Madam, are you sure? a man’s voice, pleading, floated through the receiver.
Very well, lets give it a try, I replied with a hint of indulgence.
I was twenty, a student at the University of Manchester, hunting for parttime work. In the Sunday Chronicle I spotted a notice: Blind lecturer seeks assistant. A sudden pity for the unseen scholar made me dial the number at once.
The next morning I stood before a modest terraced house in Camden. I knocked timidly; the door swung open to reveal a man whose eyes were dark voids.
Come in, miss. What shall I call you? the blind man asked, his voice fluttering.
Emma, I said, cheeks flushing.
Edward Whitaker. He smiled, though I could not see it.
I need your help, Emma. Your perfume is intoxicating. I teach history at King’s College and would like you to read my lecture notes aloud each evening; I will commit them to memory. I have three classes a week. Deal, Emma? he insisted, and the name Emma would forever be his preferred address for me.
Inside, the flat was immaculate, stripped of clutter. Edward, no older than forty, was handsome, impeccably dressed, and possessed a strange, magnetic pull.
Lets get started, Edward, I said, eager to dive into the work.
September slipped into February, then May, and the university broke for holidays. Edward released me until the following September. I fled to Brighton, the sea swallowing my thoughts of the blind tutor. Within a week I met a young solicitor, Henry, and we became engaged. The wedding was set for early autumn.
At the end of August, Edwards voice crackled through my phone.
Emma, please come tomorrow.
I cant, Im getting married, I replied, bright with anticipation.
Getting married already? Youre rushing, disappointment tinged his tone. Please, Emma, do come.
Fine, Ill stop by, I muttered, yielding reluctantly.
The next day, the waning August sun cast long shadows over the cobbles.
Your bewitching scent, Emma. Come in, Edward greeted me at the hallway.
My fiancé loves it too, I said, absurdly.
Emma, shall we keep working together for another academic year? I cant manage without you. he pleaded, his voice soft.
Very well, lets begin, I answered, businesslike.
The more time I spent with Edward, the less I wanted to marry Henry. I retrieved the pending marriage licence from the registry office and returned it, telling the solicitor I was withdrawing. After all, a bride is not a wife; she can unbetroth herself.
Soon we slipped into familiar terms. While I recited his notes, Edward would gently clasp my hand, his unseen eyes rolling in a silent reverie, inhaling the heady perfume that clung to me. It felt warm and safe, as if we floated together in some secret alcove of the mind.
One icy evening I arrived shivering, pleading for a hot drink. Edward settled me into his wingback chair, wrapped a woollen throw around my ankles.
Sit, Emma, Ill be right back, he said, disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with a tray, feeling his way to the table, placing it with care. Orange segments glimmered beside a crystal tumbler of brandy.
Drink, Emma, it will warm you, he urged.
I sipped slowly, eyes drifting to his profile, longing to embrace this unusual man, to cradle his vulnerability. The brandy slipped down, and Edward leaned in, kissing me fiercely, pulling me close.
Stay with me, Emma. Ill give you an entire world. Dont laugh.
Im not laughing, Edward. Youre so tender! My head spins, I whispered, feeling a sweet heat settle over me.
He whispered, his fingertips just grazing my skin:
The blind hear everything, the deaf see all.
The following morning, Edwards mother, Mrs. Whitaker, arrived as she did each sunrise, humming as she prepared breakfast. She glanced at me in the bed without surprise.
Good morning, love. Emma and I are still in bed, Edward announced cheerfully.
No trouble at all, dear. Ill have breakfast ready in a jiff, she replied, smiling as she moved to the stove.
Later, as we sipped tea and nibbled toast, I asked,
Edward, I climbed the night sky last night. Is that possible?
Emma, Im scared Ill grow accustomed to you. Yet I know youre not truly mine. How sad, my dear, he mused.
Mrs. Whitaker called out,
Breakfast is ready, children!
We laughed, drank coffee, and ate.
Thank you, Mum. I have a lecture later; Ill be off to prepare. Emma, Ill see you later, Edward said, padding back to his armchair.
When the door closed, Mrs. Whitaker leaned close and whispered:
Emma, my son has truly fallen for you. Youve brought a slice of heaven into his world; I dont want him to taste any more hell. As they say, you dont put a blind man in charge of a carriage. Please, dont crush his spirit. You have a sighted life ahead. Every blind man believes hell suddenly see. My Edward is already ruined. Dont add to my grief. Dont come back, dear. Ill find a way to soothe him.
I stood bewildered, torn. I knew Edwards affection was fleeting; he would never ask me to marry him. Yet I could not abandon him instantly. I had fallen for him, heart and soul.
So I began visiting only when his mother was away, avoiding her sharp gaze.
A year passed, our bond grew tighter, unbreakable. The blind man gave me a kind of light. I told friends I was to wed a blind man. Then, one day, Edward called:
Emma, we must part. I set you free. Leave now.
My grief was boundless; love shattered into fragments. I wept, screamed, felt bewildered. I thought I could not survive the separation. Edward, however, remained oblivious to the nightmare that unfolded in my mind.
I married twice after thateach time a blaze of passion, love, and turmoil. No other man matched Edwards strange, haunting allure.
