The Door in the Wall, and Other StoriesWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Science
The Door in the Wall, and Other Stories
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Fantasy fiction, English; Science fiction, English; Short stories
“There is no such word as _see_,” said the blind man, after a pause.
“Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet.”
Nunez followed, a little annoyed.
“My time will come,” he said.
“You’ll learn,” the blind man answered. “There is much to learn in the
world.”
“Has no one told you, ‘In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is
King?’”
“What is blind?” asked the blind man, carelessly, over his shoulder.
Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind still
incognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his subjects.
It was, he found, much more difficult to proclaim himself than he had
supposed, and in the meantime, while he meditated his _coup d’etat_, he
did what he was told and learnt the manners and customs of the Country
of the Blind. He found working and going about at night a particularly
irksome thing, and he decided that that should be the first thing he
would change.
They led a simple, laborious life, these people, with all the elements
of virtue and happiness as these things can be understood by men. They
toiled, but not oppressively; they had food and clothing sufficient for
their needs; they had days and seasons of rest; they made much of music
and singing, and there was love among them and little children. It was
marvellous with what confidence and precision they went about their
ordered world. Everything, you see, had been made to fit their needs;
each of the radiating paths of the valley area had a constant angle to
the others, and was distinguished by a special notch upon its kerbing;
all obstacles and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been
cleared away; all their methods and procedure arose naturally from
their special needs. Their senses had become marvellously acute; they
could hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces
away—could hear the very beating of his heart. Intonation had long
replaced expression with them, and touches gesture, and their work with
hoe and spade and fork was as free and confident as garden work can be.
Their sense of smell was extraordinarily fine; they could distinguish
individual differences as readily as a dog can, and they went about the
tending of llamas, who lived among the rocks above and came to the wall
for food and shelter, with ease and confidence. It was only when at
last Nunez sought to assert himself that he found how easy and
confident their movements could be.
He rebelled only after he had tried persuasion.
He tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight. “Look you
here, you people,” he said. “There are things you do not understand in
me.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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