He was one of the few people unafraid to make eye contact—so she knew immediately that he was blind.
“Fuglebakken,” the voice of the train lady announced just then, over the loud speaker. She was probably selected for the way she could roll her tongue around the “Fugle…”, and then spit out the “…bakken” in a hurry, as if she had a train to catch. Lata had this thought everyday as she made the trip from home to work. This thought came right before the thought that she had this thought every day.
Lata was standing squeezed into the small corridor between two compartments. And as usual, she was wearing the wrong kind of clothes. It was as if the Danish weatherman always played a private game with her: “Got you! Since you’ve forgotten your jacket today, the weather is going to be a moderate minus three degrees.” Or, “Travelling far? Let me help you by organizing a downpour. And hey, there is even a rainbow at the end.” Lata did not have any of these thoughts consciously, of course. She just felt the injustice in the same relentless way she felt the rain on her jacket-less days. Her clothes were an ode to her misery.
She stood suffocating in the small space—her black jacket too bulky for Danish summer, and too itchy. The shiny plasticity near the wrists had disintegrated into little sharp strips of cheapness and were now poking at her skin, a constant reminder that she gets nothing right. A few strands of grey hair had escaped the frayed rubber band clutching her mostly black, mostly curly hair, and now stood almost vertical—revolutionaries fighting a losing battle and waving their grey banner proudly, seconds before the rebellion was squashed and their bodies laid flat on a dark ground as grim reminders of Consequence. Lata put her hood up and squashed the rebellion.
It was peak hour in Copenhagen—meaning seven thirty on a weekday morning. But peak hour never lasted an hour here. The crowds would clear out within a few stops, and she would be free to spend the rest of the journey looking out of the window or devising strategies for how to get out of the train without lifting her head up and making eye contact with the people around her. There was a sensor above each compartment door that didn’t work too well—the doors sometimes opened only if she lifted her arms above her and waved them around directly beneath the dunce sensor’s nose, so to speak. This always made her “walk-out-with-bent-head” plan more difficult as she would have to simply guess when to do the whole arm-lifting exercise, and then do it, head still bent, even simple social skills ready for decapitation.
“Let’s just put it this way—the arm-lifting and the head-bowing don’t exactly go together,” Lata told the voice in her head.
“Can you just look down now?”
“Okay.”
So, Lata looked down and saw a black Labrador. One of those dogs to guide blind people.
“Oh right, I had forgotten about the blind man.”
“How is he even standing in this small place rocking with people and your emotions?”
“Ha ha, funny.”
The dog was not afraid to make eye contact. Like his (or her) owner. And unlike Lata. Now, Lata had a new problem. If she looked down, she had to make eye contact with the dog with soulful eyes. If she looked straight ahead or sideways– the whole world stared back. She decided to look at the blind man. He wouldn’t notice.
“Smaaaaaart girl.”
“Thank you. But please don’t do your humorous accent now.”
It was disconcerting to look at his sunglasses. What did his eyes look like? Just then he said something to her in Danish. Or perhaps to everyone in general. But Lata stood closest to him. Lata didn’t understand Danish. The voice in her head didn’t understand either.
She shaped her mouth into an “O” and looked questioningly at him, before realizing he couldn’t see her expression. She could feel the stares of the people standing around her, burning holes into her. Holes of judgement. Stupid. What a nitwit. Couldn’t she give him an answer – some answer? Is everyone this stupid in her country?
“Take a deep breath and form the words – I am sorry, I don’t speak Danish.”
“Right. I am sorry, I don’t…”
“Say it aloud, idiot!”
“I am —”
Somebody moved just then to give the blind man a much-coveted spot in the crowded corridor. A spot where one could lean one’s backside against the cushioned yet hard panel covered in dark blue fabric with yellow swirls of nobody-cares floating around the blue. All this next to a dustbin from which hangs a paper bag flaked with yesterday’s croissant. Still, one could lean one’s backside.
“Well, a backside such as yours needs something bigger to lean on!”
“My backside is not as big as your mouth.”
The man said, “Tak!” as his backside took the spot.
Lata stepped over the dog’s tail as the dog readjusted itself. Two people waved at the sensor, stepped out of the compartment and joined the corridor clan.
“Take it! Two seats are free now! One for you and one for me!”
“You didn’t get a ticket, so no seat either!”
“Malicious @#$%&!”
“I love how you beep out stuff even when it’s just me listening to your crap!”
“Take the $%@# seat, will you!”
Lata waved her arms erratically at the sensor and almost hit the blind man. The dog’s eyes looked at her—only borderline soulful now. Like a soul who has been to heaven and back, and realizes it's nothing to get all soulful about. A forty-something lady next to her gave her a cold look, enough to turn the varicose veins in her legs a darker shade of blue.
Lata went inside the compartment and was about to take a seat next to the door when she stopped. Here was a chance to redeem herself—to prove to all these people that she was a nice person, a person worthy of appreciation.
She called out to the blind man in English, “Would you like a seat?”
Miraculously, he understood the question was directed at him. His backside perked up enthusiastically, and he moved towards her voice, exclaiming, “Yes, thank you! I have a long way to travel.”
“I have a looong way to travel! Travel-shavel! Who cares? How dare you give the seat to him?”
“It won’t kill you to be nice for a change.”
“I am sorry, is there a problem?” he hesitated, unsure where to go next.
“No no, please sit …”
His face beamed. Lata knew the eyes behind his sunglasses were kind. She just knew it. And now she felt waves of shyness overwhelm her. She was drowning. People were staring at her and watching her drown.
“No lifeguard to save me from myself...”
“Drama queen… that’s always been your problem.”
“Shut up! Okay, deep breath! They know I am a good person. Now, they know…”
“They know you’re a show-off… trying to show everyone how you’re better than everybody else. Giving your seat… and mine… when everybody else is sitting!”
“Left, or right?” the man asked, pausing in the aisle.
“Left.”
“It’s right, stupid! The empty seats are on your left, but his right!”
But the man seemed to know anyway. Guided by his dog, he turned right—his right— and sat down near the window. The dog plonked itself down next to him, occupying the floor space of a second passenger.
Lata felt her ears burn with embarrassment—she couldn’t even guide the man to his seat. Everybody had noticed her failure. “Embrace the embarrassment”, she felt the words of her spiritual guru clang around in her head. She usually listened to self-help tapes as she walked with her head down. She was determined to follow the advice today.
“And don’t you dare follow me!”
As she moved to speak to the blind man, her feet brushed against the dog.
“Beautiful dog. Are you traveling far?”
“Thank you. Yes, till the last stop,” the man answered gently.
“I am getting off after two stops. That’s where I work.”
“So, where do you work?” the man asked kindly.
“I work at a pharmacy.”
“Worked. Worked. Before you started loading up on all the pills. Why don’t you tell him that?”
“I am actually an engineer… from another country, you see.”
“He can’t see, stupid!”
“I don’t know the language. I was doing fine for some time. Looking for jobs. Even got one. Trying to make friends.”
The man nodded in appreciation.
“I made a friend. A good friend. In fact, almost my boyfriend, you know?”
The man seemed to know. Encouraged, she continued. “A Dane—with the bluest eyes but the darkest lashes. We even made love... just once, but. A few more times, who knows, maybe I could have called him my boyfriend. But we didn’t. So, I couldn’t!”
“Couldn’t stand you after that one time, could he? A man of good taste, obviously.”
“Shut up. I remember we sat together afterwards on the bed. The bed still rocking, just like this train. His eyelashes thick and dark and silky in the lamplight. Black and flowing, like curtains blocking out the light. I wanted to draw the curtains, and let some light in. I could feel the darkness, you see. Like a physical thing, constricting me. Just coiling around—waves beneath my skull, pounding against my head. If I could just feel the light, the air! So, I opened the curtains.”
The man stared.
“Do you understand why I opened his curtains?” Lata drooled anxiously for approval.
The man stared.
“Afterwards, we sat. His eyes were so red. Blood, you might say. I say anger. Have you seen anger flow through white sheets? Of course not, you can’t see. But why are you staring then?”
“When a blind person stares, is it still called staring?”
“Quiet! I am talking to him.”
“Oooh, I am not your favoured one anymore?”
The man smiled with amusement, “Not staring, just resting my eyes.”
“Right, sitting around not seeing the #¤%& that happens in this world can be exhausting!”
“Stop talking, get out of the train!”
The man stared at her and said, “And then…?”
“And then, something happened, or perhaps... nothing happened. The darkness settled in me—along with the winter. I felt it drill into my brain, and flow beneath my five hundred and seventy fifth hair on the left side of my scalp.”
“I couldn’t %¤&#/# sleep at nights with all that insane counting!”
“Shut up, and let me talk! So… I lost my job. Now, I work at the pharmacy. I work till five in the evening…”
“You do? News to me!”
“… then I go home and have soup. But the darkness is always there.”
The man smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry. It’s summer now. The darkness is gone.”
“But the darkness is always there.”
“You know what is always there? Your nagging voice!”
The dog whimpered.
“But the darkness is always there.”
A high-pitched female voice interrupted Lata in Danish. Lata made her “O” expression. The voice switched to English.
“Madam, I’ve been asking you to leave. You’re the only one on the train now. This is the last stop.”
“What?”
“And don’t forget your dog. Here, let me help you—your sunglasses are slipping off.”
“Sunglasses?”
“But why? When the darkness is always there?”
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