Mind's eye

8

Why didn’t they come?

That question cropped up the day after, but not until nearly evening. The day had passed, hour after hour, in a sort of glassy trance, a state of utter confusion; but as soon as thoughts had succeeded in breaking through, that was the question that registered first.

Why had he heard nothing from them?

Another night passed. And another day.

Nothing happened. He went to work, did what he had to do, went back home in the evening. His strength was returning fast and problem-free, and he knew that a confrontation wouldn’t cause him any bother at all.

But nothing happened.

After a week the ridiculous question was still nagging him. He thought there must be some kind of mistake-perhaps they had come looking for him but failed to find him.

Neither at home nor at work.

This was just as ridiculous, of course, but nevertheless he stayed at home for a few days during the second week. Told his employers that he had a stomach upset, and stayed in all the time.

To make certain that they could find him.

In any case, he needed the rest. He sat in his apartment day after day, and let all the circumstances tick over in his mind.

And suddenly, everything fell into place. He realized how the whole of his life had been leading up to exactly this. Realized that he ought to have caught on much sooner. It would have saved him a lot of trouble. He realized that this was his escape route, and that there was no other possibility. It was now so obvious that he was forced to give his head a good shaking to make up for his blindness.

She was dead. Now he could live.

And nothing happened.

No unknown voice telephoned and asked him to answer some questions. No stern-looking men in damp trench coats knocked on his door. Nothing.

What were they waiting for?

He occasionally stood behind the curtains and peered down at the street, looking for mysterious parked cars. He listened for the telltale little click confirming that his phone was being tapped. He read all the newspapers he could get hold of, but nowhere. . nowhere could he find even a hint of an explanation.

It was incomprehensible.

After three weeks it was still just as incomprehensible, but he had grown used to it. The situation wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

The uncertainty brought with it a little tingling feeling.

That tingling.

The morning the trial was due to start he got up early.

Stood for ages in front of the bathroom mirror, smiling at his own reflection. Toyed with the idea of going there. Sitting in the public gallery, gaping at all the goings-on.

But he knew that would be going too far. Tempting fate.

Why tempt something that had treated him so favorably?

In the car, on the way to work, he suddenly found himself singing.

It wasn’t yesterday. He looked at his eyes in the rearview mirror. There was a sparkle in them.

And as he waited at a red light, he saw out of the corner of his eye the woman in the Volvo alongside him turning her head to smile at him.

He swallowed, and felt his passions rising.