(by Norman Heldon)
John Lewis, lighthouse keeper at Tongue Point, let his gaze sweep over the water below. The wind and the sea, that had wrestled together in mighty combat through the night, now lay spent and exhausted and all was calm. He trained his binoculars on a tiny boat.
"Marge," he cried, "there's a man in that boat and he could be badly hurt.
The mast is broken and lying across his back. I'll get the boat out."
She took a quick look herself.
"I'll come with you, " she said.
A few hours later Julian Bessemer recovered consciousness; in a soft bed, he realised. Then his eyes, mistily at first, took in some details of the room, white walls, on one a picture of birds flying in V formation, a writing desk with books above it, brown carpet, a large curtained window.
He did not see at first the girl standing by the window, her dress blue like the curtain. She moved to walk from the room and he was too surprised to speak, but after she had gone he reflected that she was very pretty.
Even a slight movement caused pain so he lay still. A few moments later a middle aged woman entered, the girl following.
"Yvonne told me you were awake," the woman said, smiling.
"But I gave no sign of it, I'm sure."
"The other senses of the blind are very acute. I suppose you wonder where you are. This is the Tongue Point Lighthouse, I am Mrs Lewis, the keeper's wife, and this is our daughter Yvonne."
"Good morning, Yvonne," he said, the girl acknowledging his greeting with a smile.
"My husband and I rescued you the morning after that terrible storm," Mrs Lewis said. "It was one of the worst we're ever seen."
"I'm very grateful," said Julian.
He had been keenly observing Yvonne. She was tall and slim, with golden hair framing a face in which character and beauty blended, then falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her face had such a serene look it made him think of a calm lake in moonlight.
"A doctor has been to see you," Mrs Lewis said, "You will have to stay here for some time."
"Why is that?"
"There are a hundred and fifty steps to the road for one thing, and you have a broken leg, probably a back injury, and you must have got a nasty knock on the head when the mast fell."
"You and Mr Lewis saved my life then."
"Mr Lewis is not here now. He went with the doctor, who thinks he might need an operation."
"There's a phone beside the bed. No doubt you will want to get in touch with your folks."
"Thanks. I live with my mother. My dad died about a year ago. Cherie won't be coming here; she gets car sick easily."
"Cherie? "queried Yvonne.
Julian smiled. "That's my mother; family and close friends call her that.
She's French."
He added, "Mrs Lewis, I'm afraid I'll be a burden."
"Not at all. Yvonne is very capable; she will help to look after you while I'm busy with lighthouse duties."
"But you know nothing about me," he protested.
"We know quite a bit. Your story has been in newspapers, on T.V. and radio. You are Julian Bessemer, well-known tennis player, and former executive with the Pacific Oil Company."
"Former is right, and that's the reason for my being in that silly little boat. I'd better give you the full story."
"You don't have to."
"I'd like to, if you don't mind listening."
"Well," he went on, "I was ambitious and keen, a few steps below one of the top jobs."
Yvonne noticed bitterness creeping in.
"I had a couple of rivals, friendly I thought, but I was a bit ahead.
Then, at a conference, one I believe, slipped something into my drink and I passed out.. It was assumed that I was drunk, and that meant the end of my career, in that field anyway. I took it badly and went on a drinking spree. To straighten myself out, get away from the rat race, and for other vague reasons like proving myself a man, I bought that little boat, Water Baby, and set off to sail right around the country. So, here I am, still a failure."
"You shouldn't talk like that," said Yvonne, sharply. "It wasn't your fault, and besides, you ought to take up the challenge."
"Yvonne," said Mrs Lewis, quickly, "let's get some breakfast for Mr Bessemer, he must be famished."
Julian was a bit startled at being rebuked by the blind girl, though he thought that it was all very well for her to criticise for the storms of life would have swept by and left her untouched, protected by her blindness.
To cheer himself up he phoned his mother.
During the next few weeks, recuperating and getting about with the aid of a crutch, Julian watched Yvonne, as she did household duties, almost as capably as if she could see. She was always neatly dressed, and did her hair in various ways. Sometimes it was plaited, or caught with a clasp at the back, but more often, as he preferred, it cascaded over her shoulders.
Once he commented on a very tasty meal.
"Your mother's a good cook, Yvonne."
"Yes she is," she replied, "but I cooked this one."
"You did?"
"Yes, I can thank my parents for making me self-reliant. They were patient but firm."
They talked a lot. She was especially interested in music and literature, but liked to hear his talk about sport too. Julian was amazed at her wide interests, and found himself almost forgetting her blindness.
One morning he stood by the living room window when she came in.
"It is a beautiful morning, Yvonne. I've been watching white clouds caressing the tops of the hills, and from the gullies mists are rising,like steam from boiling pools."
"That's a poetic description," she said.
"Oh, anyone would wax poetic over this scene. On the horizon dim blue clouds look like a mysterious land; the sun has thrown a million diamonds on the sea and it is sparkling and friendly looking."
"Thank you; I can imagine it."
"You wouldn't think," he said, his tone changing, "that it is the same sea that was trying to drown me. It reminds me of that so-called friend who drugged my drink, smiling no doubt."
"Still bitter?"
"Wouldn't you be? I wanted so much to get to the top. I could see myself behind a big desk, and on the door the words General Manager, or even President. And I was in a hurry."
"Too much of a hurry, perhaps?"
"What about you, Yvonne, don't you ever feel bitter? You're young, you're pretty, . . . . "
"Am I, Julian?"
"No, not just pretty, but beautiful, and intelligent. Aren't you resentful because of what you're missing out on? Life would have had so much to offer you - but you're blind."
He said it so forcefully that her eyes filled with tears.
"Sorry," He mumbled.
He was standing quite close to her, and all at once, impulsively, he tried to embrace and kiss her.
Startled, she broke his grasp and moved away.
"Yvonne, forgive me, I don't know what came over me."
After that she was very quiet for several days, spending a lot of time with her Braille books.
Julian stood behind her while she was reading one day, and said "I want to apologise again for the way I acted."
"I forgive you."
"But it does seem a tragedy that you're hemmed in here, as if it was a prison."
"I'm not hemmed in. I'm a teacher at a school for the blind. This is the Summer break."
"You surprise me more and more."
She smiled. "Yet even if I lived here all the time, I wouldn't feel hemmed in.. Julian, do you believe in God?"
"Believe in God? Well yes, I suppose I do. I haven't thought much about religion, but I guess the world couldn't have created itself."
"What about life after death; do you believe in that?"
"You have me treading on unfamiliar ground, Yvonne. I just don't know."
"The you are more blind than I am," exclaimed Yvonne, triumphantly. "The blind who have eyes know that there is a world, a spiritual world, every bit as real as this, no more real."
"What do you mean by the blind who have eyes?"
"The famous blind woman Helen Keller said that. It means the eyes of the understanding. Listen," she said, and her fingers ran swiftly over the Braille, "it appears as if the eye sees, but it is the understanding that sees through the eyes. So sight corresponds to the understanding."
Julian pondered that for a few moments.
"In that spiritual world," he queried, "live all the people who have died?"
"Yes."
"They're not just floating spirits up in the clouds somewhere?"
"No; their bodies are not material substance like ours, yet they live, if in Heaven, busy lives as we do, only more perfectly."
"How do you know?"
"I've learnt much from Helen Keller, and what she writes makes a lot of sense. Julian, when I read with my fingers her book 'Light in My Darkness'
I see clearly into God's heaven. I walk in its bright paths, see the houses and wonderful gardens, the fields, hills, valleys and rivers."
"I don't say it can't be true," said Julian slowly, "and seem too skeptical, but why doesn't everyone know these things?"
"They don't want to know," she replied. "They are too interested in other things, like getting on in the world, for instance."
"That shot hit the bullseye."
"Do you think," she asked, "that God would have created people just to live here for a few years then die, be nothing?"
"Good question. I'm beginning to understand your serenity, Yvonne. You make me feel quite immature."
"I don't want you to have too high opinion of me," she said, "and I don't believe all blind people go to heaven, or that I'm sure of going there."
"Why is that?"
"There are dangers. I have known only love and understanding. I haven't faced the temptations sighted people do."
"You mean you are protected from them, as you are from those rocks; you don't take the boat out so you don't run into them."
"Something like that. You say that I'm pretty."
"I said that you were beautiful."
"All right, beautiful. If I could see myself I might become vain, conceited."
"If I tell you often enough you still might."
"You'd better not, then."
He wandered over to the piano. "Mind if I play something?"
He played, and sang a Negro spiritual, his soft bass suiting it.
"A favourite song of mine," said Yvonne, "You sang it well."
"Do you play, Yvonne?"
She shook her head.
"I could teach you. Sit down beside me."
He guided her fingers onto the keys, explaining what they were. After half an hour he thought it enough for a first lesson.
"I enjoyed it," she said, "but I'd have to play by ear, wouldn't I?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I'm going to venture outside now for some walking practice. Care to come?"
"I would indeed."
Julian slept in the next morning. Yvonne asked if he was all right.
"Quite OK thanks, but I read most of the night, all of Helen Keller's book,in fact."
"What did you think of it?"
"She's a good writer for a start, and there are lovely pieces of descriptive writing. However. a couple of passages hit me fair between the eyes, so to speak."
He opened the book. "She says she is quoting a man named Swedenborg."
He read: "If a man will look at what he loves, he will realise that he is often self-centred, because mostly he is shaping his own life, or acquiring knowledge for his own purposes; but it turns out that joys that are more lasting come from an unselfish desire to serve others."
"I can see now" Julian added, "that it was for own glory that I wanted to get to the top."
"When I finished the book, Yvonne, it was just beginning to dawn, and I watched while the growing light turned the dark waters to silver, then the sun threw a golden path across."
"How I would like to see things like that again," she exclaimed, "Again?"
"Yes, I wasn't blind till I was seven. It was something to do with a chemical spray that was left around. I don't like to talk about it now."
"I'm sorry."
"However," he went on, "the scene made me think of the dawn of light in my mind. You see, I'm not as blind as I was, am I?"
Yvonne smiled.
"Now" he added briskly, "may I have a little late breakfast? Then another piano lesson for you."
During the practice Julian took one of her hands in his.
"Yvonne," He said, "I mean this - "I'm not acting impulsively now; I'm in love with you, and I . . . "
Yvonne swiftly put two fingers over his mouth.
"Julian, please; I don't want you to say something you may regret later."
She rose and walked away.
Julian was silent. She must have sensed, he realised, that he was going to ask her to marry him, and didn't want that, evidently. Why, he couldn't understand. His self-esteem had suffered another jolt. He was hurt, resentful. There seemed little more to say.
"I'll be going back to the city tomorrow," he said, lamely.
She wasn't facing him, and just nodded her head.
He left the room and phoned immediately for a taxi to come very early in the morning, before Yvonne and her mother would be up.
The trip to the city wasn't a pleasant one. The driver chatted endlessly of politics, football and horses, Julian rarely responding. He had a guilty feeling about leaving the lighthouse as he did, even though he'd left what he thought was an adequate letter of appreciation for their care; but no special note for Yvonne. As soon as possible he would send nice presents for them.
It was an unhappy young man who told his sorry tale to his mother, giving a full account, even his last brief talk to Yvonne.
Finally she said, "You're a silly boy, whose pride has taken a knock. You expected Yvonne to fall into your arms, offer her lips for a long kiss, and that you'd live happily ever after."
"Go easy, Cherie," he protested, "I'm not still in my teens."
"But you're not very understanding, are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Yvonne is being most unselfish. Being blind, she didn't think it would be fair for her to marry a man who would no doubt have a busy and successful business career."
"The truth is Cherie, that if I am successful it will be because she shamed the self-pity out of me, especially when I discovered what a busy, useful life she led despite her blindness."
The phone rang and he answered it. He came back with a grin on his face.
"It was my old boss at Pacific Oil. He wants me to go in and have a talk.
It seems that the guy who slipped something in my drink confessed when it was thought that I had drowned - ashamed, I suppose."
"Go to it, boy," said Mrs Bessemer. She was about to add, "Leave Yvonne to me" but checked herself.
Julian's re-entry into the social whirl was as quick as that into business life. It seemed there was always a party on somewhere, and several pretty girls were happy to see Julian back. He was no longer the life of the party though, much more reserved and drank no alcohol. At last, though there was an After Tennis Tournament celebration on, he decided to give it a miss.
"No going out, Julian - on a Saturday night too?" queried his mother.
"No Cherie; I haven't the same zest for parties at present. There's something missing in my life, I'm afraid."
"Yvonne perhaps?"
As she said it she put something from her lap on the table. It was the book by Helen Keller.
Julian stared. "How did you come by that?"
"I happened to see it in a bookshop," she replied airily.
"No you didn't; that's Yvonne's book. I know it by the smudge on the top right hand corner."
He ruffled her silvering curly hair. "Come on, out with it; what have you been up to?"
She had a mischievous smile.
"Yvonne and I have talked on the phone often - and, she's been here to visit. We had a wonderful rapport straight away. I think she's an extraordinary and lovely girl. I've read the book too, and enjoyed it immensely."
Julian strode purposefully to the phone.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, worriedly.
He turned his head and smiled, "Just going to act impulsively again."
He dialled the lighthouse number. Mrs Lewis answered.
"Mrs Lewis, it's Julian. Can I speak to Yvonne?"
"Yes, she's right here."
"Hello Julian," said Yvonne, "how . . . "
"Yvonne, I love you, I love you, I want to marry you. Is that clear?"
After a pause, she replied, "I love you too, Julian, but are you sure you can face life with me, a blind girl?"
"I'm sure I can't face it without you, darling."
When he returned to the table Julian said triumphantly, "Yvonne said yes,so Cherie, you don't have to do any more matchmaking. Your job's finished."
"Not quite, young man. I've something else to tell you. I found out that despite working for the Blind Society, Yvonne has never had her eyes checked again by a specialist. I took her to Dr Marrington, one of the best. After learning thecause of her blindness, and carrying out a thorough examination . . ."
She paused, for greater effect. Her look was noncommittal.
"Yes, what did he say?"
"That with corneal implants there's a good chance she'll get her sight back."
"Yvonne didn't mention it."
"Maybe she can't quite believe it."
"Cherie, it would be wonderful for Yvonne, absolutely fantastic."
He gave her a rewarding kiss.
"But," he said, "whichever way it goes, she will be my wife."
The New Church Hurstville