People of the Mist

I had awakened in the middle of the night and was lying in bed when I saw two figures. It took a brief moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Not wanting to draw their attention, I lay there motionless. Quietly, they walked straight toward me and stopped next to my bed.

Since I was lying on my side, I had a clear view. There were two boys; in front was a boy perhaps eight years old, the other boy was taller, perhaps in his late teens. I thought his looks were deceptive because he seemed older than he looked. 

They each had on only a pair of white cotton shorts, which were soiled with dirt. From their dark, bare bodies, I could make out that they were from rural India. Both boys were blind. They were each holding one end of a bamboo stick. Having grown up in India, I had often seen the “blind leading the blind” this way.

Without any formalities, the older one spoke: “You have to help us.”

His face and eyes were focused on me. I understood exactly what he meant. They were not seeking personal help. They wanted me to help the blind.

“I cannot help.” The words rushed out of me. I sounded abrupt and tactless, even to me. 

The younger boy looked back at his companion, as if he had been told to expect a different answer. The older boy just stood there, silently looking at me as if he had expected that answer. 

“I am not trying to get out of helping you, but I don’t know what to do,” I explained. The two boys just stood there without saying a word.

“I have no means by which to help you,” I continued to explain. 

“When you make up your mind, you will find a way,” said the older boy. There was an expression of irritation and disappointment on his face, as if he expected me to know that much.

At that moment, I realized we were not talking in words but communicating thoughts to each other. 

“I will,” I said. I will.

Immediately, I regretted my statement. A realization swept over me that I had just bought an extra load of work I did not need. I could not tell whether I had made that promise to console these two visitors or to experience a new adventure. But whatever the reason, it was going to be a heavy burden and a long road. 

I looked at the older boy. His eyelids had closed over his blind eyes. A thought crossed my mind: They are allowing me to change my mind, if I want to. The two boys just stood there. I could feel their deep silence. 

Use your reason, I heard a part of me argue. You do not have to take the load. You can still say no.

I refused to agree with that idea. For whatever reason, I had made a commitment and was going to keep it, irrespective of the cost. There was no going back. 

Again, I looked at the older boy and this time I saw a glow coming through his peaceful face. Then both of them started to melt into the dark. They were made of mist—tiny white particles that started to slowly dissipate in front of my eyes—as if blowing away, even without a breeze. 

I turned over and saw Treva in deep sleep. After a moment, I reached out and touched her gently, making sure not to wake her. I needed to find my bearings, in more ways than one. 

Lying there, I was very confident of what I had experienced, but unsure of what had happened. Was it a dream, or a vision? My eyes were wide open, and the two boys could not have been more real. Someone, something, had stood next to me. I had seen them coming from a distance, but my bed was hardly six feet from the wall. Was I really in my bed, or was I someplace else when I experienced this? It was a peculiar mixture of certainty and uncertainty. I could not go back to sleep, but I was unwilling or incapable of getting out of bed. My mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. Something was repeating itself, like a broken record. I could not decipher what it was, but it was heavy and grating. I started to fall into a dark vacuum, and when I woke up again, it was late morning. 

Treva had long since left for the office, leaving my chai and toast on the kitchen counter.            

“I love you, Sweetheart!” I shouted at the top of my lungs to fill the empty house.

Quite often after this experience, without notice, the image of those two blind boys would pop up in my mind.

“I will. I will,” I would assure them each time. It was my way of telling them that my mind was made up, but I still had not found the way. But I knew better. This was my excuse to hide my inertia.

I knew the two blind boys were from India. I decided to find ways to help the blind in India. I talked to anyone who knew something about blindness. A friend told me about a library in Kansas City wanting to get rid of some Braille books. Immediately, I acquired the entire set of 150 books and shipped them to the Red Cross in New Delhi. A friend in Chicago learned of my interest in the blind and donated a Braille machine. I hand carried it to India as my private luggage and Pan Am Airways allowed me to take the extra bag without charge. I investigated the price of a computer that could print Braille books. It was $25,000 at that time, and I was determined to get it funded. 

I was learning something every day, talking to people and doing whatever I could. I was walking on an unknown trail, without knowing where it went.