Nunez was ill for several days after that. The people of the village nursed him kindly. But he had to lie quietly in a dark hut. There, day after day, blind men came to him, telling him about his mistakes.
Slowly, the people of the Country of the Blind became individuals. There was Yacob, Nunez’s new master; Pedro, Yacob’s nephew; and Medina-saroté, the youngest daughter of Yacob. Others didn’t think she was beautiful, but Nunez did.
Slowly, Nunez found ways to help Medina-saroté; and slowly, Medina-saroté began to notice Nunez. Then one evening, while they sat side by side in the dim starlight and listened to music at a gathering, their fingers touched. Tenderly, they held hands. A few days later, while they were eating, Nunez felt her hand softly seeking his…
‘I must speak to her,’ thought Nunez. ‘I must tell her my feelings.’
Then one evening while Medina-saroté was sitting and spinning wool in the summer moonlight, Nunez went to her. He sat at her feet, told her that she was beautiful, that he loved her. She did not reply, but Nunez was content. He could see that his words pleased her.
After that, Nunez spoke to Medina-saroté as often as he could. Soon, the valley was the world, and the land beyond the mountains, the land without Medina-saroté in it, was no more than a fairy tale.
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