12 NOVEMBER ’18
I am restless with energy, nervous at what I am about to attempt. Before breakfast I send for him.
He enters; he is wary and sullen. I guide him to the chair. Through the window the dawn is beginning to light the room.
My intention is to master his subconscious… with an overwhelming Idea.
I make a long pretence of examining his eyes once more. I tell him that, on this more careful examination, I can indeed discern physical injury caused by the gas.
He nods and clasps the iron cross pinned to his tunic, as if to tell me that he would never feign blindness to avoid duty.
I allow a long silence to intervene. Now, dropping my voice in the manner I use to put patients into a hypnotic trance, I speak slowly, telling him that no doctor in the world can help him now. There is no cure for blindness.
I watch his face fall into dejection, but I continue.
Rare indeed is the man who might overcome such an affliction, I tell him. But wonders do happen in nature, maybe only once or twice in the Age of Man-to those whom Providence shows especial grace, to truly exceptional men whose destinies she throws open to greatness. Ordinary men she does not see, I tell him, but you are no ordinary man.
He looks taken completely by surprise. As though I have voiced a profound truth about him, a truth known only to himself.
‘Yes.’ His voice is a whisper.
‘What need have you of medicine if you possess this rare essence, the will to rise to the call of Providence and all the power she bestows? To overcome the damage in your eyes, and use this power to see…’
Perspiration breaks out under the hair on his brow.
‘How?’
‘Trust in yourself absolutely. In your will. You alone can achieve this. See the sun in front of your eyes!’
His hands are agitated in his lap. He stands up; I take his elbow and turn him towards the window, where the first rays of the sun are shining through the bare trees.
‘Do it. See the brightness in front of you.’
He is in turmoil.
‘I see nothing,’ he says.
‘Open your mind,’ I say, raising my voice. ‘See everything. Let your will triumph. There is no limit to your will! ’
His breath quickens, and now I see that he might do it. So I shout at the top of my voice, ‘ Now, see it now! ’
The tension on his face is tremendous. Then his eyes flare like an animal’s exposed to bright light. The room is filling with light.
‘Yes… I see it,’ he says, his voice tight. ‘I see it.’ He turns quickly. He is seeing the desk, the books, the room.
I breathe with relief. He has done it! I have done it.
Laughing, I throw my hands in the air. I want to shake his hand and say well done.
But he is not smiling. He seems stunned, shaken to the core. His face has turned a dead white.
The large eyes focus on me now for the first time, as if I am a creature in an aquarium. They have a most unsettling effect. I wait for him to speak but he says nothing.
‘You have your sight,’ I say. ‘You’ll be an architect.’
My words seem to travel across a great chasm to reach him. ‘An architect,’ he whispers. ‘You think after this total… unpardonable betrayal, I would be an architect?’
I know he is speaking of the war. Standing in the light he begins to tremble all over, as if from extreme cold, and his breath comes in short gasps; then he covers his face with his hands and lets out a low cry, as though he is being reborn into the world.
Too surprised to speak, I wait until he is more composed.
Go back to the ward, I say.
Without thanking me, or uttering another word, he pulls open the door and leaves.
In those few moments I was more frightened of him than of my own father.