Next Door

A girl "wills herself" to go blind. A mute man finds a way to her heart, but their unusual love story ends tragically.

I

“They always held hands. That’s how they communicated. He was mute, you see, and she, well, the poor girl was blind. It’s a sad story.”

"Please, tell me more, Mrs. --"

 “My name is Martha Scriber. But, why do you want to concern yourself with such a sad story? You’re young, go out and enjoy life, dear,” Mrs. Scriber suggested. She was a short, heavyset, elderly woman of about 65 years of age.

 “You work here, right?” the young woman inquired.

 “Forty-two years, if you can believe it, darling. It’s like I’ve been married to dust,” she said motioning to her tools: a broom, a dustpan, a mop and some rags with which she roamed the halls of the building where she worked as a cleaner. But, what do I call you?” she asked the young woman that stood before her.

 “Oh sorry, I’m being impolite. I’m Erela Lee. I’m working on a project for my psychology class. It’s about the various communication techniques of the blind. That’s why I’m here, but I’m not really making any progress. So, would you mind telling me more about that story you had just been discussing with that visitor that just left? I’m sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just happened to overhear a few words.”

 “Oh, that was Mr. Dafodrill’s nephew,” she said with a sigh. “He still hopes his uncle might one day recover, but I don’t think I, or he, or anyone else here will live to see that day. It was a long time ago, but I still remember the day Ol’ Dafodrill set foot in here for the first time."

 

II

The doorman on duty looked up when he heard the knocking on the front door. A young man of about 30 waved at him from the street. He had his face pressed close to the glass pane of the door. His big, bluish-green eyes seemed to swim in their sockets like fish. He smiled gently, raised his right hand so that the guard could see it, and made some motions with it.

 “I don’t read sign language,” the doorman mumbled, and pressed a red button on his desk. There was a buzzing sound, the door opened, and the young man entered the building. He walked up to the doorman’s booth and handed a note to him. The doorman started reading it, and the young man went to look at the statue that stood facing the booth. The statue was that of a catholic nun holding a long staff, and an open book that had no words written on its pages, but showed only the painted image of two large eyes instead. A plaque at the foot of the statue explained that it was St. Odilia, Virgin and Abbess, the “Patron of the Eyes.”

Odelia was born into nobility in France. Her father, , upon discovering that this newborn daughter was blind, ordered that she be put to death. Fortunately, Odelia's mother negotiated with her husband to let Odelia live, but the agreement was that Odelia be sent off in secret never to return home. The baby girl was given to a peasant woman who took Odelia to the local convent.  When she reached 12 years of age, she was baptized. When Saint Erhard, who was carrying out the baptism, touched Odelia's eyes with the baptismal chrism, her eyesight was miraculously given to her. The bishop immediately set off to give her father a firsthand account of the event. Odelia returned home, but her joy was short-lived. She fled from home when she discovered that her father had, against her wishes, planned to marry her off to a wealthy German baron. Her father tracked Odelia down, but she told him that her only spouse was her Lord Jesus. To be finally rid of her, Odelia was given her release and a home in Alsace. Odelia promptly turned this castle into an abbey where there were many reports of conversions and miraculous healings.

The young man set out to take a picture of the statue and the plaque, when he heard a voice saying, “Welcome to Saint Odilia Home for the Blind, Mr.--”

 “His name is Marlon Dafodrill, the doorman said speaking from his booth, holding up the letter the young man had handed him earlier. “Oh, and I hope someone around here knows sign language, because Mr. Dafodrill is mute,” he added. But, what does a dumb man want in the home for the blind anyway?” he wondered.

 “People like this young man, or the people in our care here, Mr. Doorset, are not what society considers ‘normal’. They, therefore, often experience isolation, loneliness and that in turn brings about all sorts of mental health concerns,” the woman explained to the doorman patiently.

 “Mental health, Ms. Livener, ma’am?” the term sounded alien to Mr. Dorset.

 Mrs. Livener was not very different-looking from the statue in the hallway. She had a saintly glow about her, a timeless peace and quiet, and an aura that made one feel humbled, transparent, but comfortable, accepted and understood at the same time.

 “Afflictions of the soul,” she replied in an attempt to bring the notion closer to Mr. Dorset. So, we try to bring members of these groups together in an attempt to broaden their social circle. They might feel less inhibited, self-conscious, or judged with others that are also shunned and excluded from the world outside. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll take Mr. Dafodrill to his assigned partner.”

 “And who might that be, Ma’am?” Mr. Dorset wanted to know.

 “Ms. Dwyn Bry,” Mrs. Livener replied.

 

III

Ms. Livener led the young man down the quiet, hallway that was bathed in the golden light of late spring that poured in through the large, open windows.

 “Now, Mr. Dafodrill, a few words about Ms. Bry. You will have to be patient with her. I regret to say that so far we haven’t made much progress with her. She is extremely distrustful of people, which is no surprise after what had happened to her. She was born perfectly whole and healthy, you see, but was neglected by her parents in childhood. She was provided with everything - in the material sense, that is, but she never felt loved. Her parents’ marriage soured, and she had to witness terrifying scenes of abuse. It was too much for her fragile, oversensitive mind, and she --“

 The young man looked at her with anticipation.

 “I think she willed herself to go blind,” she added.

 They stopped in front of a door, and Ms. Livener knocked on it softly.

 “Like I said, she doesn’t trust people,” she explained.

 The door had a glass pane, and the young man peered in. She saw a young woman sitting on a chair in front of a window. She was facing away from the outside world, staring into space with sad, brown eyes that decided that it was better not to see what went on out there. The tragedy of her situation struck the young man instantly: she turned away from the outside world, but also locked the door that would grant access to her private little world. She was utterly cut off, isolated and alone.

 “Ms. Bry, I have a visitor for you,” Ms. Livener began. This is Mr. Marlon Dafodrill. He is mute, and although his affliction is different from yours, just like you, he could use some company.”

 With that, she looked at the young man, smiled, nodded encouragingly, turned around and left.

 IV

“To cut a long story short,” Mrs. Scriber continued, “he managed to gain her trust.”

 “But how?” Erela wanted to know.

 “Sweetheart, I don’t know. All I can tell you is that it was something of a miracle. No one here had given much hope to this program that Mrs. Livener had dreamed up. But, that boy - that Marlon kid - he just wouldn’t quit. He kept coming here for weeks, and from I could tell, he just sat with Ms. Bry. At first, she wouldn’t even let him in, of course, so he’d just stand outside her room, looking in. Well, he couldn’t speak to her, of course, on account of his being mute. And she couldn’t see him standing there, looking at her, on account of her being blind. One day, young Marlon came in with a bird. It was a pretty little songbird in a cage. He’d walk up to her door, set the cage down on a chair, he himself would sit on another chair, and he’d just wait for the bird to start singing. I think that little bird found a way to open Ms. Bry’s door, and her heart.

 “But, how did they communicate?” Erela asked.

 “You should ask Ms. Livener about the details. All I can tell you is that every time I walked by her room, I saw them holding hands. I think they created a language of their own. He could sign, but she couldn’t see, right? So, he’d hold her hands and write signs, or symbols in her hands, I think. Or, maybe they weren’t words. Maybe they didn’t need words, who knows?”

 She stopped talking, and sighed, lost in her memories.

 “Mrs. Scribler, what happened then?” Erela asked impatiently.

 “Well, like I said, young Marlon would come to visit often - more and more often, in fact. After a few weeks it seemed he was always here. They were always together, the two of them, hand in hand, sitting in silence. I don’t know the details, but they even left the building a couple times. What they did, where they went, I don’t know. But, I can tell you that not everyone was happy to see this ‘miracle’.”

 “Who do you mean? Ms. Livener?”

 “No, she was very supportive. But there are people above her, you know, who had their own reasons for not wanting to see this program go too far. In any case, soon things turned sour anyway between Marlon and Dwyn. I guess Ms. Bry just couldn’t overcome her distrust of people completely. Or, perhaps the more she learned about him, the more she was reminded why she had decided to shut her eyes to the world in the first place. Ms. Livener, though, she always believed that --" but, oh my, look, how time flies!” she exclaimed suddenly. I have to go see to Ms. Bry’s room.”

 “Do you mean that she’s still -- alive ?” Erela gasped.

 “But, darling, you don’t know? They are right next to each other in Room 201 and 202. The poor boy went mad with grief after Ms. Bry had decided not to let him come to her anymore. They tried to turn him away, but he wouldn’t listen. He was inconsolable, and he’d sleep on the stairs outside the building. Eventually, when the patient staying in the room next to Ms. Bry’s had died, they put him in there. At first, it was temporary, but as time went by, and as he showed no signs of improvement, he ended up staying. A mute man in the home for the blind -- it’s not that different in here from out there, in the real world, if you ask me. Half the world is blind, the other half suffers in silence. The saddest part is though, that I don’t think Ms. Bry ever realized that all this time, Marlon Dafodril was right next to her.”

 The end