The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More (14 page)

Somebody in the room said, "Let's have a game of canasta for lovely high
stakes."

The others thought that a splendid idea, but as there were five people in all,
one would have to sit out. They cut the cards. Henry drew the lowest, the
unlucky card.

The other four sat down and began to play. Henry was annoyed at being out of
the game. He wandered out of the drawing-room into the great hall. He stared at
the pictures for a few moments,
then
he walked on
through the house, bored to death at having nothing to do. Finally, he mooched
into the library.

Sir William's father had been a famous book collector, and all the four walls
to this huge room were lined with books from floor to ceiling. Henry Sugar was
not impressed. He wasn't even interested. The only books he read were detective
novels and thrillers. He ambled aimlessly round the room, looking to see if he
could find any of the
sort
of books he liked. But the
ones in Sir William's library were all leather-bound volumes with names on them
like Balzac, Ibsen, Voltaire, Johnson and
Pepys
.
Boring rubbish, the whole lot of it, Henry told himself. And he was just about
to leave when his eye was caught and held by a book that was quite different
from all the others. It was so slim he would never have noticed it if it hadn't
been sticking out a little from the ones on either side. And when he pulled it
from the shelf, he saw that it was actually nothing more than a
cardboard-covered exercise-book of the kind children use at school. The cover
was dark blue, but there was nothing written on it. Henry opened the
exercise-book. On the first page, hand-printed in ink, it said:

A
REPORT ON AN INTERVIEW

WITH
IMHRAT KHAN, THE MAN WHO

COULD
SEE WITHOUT HIS EYES

by

Dr
John F. Cartwright

BOMBAY,
INDIA

DECEMBER,
1934

That sounds mildly interesting, Henry told himself. He turned over a page. What
followed was all handwritten in black ink. The writing was clear and neat.
Henry read the first two pages standing up. Suddenly, he found himself wanting
to read on. This was good stuff. It was fascinating. He carried the little book
over to a leather armchair by the window and settled himself comfortably. Then
he started reading again from the beginning.

This is what Henry read in the little blue exercise-book:

I, John Cartwright, am a surgeon at Bombay General Hospital. On the morning of
the second of December, 1934, I was in the Doctors' Rest Room having a cup of
tea. There were three other doctors there with me, all having a well-earned
tea-break. They were Dr Marshall, Dr Phillips and Dr Macfarlane. There was a
knock on the door. "Come in," I said.

The door opened and an Indian came in who smiled at us and said, "Excuse
me, please. Could I ask you gentlemen a
favour
?"

The Doctors' Rest Room was a most private place. Nobody other than a doctor was
allowed to enter it except in an emergency.

"This is a private room," Dr Macfarlane said sharply.

"Yes, yes," the Indian answered. "I know that and I am very
sorry to be bursting in like this, sirs, but I have a most interesting thing to
show you."

All four of us were pretty annoyed and we didn't say anything.

"Gentlemen," he said. "I am a man who can see without using his
eyes."

We still didn't invite him to go on. But we didn't kick him out either.

"You can cover my eyes in any way you wish," he said, "You can
bandage my head with fifty bandages and I will still be able to read you a
book."

He seemed perfectly serious. I felt my curiosity beginning to stir. "Come
here," I said. He came over to me. "Turn round." He turned
round. I placed my hands firmly over his eyes, holding the lids closed.
"Now," I said. "One of the other doctors in the room is going to
hold up some fingers. Tell me how many he's holding up."

Dr Marshall held up seven fingers.

"Seven," the Indian said.

"Once more," I said.

Dr Marshall clenched both fists and hid all his fingers.

"No fingers," the Indian said.

"Once more," I said.

Dr Marshall clenched both fists and hid all his fingers.

"No fingers," the Indian said.

I removed my hands from his eyes. "Not bad," I said.

"Hold on," Dr Marshall said. "Let's try this." There was a
white doctor's coat hanging from a peg on the door. Dr Marshall took it down
and rolled it into a sort of long scarf. He then wound it round the Indian's
head and held the ends tight at the back. "Try him now," Dr Marshall
said.

I took a key from my pocket. "What is this?" I asked.

"A key," he answered.

I put the key back and held up an empty hand. "What is this object?"
I asked him.

"There isn't any object," the Indian said. "Your hand is
empty."

Dr Marshall removed the covering from the man's eyes. "How do you do
it?" he asked. "What's the trick?"

"There is no trick," the Indian said. "It is a genuine thing
that I have managed after years of training."

"What sort of training?" I asked.

"Forgive me, sir," he said. "But that is a private matter."

"Then why did you come here?" I asked.

"I came to request a
favour
of you," he
said.

The Indian was a tall man of about thirty with light brown skin, the
colour
of a coconut. He had a small black moustache. Also,
there was a curious matting of black hair growing all over the outsides of his
ears. He wore a white cotton robe, and he had sandals on his bare feet.

"You see, gentlemen," he went on, "I am at present earning my
living by working in a
travelling
theatre, and we
have just arrived here in Bombay. Tonight we give our opening
performance."

"Where do you give it?" I asked.

"In the Royal Palace Hall," he answered.
"In
Acacia Street.
I am the star performer. I am billed on the
programme
as '
Imhrat
Khan, the
man who sees without his eyes'. And it is my duty to advertise the show in a
big way. If we don't sell tickets, we don't eat."

"What does this have to do with us?" I asked him.

"Very interesting for you," he said.
"Lots of
fun.
Let me explain. You see, whenever our theatre arrives in a new
town, I myself go straight to the largest hospital and I ask the doctors there
to bandage my eyes. I ask them to do it in the most expert fashion. They must
make sure my eyes are completely covered many times over. It is important that
this job is done by
doctors,
otherwise people will
think I am cheating. Then, when I am fully bandaged, I go out into the streets
and I do a dangerous thing."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"What I mean is that I do something that is extremely dangerous for
someone who cannot see."

"What do you do?" I asked.

"It is very interesting," he said. "And you will see me do it if
you will be so kind as to bandage me up first. It would be a great
favour
to me if you will do this little thing, sirs."

I looked at the other three doctors. Dr Phillips said he had to go back to his
patients. Dr Macfarlane said the same. Dr Marshall said, "Well, why not?
It might be amusing. It won't take a minute."

"I'm with you," I said. "But let's do the job properly. Let's
make absolutely sure he can't peep."

"You are extremely kind," the Indian said. "Please do whatever
you wish."

Dr Phillips and Dr Macfarlane left the room.

"Before we bandage him," I said to Dr Marshall, "let's first of
all seal down his eyelids. When we've done that we'll fill his eye-sockets with
something soft and solid and sticky."

"Such as what?"
Dr Marshall asked.

"What about dough?"

"Dough would be perfect," Dr Marshall said.

"Right," I said. "If you will nip down to the hospital bakery
and get some dough, I'll take him into the surgery and seal his lids."

I led the Indian out of the Rest Room and down the long hospital corridor to
the surgery. "Lie down there," I said, indicating the high bed. He
lay down. I took a small bottle from the cupboard. It had an eyedropper in the
top. "This is something called
collodion
,"
I told him. "It will harden over your closed eyelids so that it is
impossible for you to open them."

"How do I get it off afterwards?" he asked me.

"Alcohol will dissolve it quite easily," I said. "It's perfectly
harmless. Close your eyes now."

The Indian closed his eyes. I applied
collodion
over
both lids. "Keep them closed," I said. "Wait for it to
harden."

In a couple of minutes, the
collodion
had made a hard
film over the eyelids, sticking them down tight. "Try to open them,"
I said.

He tried but couldn't.

Dr Marshall came in with a basin of dough. It was the ordinary white dough used
for baking bread. It was nice and soft. I took a lump of the dough and plastered
it over one of the Indian's eyes. I filled the whole socket and let the dough
overlap on to the surrounding skin. Then I pressed the edges down hard. I did
the same with the other eye.

"That isn't too uncomfortable, is it?" I asked.

"No," the Indian said. "It's fine."

"You do the bandaging," I said to Dr Marshall. "My fingers are
too sticky."

"A pleasure," Dr Marshall said. "Watch this." He took a
thick wad of cotton-wool and laid it on top of the Indian's dough-filled eyes.
The cotton-wool stuck to the dough and stayed in place. "Sit up,
please," Dr Marshall said.

The Indian sat up on the bed.

Dr Marshall took a roll of three-inch bandage and proceeded to wrap it round and
round the man's head. The bandage held the cotton-wool and the dough firmly in
place. Dr Marshall pinned the bandage. After that, he took a second bandage and
began to wrap that one not only around the man's eyes but around his entire
face and head.

"Please to leave my nose free for breathing," the Indian said.

"Of course," Dr Marshall answered. He finished the job and pinned
down the end of the bandage.
"How's that?" he
asked.

"Splendid," I said. "There's no way he can possibly see through
that."

The whole of the Indian's head was now swathed in thick white bandage, and the
only thing you could see was the end of his nose sticking out. He looked like a
man who had had some terrible brain operation.

"How does that feel?" Dr Marshall asked him.

"It feels good," the Indian said. "I must compliment you
gentlemen on doing such a fine job."

"Off you go, then,"
Mr
Marshall said, grinning
at me. "Show us how clever you are at seeing things now!"

The Indian got off the bed and walked straight to the door. He opened the door
and went out.

"Great Scott!"
I said. "Did you see
that? He put his hand right on to the doorknob!"

Dr Marshall had stopped grinning. His face had suddenly gone white. "I'm
going after him," he said, rushing for the door. I rushed for the door as
well.

The Indian was walking quite normally along the hospital corridor. Dr Marshall
and I were about five yards behind him. And very spooky it was to watch this
man with the enormous white and totally bandaged head strolling casually along
the corridor just like anyone else. It was especially spooky when you knew for
a certainty that his eyelids were sealed, that his eye-sockets were filled with
dough, and that there was a great wad of cotton-wool and bandages on top of
that.

I saw a native orderly coming along the corridor towards the Indian. He was
pushing a food-trolley. Suddenly the orderly caught sight of the man with the
white head, and he froze. The bandaged Indian stepped casually to one side of
the trolley and went on.

"He saw it!" I cried. "He must have seen that trolley! He walked
right round it! This is absolutely unbelievable!"

Dr Marshall didn't answer me. His cheeks were white, his whole face rigid with
shocked disbelief.

The Indian came to the stairs and started to go down them.

He went down with no trouble at all. He didn't even put a hand on the
stair-rail. Several people were coming up the stairs. Each one of them stopped,
gasped, stared and quickly got out of his way.

At the bottom of the stairs, the Indian turned right and headed for the doors
that led out into the street. Dr Marshall and I kept close behind him.

The entrance to our hospital stands back a little from the street, and there is
a rather grand series of steps leading down from the entrance into a small
courtyard with acacia trees around it. Dr Marshall and I came out into the
blazing sunshine and stood at the top of the steps. Below us, in the courtyard,
we saw a crowd of maybe a hundred people. At least half of them were barefoot
children, and as our white-headed Indian walked down the steps, they all
cheered and shouted and surged towards him. He greeted them by holding both
hands above his head.