s find something else,” he suggested hoarsely.
“But I liked that paragraph, Dave. Try it again.”
“Never . . . deceive . . . a . . . blind . . . person . . . for . . . in . . . doing. . . so . . . you . . . destroy . . . his . . . confidence . . . forever.”
Something within Dave tore loose. He slapped the book shut. “Silly stuff!” he roared. Springing up in a fit of torment, he pounded across the room to the window.
He stood there for minutes despising himself. Linda must have guessed as soon as he came. She had picked that paragraph to catch him. He’d fallen into the trap, admitted by his actions that he wasn’t blind. No blind person would dash across the room the way he did. What a mess he’d made of things. It was too late to say anything now.
Suddenly a sound from the street distracted him. Clanging metal. He fixed his eyes on a blurred sight in the thickening darkness. Dusty!—at the robotcycle, pounding it with something!
“Well, I’ll be—! DUSTY!!!” His sharp cry was lost on the half-witted creature. He flew through the room shouting, “That idiot’s smashing up the robotcycle!” He stormed out, left Linda in the red air of his anger. Reaching the street, he snatched the hammer out of Dusty’s hands, demanded, “Where’d you get this?”
Dusty only grinned.
“This looks like a put-up job to me. Speak up, you idiot! Where’d you get this hammer?”
Dusty couldn’t speak. He could only act. He broke and ran as hard as he could go. Dave glanced at the damages. The shatterproof glass in the hood had given in a few places. Dents over the metal surfaces. Some electric eyes broken, neons smashed. No telling how much the delicate instruments might be injured.
Linda held her head in her hands. The echoes of Dave’s trouble with Dusty terrified her, and she listened intently. Then the sounds ceased, except for Dave’s footsteps. The hurricane of troubled thoughts rushed over her again.
Before her was the hardest decision she would ever have to make. She must decide at once. Dave was madly in love with her. He would have carried out a costly deception for her if he could have. What extreme devotion and sacrifice—but how foolhardy! She shuddered to think what a narrow escape. Dave was the one to be considered. He had his career before him again, as bright as in the days before she met him.
She tried to peer into the future years, tried to see the two of them together. All she could see was Dave watching her through his good eyes, his love changed to pity, his career dragged in the dust—lying to her bravely, but inwardly sick of his bargain. No. It couldn’t be!
True, the marriage of many blind and sighted couples was very satisfactory. But she knew she and Dave were not fitted for such an arrangement.
She must send him away. At once. Before her devotion to him overpowered her resolve. It was her turn to deceive—to lie—to act—as never before. Send him away with all the strength of her love.
She thought she could feel the blaze of his eyes as he strode in. The smashed robotcycle hurt him. As if a friend had been crushed. He paced about, indignant, swinging his fists, thirsting for an outlet for pent up fury. He knew well enough who was back of the crime.
“Not that I’ll ever need the robotcycle any more,” he muttered bitterly. Linda waited silently until he could bring himself back to the more agonizing, more elusive issue. Then she spoke.
Her words were cool and penetrating. “You’re not blind any longer, Dave. What do the doctors say? Have you really recovered?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know how lucky you are. Why don’t you run away from me and never come back? Find some girl who is your equal—”
“‘Linda, don’t! I couldn’t think of it!”
“Then we may as well face the facts, Dave. I can’t go on pretending to love you. It was good fun as long as we were fighting blindness together, going places in the robotcycle, planning conveniences we both needed. But we’re not on an equal footing anymore. Any feeling I have left toward you can’t be love. Please remember that. You must return to your own world now. I must remain in mine.”
There was nothing in her words that
Dave could resent. Only the sting of his own deceit burned him. He knew this was final. He must face the truth—Linda was lost to him forever.
The blow was almost too much. Had it only come from something physical that he could fight back at—but this came from his misfortune to regain his sight—from pretending to be blind—from the idealism of this lovely blind creature. He stood before her a stifled volcano, boiling with agony yet powerless to explode.
Then E. Caspar Sleem walked in, barked something about keeping order—and the lid blew off. Dave fairly plunged at him, shouted his repressed fury.
“You put Dusty up to that trick, you skunk! I saw you watching him!” His fingers seized a handful of Sleem’s shoulder.
The arrogant master was ready for this showdown, had looked forward to it. But not as a physical combat. He squirmed out of Dave’s hand, stepped away haughtily, dipped into his pocket for his spectacles case.
“We’ve had enough of you around here, Melbourne.” He jammed his pince-nez on his nose. “You’ve made nothing but trouble for this institution since the day you came.”
“What about that damage on the robotcycle?” Dave cracked, crowding toward him.
“That’s no business of mine!”
“You put him up to it!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
> “You lie, Sleem!”
Linda cried, “Dave—please!”
Sleem seized his advantage. “You’ve annoyed Linda enough, Melbourne, coming here day after day, pretending to be blind!”
“Why you—Dave caught him by the collar, seized the spectacles, slid them onto the table, then hurled him across the room. He went into the wall with a jolt, shrank backward, his puffy lips trembling.
“Get out, Melbourne! Get out or I’ll call the police!” His command was a wail of desperation.
“Call them! I’d be delighted!”
There was no bluffing Dave. But one strategy was effective and Sleem came back to it. “You can’t act this way in Linda’s presence. I order you to go!”
“I’ll go when Linda tells me to, not before,” said Dave, cooling a little.
“Then please go, Dave,” the girl said. Her words brought a leaden silence.
“All right . . . I’ll go.” His voice acknowledged his final defeat. He trudged out.
Dusty, lurking outside the reception room door, grinned at him as he passed. Sleem’s boastful snarl echoed after him. “If he ever comes back again I’ll break his head in.”
Linda quickly retreated to her room, sobbing.
Dusty skipped along a few steps back of Dave, followed him through the front door, picked up the iron cat that served as a door stop, hurled it, grinned with satisfaction as the missile struck its mark. The form retreating into the darkness fell, tried to rise, stumbled off crazily.
CHAPTER V
Dave Follows Through
Early the next morning a truck stopped before Mother Rafferty’s Home, loaded up the mutilated robotcycle, drove off.
Later that forenoon a doctor walked down the ramp from Dave’s newly finished home, got into his car, departed.
Strob and Eddie, who lived across the street, did not see him. Eddie stood before a tie rack, tried to pick one of Strob’s winter neckties to go with his own new summer suit.
“What time they supposed to get married?” he asked.
