FARAWAY EYES

On the first sunny day of spring Ben hung the sheets in the front garden. He emerged from the house blinking in the sunlight. He was young, tall and thin, his checked shirt was buttoned up at the neck. His hair was fair and ruffled from sleep. His eyes were blue and far away.

Ben rigged up the washing lines in zigzags from house to fence and back again. After hanging the damp sheets neatly with blue pegs, he sat in a stripy nylon deck chair waiting for the sun and the breeze to do their work.

The sun was strong, the leaves were spring green and the quiet suburban street stirred into life as the birds sang and people slowly went about their Sunday business. Mr. and Mrs. Fulbright, a middle aged, middle England couple, walked past the house, well-heeled and on their way to church.

ÒGood morning Ben,Ó called Mrs. Fulbright, ÒyouÕve got the weather for it.Ó

ÒYouÕre like the first cuckoo Ben,Ó said Mr. Fulbright, ÒI always know spring is here when I see you and the sheets.Ó

ÒWaiting all winter,Ó said Ben.

ÒI remember you doing this with your mum when you were just a little boy,Ó said Mrs. Fulbright. ÒHow old are you now Ben?Ó

Ben looked down at his fingers, ÒTwenty five.Ó

ÒDonÕt forget Sunday lunch Ben. One oÕclock, I know you wonÕt be late.Ó

The Fulbrights went on their way and Ben began the first of his walks. He walked along the diagonal lines of sheets, trailing his hand along each sheet from one side of the garden to the other. Then he returned, stopping at each sheet to pull the cotton into his face. This was the main pleasure; the smell as the sun and air infused the damp sheets. Ben made several of these walks across the garden, trailing his hand on the cotton and breathing in the smell of the sheets. Then, using both hands to part one of the sheets, he walked inside the triangular entrance and stepped inside. Now he was within, tented in white. The sunlight intensified the white and made his eyes hurt. The sheets brushed and swept against his ears. He was surrounded by sensations that he loved. The fragrance was intoxicating now that he was in its midst. He began to turn slowly, round and round on the spot, breathing deep, watching the sunlight dappling patterns of light and shade.

People passed the house from time to time. Those who knew Ben, like the Fulbrights, and understood his autistic pleasures, smiled to themselves. Strangers saw the sheets, with BenÕs twirling feet beneath, and stared.


This Sunday an old man stopped at the sight of the sheets. He leaned on his walking stick transfixed by BenÕs feet and the shapes he made inside the sheets. Ben went from sheet to sheet repeating the ritual. The old man took off his jacket and, folding it on his lap, sat on BenÕs garden wall. He was well-dressed, the kind of old man who always put on a tie and wore a hat, even on a Sunday. His eyes were blue and milky and he was very old.

After half an hour Ben sat down on his deck chair. He stretched his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. The sheets waved in the breeze, making soft flaps, like the sails on toy boats.

ÒI like your sheets,Ó said the old man. ÒI was watching you. WhatÕs your name?Ó

Ben stirred, holding his hand over his eyes to shield the sun, he spoke. ÒMy name is Ben.Ó

ÒHello Ben,Ó said the old man. ÒAre these sheets yours?Ó Ben looked over at the sheets. ÒTheyÕre my mumÕs sheets.Ó he said, ÒI hang them.Ó

ÒIt looks like you enjoy it,Ó said the old man, Òdo you do it all the time?Ó

ÒOnly in spring. The first day of springÉ just right.Ó

The old man looked puzzled, ÒJust right? For what?Ó

ÒSmells, patterns, sounds,Ó Ben replied. ÒThe sounds?Ó the old man asked, ÒWhat sounds do the sheets make?Ó Ben said, ÒListenÓ and closed his eyes again.

They listened together. At first the old man could hear only birdsong, a distant church bell, children playing a few streets away. Then a gust ruffled the sheets and he heard the faint ripples and flaps. Ben and the old man listened together.

After a few minutes the old man spoke again. ÒWhereÕs your mum now Ben?Ó

ÒShe died on October 14th. At 12 oÕclock noon. Mum liked the sheets. Mum said to listen, smell them.Ó

The old man picked up his stick and hobbled to the nearest sheet. Holding it to his face, he breathed in and smelled. The back of his nostrils filled with the fragrance. He took another deep breath, letting the air pass slowly this time through his nostrils so that his lungs inflated slowly.

The old man lingered by the sheets for a minute then looked at Ben. He thought the young man looked sad, preoccupied, and BenÕs lack of self-consciousness made the old man want to know more about him.

ÒHow did your mum die Ben?Ó asked the old man, sitting down stiffly again on the wall.

ÒHeart attack,Ó said Ben, Òattacked her heart. Attack of the heart.Ó

ÒWas it quick?Ó the old man asked. ÒQuick.Ó Ben replied.

Ben folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes again. ÒDo you believe in heaven Ben?Ó said the old man.

ÒHeaven.Ó said Ben.

ÒAn after-life, you know, after death?Ó Ben sat with his eyes closed, drinking in the sun and the gentle flapping of the sheets. ÒAfter death, after life.Ó He said, as if to himself.

The old man persisted. There was something about Ben that made him want to talk. ÒI mean where do you think your mum is now?Ó

Ben didnÕt open his eyes, but he replied. ÒGone. Not here. In the cemetery.Ó

ÒAah yes.Ó The old man paused. ÒIÕm old. Not long for this world. One foot in the grave as they say.Ó ÒWhich foot?Ó said Ben, opening his eyes and looking down at the old manÕs feet.

The old man and Ben sat together. BenÕs eyes were closed. The old man on the wall looked at the sheets. There seemed to be all the time in the world. He thought about his life and all the times when he wished time would slow down like this. He thought about Helen, his wife, who had died five years ago, his children and grandchildren, scattered across the country. He thought about his working life, he had been a successful businessman, always rushing from one place to another. It all seemed so long ago. What was so important about those appointments and reports and monthly figures? Even his life with his wife, whom he had loved with all his heart and been faithful to, seemed so long ago now. He smiled to himself. It had been a happy life, he thought, by any measure. So he sat and watched the sheets.

He tried to remember one thing about his wife which had given her as much pleasure as these sheets gave this young man. Helen had her career too, sheÕd had interests, sheÕd had friends. He couldnÕt bring to mind any of her pleasures though. He tried to picture her going through a day in her life and imagine something that would have given her this much pleasure. Then he remembered and smiled at the thought of it; how her face used to glow when she talked about their children when they were young. He too had loved that time of their lives. In his memory it was full of first smiles, first steps and first words. He could see HelenÕs face now, beaming and laughing as a photograph reminded her of something one of the children had done when they were two years old. He decided to get the photo albums out when he got home. If he remembered: it was getting hard to remember things.



Returning from church, Mr. and Mrs. Fulbright walked past the house again and stopped when they saw the old man sitting on the wall.

ÒHello Ben, still out here?Ó said Mr. Fulbright. ÒHowÕs it going?Ó

Ben didnÕt reply. The old man looked over at the Fulbrights and said, ÒLovely day, isnÕt it?Ó

ÒYes, isnÕt it wonderful when spring comes so suddenly,Ó said Mrs. Fulbright.

ÒIÕve just been sitting enjoying the sun,Ó said the old man. ÒBen seems to have nodded off.Ó

ÒOh yes Ben and his sheets, I think it takes it out of him,Ó said Mrs. Fulbright, Òthis must be the first time since his poor mother died. It was so sudden.Ó

ÒCome on Ben,Ó said Mr. Fulbright, Òwakey wakey. ItÕs nearly time for your Sunday dinner, tell your dad weÕll be eating in half an hour.Ó

Ben looked at the Fulbrights, stood without saying a word and went into the house.

ÒWeÕve been helping BenÕs dad out, making the odd Sunday dinner for them. ItÕs difficult for him now,Ó said Mrs. Fulbright.

ÒHow kind of you,Ó said the old man. He paused and said, ÒWell, I must be on my way now.Ó

ÒCome on dear, we must get back too,Ó said Mr. Fulbright. ÒWeÕve left our daughter in charge of the roast. Goodbye. Enjoy the sunshine.Ó The Fulbrights hurried off, their good deeds putting a spring in their step.

The old man stood stiffly and leaned on his stick. He looked at BenÕs deck chair and walked over to it. He sat down and thought of HelenÕs face, while the sheets fluttered and he closed his milky blue eyes for the last time.

THE END