Blind Man's Bluff “ BLIND MANS BLUFF “ BY PAULINE A. WHITE The blind man was always there. Every morning, when she came outside with the garbage, there he was, seated across the street on a bench at the entrance to the park. He was always dressed the same way, too. He wore an old army fatigue jacket, dirty and ragged, that was much too small for him. His long, thin arms stuck out of the sleeves past his wrists. The pants weren’t much better, either. They showed at least four inches of the filthy white tube socks he wore every day of the week. “ His feet must stink like pure Hell”, Karen had said yesterday morning. She’d giggled at that, but later, on the ride to work she’d felt bad about laughing at the poor man. When James had come over for a late dinner that night, she’d asked him if he had any old clothes and undergarments he didn’t need anymore. He gave her the most curious look, until she told him why she wanted them. “ My baby, little Miss Florence Nightengale in the flesh”, he’d teased. “ Just be careful around the guy. Some of these homeless people have serious scams going. This dude might have twenty-twenty vision behind those dark glasses. He could be sitting there scoping out the neighborhood, or something. I want to read about you in the news someday, but not the obituary column.” She had hit him on the shoulder, then, making a face at him. She thanked him the next night, when he turned up with a plastic garbage bag full of clean jeans, tee shirts and about a dozen socks. There was even a pair of Nikes, out of fashion, but in good condition. “ So, who’s Mister Softie, now, huh? There really is a heart beating under that manly chest”, she had said as she looked over the things from the bag. She folded each item carefully, then placed them back into the bag until the morning. It rained the next day. Heavy rainfall with an icy wind. He wasn’t there that day, or the next. On the third day, though, he came out with the sunshine. Sitting in his spot, straight and still, head rigidly erect and unmoving. Taking a deep breath, she took the bag of clothes across the street, planting them in front of him, right at his feet. He cocked his head sideways, like a bird. “ Who’s that? What you want with Melvin? What’s that you put down there by me?”, he asked the three questions rapidly in a deep, clear voice. Her own voice froze up, she just stood there staring at him, a slight tremble starting in her body. He began to swivel his head from side to side as he repeated the same three questions, even faster this time. The bamboo stick he carried with him was leaning against his right arm. He grabbed it so fast that she gasped out loud. He smiled then, showing big white teeth through full lips. Turning directly towards her voice, he said, “ Ah, hah, there you is! What you want with Melvin? What is you doin’ ?” He raised the stick, probing the air in little jabbing motions from left to right. She had just enough time to move backwards, out of his reach. He leaned forward, stick still punching the air in front of her. She stepped off of the sidewalk, into the street near the curb. He stopped his movements then, cocking his head again, listening. “ Come back here, you!! Take this mess you done put down here by me. What it is? Some joke on Melvin? Some nasty little joke on a blind man? Damn kids!!” He was yelling now, drawing attention to himself. She turned and ran out into the traffic, barely surviving a yellow cab turning the corner. The taxi driver honked loudly, making her jump. It was seven in the morning and people were beginning to stir from the apartments on her block. A couple watched her with curious stares as she hurried to the train station. The blind man’s voice carried , followed her down the block with his questioning. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She was short of breath. At the station entrance she remembered that she hadn’t bought any Metro cards for this week. She got on the long, Monday morning line that she could never understand. Every single weekday she saw the same people going to work from this station, and they all came home on Friday nights with packages and shopping bags after cashing their paychecks. Why didn’t they stop, like she usually did, and buy their next week’s cards then? She had never seen a line on a Friday night at six thirty. Never. She paid for her $17.00 card, making it downstairs just in time to catch the train to the city. The week started off hard. Her day was long and tiring. Her supervisor found things wrong with everything she did. By the time she crawled back home, standing up all the way on the train ride, she was totally exhausted. James had left two messages on her machine, but she was too pooped to answer them. Even a bath was out of the question. All she had strength for was undressing and climbing into her bed. She’d scrub extra hard in the morning shower. Tuesday came and went. It rained again, all day. No homeless man outside. Wednesday morning, she heard someone singing outside her window in the early light. The voice was familiar somehow. Peering out, holding the curtain to her half-naked body, she saw the man, across the street in his usual spot. He was wearing all of the clothing James had brought over. The sneakers seemed to look a little tight fit, but they sure beat those old, raggedy things he had worn before. Leaving the house, she glanced across at the man, who suddenly stopped his song as she closed and locked the front door. She felt as if he was watching her, but she knew that was impossible. He was blind as a bat. She guessed. At the corner, she looked back quickly, to see him still there, his head turned in her direction. She felt a cold chill go up her spine. He saw her!! She just knew it. “ Why, the old crook. Scheming assed old man! James had been right about him after all,” was her angry thought. All day long she fumed about it. Taken in by a scam artist. She had half a mind to tell him to give the clothes back! Nasty thing! She refused to tell James about it. He would get that face on, with the ‘I told you’ look in his eyes. She hated that look, when he was right about something. Men!! All of them were liars through and through. Thursday morning she heard no singing, saw no homeless man, even though the sun was bright in the sky. On Friday, he was back in place again. She turned towards him, and he grinned at her. A sly grin, then he gave her a tiny salute. She was so surprised by the action, she swiveled her head from side to side, to see if any one else had seen the gesture. People were walking up and down the block, eyes forward, directions focused on the subway and bus stations. Friday. Payday. No time for anything else except getting to work and getting PAID!. Then, she got angry. Angry at herself for ever feeling sorry for the man in the first place. Angry at the nerve he had to salute her, after she had shown him an act of genuine kindness. She actually stalked across the street. She marched right up to him, close, and he just sat there before her. He tilted his head upwards, waiting. she didn’t say anything right then. Her breasts heaved up and down, she was so mad. After a moment of this, he spoke to her first. “ Thank you for the clothes and sneakers, little girl. Thank you so much. But, that’s not what I really wanted from you, though. No, not at all. I is in need of something else from you, sweetie. Old Melvin needs something else so bad, and you the one got ‘em. Can you guess what that something is, little girl? Huh?”, he whispered to her. She lost her courage then. His voice was so menacing, and his closeness was making her dizzy. She backed away from him, sitting there, so smugly. He grinned again, a big wide-mouthed grin that was scarier than any Halloween mask she’d ever seen. She clutched her throat, gasping for air. She was truly frightened by this man. Turning, she ran away from him, down the street to the train and the safety in numbers. She could hear him laughing behind her. As she turned the corner, she distinctly heard him say, “ I’m coming for them, little girl, real soon. I’m coming for them. You be ready, now”. All day long, she wondered what he had meant by his words. She got over her fright, then more anger came but she refused to let it get the best of her. He was just a con artist old man. The Hell with him. He’d got over on her, just another victim in this bad-assed old city. Well, she sure knew better for the next time. If she saw a crippled, one-legged, one-armed man in the street from now on, she would not even stop! If he was crying, she still wouldn’t stop. No more for her. Friday night, she and James spent a nice evening together at his house in Queens. She stayed over until Sunday morning, when she took the train back home to Brooklyn. After all that time resting, she felt good enough to clean her house all the way through. She even did the laundry, and made a big dinner for herself instead of her usual thrown together junk. She coordinated her clothes for the following week of work, humming to herself all the while. James called her around nine, they talked for a little bit, then she went off to bed with a smile. She slept well; Monday morning didn’t feel too bad when the alarm clock went off. She reached out, hitting the button that turned the loud ringer off with her eyes still closed. Sitting up in the bed, she realized how dark it still was. She placed her hand before her eyes, and could not see anything. “ Fuse, again”, she thought. “ Where in the world did I put them the last time?” It was a good thing that she knew her way around her apartment. It was pitch black in there. Stumbling to the window, she pulled on the curtains until she felt them slide apart. Strange. It was pitch black outside, too. “ Oh, my God! A blackout. A real live, bonafide New York City blackout. “ she cried. Her mother had told her that she was born during a major blackout in the city back in the seventies. Well, no sense in going to work. how could she get there, anyway? She had candles in a closet in the hallway. She felt around the walls until she reached the closet, grabbed a hand full of candles, then wandered into the living room to find matches. On the cocktail table, she reached the matches, lit one and put it to the candle wick. She heard the flame flare up, but nothing happened. “Dud,” she thought. “ Just my luck.” Thinking what she could possibly do now, she stood there in the middle of the floor with her shorty night shirt on, still holding the candle in her hand. As she bent to put it down, the hot wax fell onto her bare legs, making her scream. For only a second, she was puzzled by it all. Then, she heard laughter in her ears and a now familiar voice saying, “ I’m coming for them, little girl. I’m coming for them.” With trembling fingers, she put her right hand up to her face. When she touched herself there, she had no time for tears before she fainted dead away to the floor. She couldn’t cry anyway. She had no eyes. THE END
Copyright © 2002 Pauline Annette White |