Free The Visitors by Rebecca Mascull Page A

coming to her and steps forward. But I stretch to touch the Visitor and my hand reaches her face. There is almost nothing there, but there is something: a wisp of matter, the caress of a cloud. The woman takes a step and the mist of her is cold on my hand. I withdraw it, chilled. Foreboding comes upon me, a ghastly idea of who the Visitors are and why they are here.
    Go away
, I say.
    And she does. She turns and the blue-white glow flares briefly, then she fades and is gone. I shudder, as if ice water has trickled down my neck.
    Lottie takes my hand and finger spells to me. I realise for the first time that she looks at my hand as she spells, she does it by sight. I always thought she did it with eyes closed, to be like me.
    ‘Are you well?’ she asks.
    ‘Never better,’ I say and we smile and smile. How white are teeth!
    ‘What can you see?’ says Lottie.
    I look up at her face. It is so beautiful, I cannot get enough of it. I drink it in.
    ‘Everything!’ I say. I see her turn her head towards Father, Mother and Dr Knapp and watch her lips move. So that is speaking. She is telling them what I said.
    I turn to Father and touch his face again. His dear old face. It is wet with tears. I look at Mother too. Her eyes are dark brown and sad. Father’s are light green and sparkly. I sign into his palm, ‘Bring me a mirror.’
    There is none in my room, as it has never been required in here. Lottie goes out and returns, a small round object held aloft. I reach to take it and miss completely. My hand grasps air. I have yet to connect seeing with movement. I almost want to close my eyes to reach for it, as this seems easier, but I do not. I never want to close my eyes again. Lottie places the mirror in my hand and I hold it up to my face. But the image is blurred close to, so I move the mirror to arm’s length until it comes right.
    There I am. My hair is yellow, so yellow that I think it must be hot like fire. And my eyes are dark like Mother’s. I have her eyes precisely. They are the same. I never knew I was so like Mother. I touch my hair and toy with it, as I know ladies do in mirrors. I reveal an ear. It is ridiculous! Such a huge, flapping thing curled round in horrid knots and channels, extended for yards beyond my head, and I check to see if the other is so hideous and it is exactly the same. I look up horrified, that I am so ugly, but I see that everyone has these appendages thrusting out from the sides of their heads, and the men having short hair and the ladies wearing theirs up, I can see their ears, and they seem preposterously big to me. And the nose jutting out, a mountain splitting the face, and eyes, wide, impudent saucers, and the mouth a great maw opening and closing with speech. The proportions I knew with my fingers appear all wrong with my eyes. It will take some getting used to. Yet, despite its peculiarities, it is all more ravishing than anything I could have surmised. I conclude what poorly instruments my fingers were, when all along this actuality existed and I had no sense of it. I grieve for the blind. It seems a crime to me now that anyone cannot see this glorious world. I want Dr Knapp to cure them all.
    He wants me to sit down now so that he can examine me. He holds up some curious objects and looks into my eyes. The shock of their closeness is strange and I quail, afraid he is going to poke me in the eye. But I realise that I am still a novice at judging distances, and trust him to examine me. He looks carefully in both eyes and Lottie says he is very pleased. They have healed perfectly and my vision is good, though I will need to come to London again to have spectacles made for close work. I wiggle the fingers of my other hand close to my eyes. There is a blur, like the moment I first opened them and was blinded by tears; I look up, terrified my eyes are failing me already, but soon realise that it is indeed in proximity that my eyes do not work so well. They are good at middle distance