‘Do you want the doctors to take out my eyes?’ Nunez asked Medina-sarote.
Medina-sarote said nothing.
‘Seeing – having sight – is my world,’ he told her.
She lowered her head.
‘There are beautiful things,’ Nunez told her, ‘beautiful little things that I can see – flowers, the lichens on the rocks, a piece of fur, the sky with its clouds, the sunsets and the stars at night. And then there is you. Your sweet face, your kind lips, your beautiful hands folded together… It is my eyes that hold me to you; every day when I see you, it is like seeing you for the first time. But you want be to lose my eyes. Must I only touch you? Must I only hear you? Must I never see you again? Is this want you want? Must I come into that dark world?’
Nunez stopped talking and let her think about the question. He didn’t feel good.
‘You…’ she said and stopped.
‘Please do not say these things,’ said Medina-sarote.
‘I know it is your imagination,’ said Medina-sarote, ‘I used to love it, but now…’
‘And now?’ he asked.
Medina-sarote sat very still.
Nunez felt angry, but he also felt sympathy for her. It hurt her to say these things to him. He knew that. They sat in silence for a long time.
When Nunez finally spoke, he was almost whispering. `If I agreed to this…’ he said.
As soon as he spoke, Medina-sarote threw her arms around him.