Light by CS Lewis – Part 1
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‘Bless us! said Anne, ‘It’s eleven o’clock. And you’re nearly asleep, Robin.’ She rose with a bustle of familiar noises, bundling her spools and her little cardboard boxes into the work basket. ‘Come on, lazy-bones,’ she added.
‘You want to be nice and fresh for your first walk to-morrow’
‘That reminds me’, said Robin and then stopped. He had approached the subject three times already since his operation, once to the doctor, once to the nurse, and once before to Anne herself, and each time something seemed to have gone wrong. Now, he felt unreasonably nervous. ‘I-I suppose, he mumbled, ‘there’ll be lots of light out there—-when we go for that walk?’
‘You mean it will be lighter out of doors? Well, yes, of course. But I must say I always think this is a very light house. This room, now. We’ve had the sun on it all afternoon.’
‘The sun makes it hot—?’, said Robin tentatively.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Anne. That was what Robin couldn’t understand; why they all sounded so angry or frightened whenever he got near the real question. It was as if they thought he was mad.
‘I mean, he said ‘—well, look here, dear. I’ve been wanting to ask you something ever since I got back from the nursing home. I expect it’ll sound silly to you. But things must be different to a chap who’s been blind all his life, mustn’t they? It’s all so new. As soon as I heard there was a chance of getting my sight—-well, I looked forward. The last thing I thought of before the operation was Light. Wondering what it would be like. Then all those days afterwards before they took the bandages off; wondering, waiting-
‘But of course, darling, That was only natural’
‘Then-then’ (his voice shook a little) ‘why don’t I—. I mean, where is the light?’
His three weeks of sight had not yet taught him to read the expression of her face, but he knew by her voice the warm wave of muddled, frightened affection that had swelled up in her as she said, ‘Why not go to bed now, dearest? We can talk about all that in the morning. You know you’re tired now.’
‘No, he said. I’ve got to have this out. You’ve got to tell me. Great Scot, don’t you want me to know?’
‘Know about what, Robin? Ask me anything you like. But there’s nothing to worry about. Your sight is perfectly alright now. You’re cured…’
‘Very well, then. Is there light in this room at present?’
‘Of course there is. Robin, do-
‘Then where is it?’
‘Why, all round us.’
‘Can you see it?’
‘Yes. But really, Robin dear-
‘Then why can’t I?’
‘But, Robin, you can. You can see me, can’t you?, and the mantelpiece, and the table, and-‘
‘That’s what drives me mad. That’s the sort of thing you all say. I want to see light. Are you light? Is the mantelpiece light? Is light only another name for all the other things?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean. You’re asking about the light. That’s it there, hanging from the ceiling with the pink shade!
‘Then why did you tell me the light was all round us?’
‘Darling, I mean that’s what gives the light. The light comes from there.’
‘Then where is the light itself? You see, you won’t say. Nobody will say. You tell me there’s light here and light there, and this is in the light and that is in the light, and people get in one another’s light. But you won’t point me out the light itself. If none of you know what light is, say so. If there’s no such thing —if it was only a fairy tale all along-say so. If the operation was a failure and I still can’t see what other people see, tell me. I can take that. It’s this secrecy that I can’t stand. You’re all like conspirators. Why the devil-‘
Anne began to cry and Robin apologised and comforted her. Then they went to bed.
This conversation made him more cautious. Clearly it was never going to be any use asking about light. Either there was no such thing or else he was all the time making some appalling mistake. If he was not careful he’d find himself in the hands of doctors again—psychotherapists, as likely as not.