Then turning to the disciples he said privately, ‘Blessed are the eyes that see what you see!..
Luke 10: 23
“Look, look,” Paul dives to the floor, “in here!” A little pool of water is sitting stagnant in a crack. “Don’t touch,” Paul whispers to me, “feel it.”
I curl beside Paul, he looks at me then back in the water. “O this is so beautiful, I wish I could swim on the surface.” Paul wiggles his feet beneath his belly. “Blessed are my eyes.”
Then Paul, without moving a beat, picks up a piece of glass. The glass is dark, almost black, like dragged beneath a car. Moving his hands, the light begins to flicker, he places the glass between his eye and the water. Then between him and me.
I can see Paul’s eyes. One is bloodshot as if the vessels had burst upon his eyelashes and consumed his cornea. And a line, a line across his nose.
The glass is a mirror.
“Monstrous,” Paul shackles, “absolutely monstrous.” He picks and combs his hair from his nose. A dark chalk lands upon his nose. “I am disgusting,” Paul resigns.
I know I am, I reply, it’s my eye. I haven’t been able to see out of my right eye for weeks.