Read Online The Visitors by Rebecca Mascull - Free Book Online Page A

have said Lottie can be there to hold my hand and tell me what is happening. I say goodbye to Father and go into the theatre. It smells of disinfectant and metal. I am asked to lie on a hard bed. They place a folded cloth over my mouth and chin, and another across my forehead. My nose is left exposed for easy breathing and, of course, my eyes.
    A Visitor is here, another and another. They are all afraid.
    They said it would be over now. Why am I still here?
    Where is the nurse?
    My wound, how it throbs.
    Now I am very frightened. I want to say no, I have changed my mind. But I do not want to let everyone down. I think how much easier the lives of everyone I love will be if I could see. I think perhaps they will love me more if I am not blind. And I know I must do this, for everyone. Lottie takes my hand and holds it tight. She asks if I want to know what the doctor is doing.
    ‘Yes, I want to know everything.’
    She signs into my right hand, then leaves it free for me to ask her questions. The doctor talks to her and she tells me what he says.
    ‘He is going to put some drops in your eyes. The liquid is a mixture of water and something called cocaine. It will make your eye numb. It is called an anaesthetic. When the doctor touches your eye with the knife, you will not be able to feel any pain.’
    ‘How will he know? Before he touches my eye with the knife, how will he know if the drops have worked?’
    Lottie asks the doctor. He pats me gently on my arm.
    ‘He says he will test it first with something soft. Do not worry. Nothing will hurt.’
    We wait while the doctor readies himself and his tools.
    ‘He is going to give you the drops now.’
    I feel the liquid meet one eye, then the other. I blink several times and it runs down one cheek, swiftly swabbed by someone. It is cooling to the eye. It does not sting or smart. I wait.
    ‘Now, Liza. This is very important. You must not move at all during the operation. You must keep as still as a rock. If you move your head, the doctor could cut in the wrong place or damage your eyes.’
    There is a pressure in my right eye, but the medicine has done its job. I cannot feel anything against the eyeball itself.
    ‘Is he touching my eye now?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘With what?’
    ‘Do not worry. It is going well.’
    ‘Tell me!’
    ‘Do not agitate yourself, Liza. It may make you restless.’
    ‘Tell me then.’
    ‘He is putting a tiny stitch into your eyelid to hold it open … Now he is using a very fine knife to make a cut in your eye … He applies a sharp hook … He takes a tool called forceps in one hand and applies a little spoon with the other … The lens is out! He has taken the lens out of your eye and placed it in a dish. He says this part of the operation is complete. Well done, Liza! Keep still.’
    ‘Do you feel sick?’ I ask Lottie. She must be able to see the knife cutting into my eye. I wonder if this is gruesome.
    ‘No, it is very interesting.’
    Next comes the same procedure in my left eye. Another success. Lottie says each eye has taken only fifteen minutes to complete. But to me it feels like hours. The moment Lottie tells me it is over, I faint.
    I wake in bed. My eyes are bandaged. They are sore. As I cannot open them, there are no Visitors.
    Lottie is there. She takes my hand to ask, ‘How do you feel?’
    ‘It hurts.’
    ‘Wait here.’
    I grab her hand tight. She uncurls my fingers and signs, ‘I need to tell the doctor you are awake. It is not far. Half a minute.’
    My eyeballs pulsate.
    The doctor comes and feels my forehead. He says to try to sleep. He says I need lots of rest. So that I will heal, I must stay in bed for up to three weeks.
    I drift in and out of sleep for the first few days, and suffer baffling dreams which are heavy and stifling. I wake only to drink a little warm milk. Soon I feel brighter. I eat eggs and toast. Some stewed apples, very sugary. After sixteen days, I sit up in bed and I am bored. Now they know it is time