Besson paused to look closer at him, and realized that he was blind. Then he went across into the doorway and bought a paper. The blind man counted out his change competently enough, feeling the coins with his fingertips.
‘You can’t be very warm there,’ Besson said.
Without so much as a nod by way of greeting the man said: ‘It’s all right.’ He had a strong, somewhat nasal voice.
Besson said: ‘Filthy weather, isn’t it?’
‘It’s raining, all right,’ the man said. ‘We’ll have floods before it’s through.’
‘Think so?’
‘I don’t think, I know,’ the man told him. Then, gesturing with his hand, he added: ‘Besides, just listen. Hear that noise? It’s the flood building up.’
Besson strained both ears, without success.
‘I can’t hear anything,’ he said.
‘Try again. Listen carefully. There’s a sort of dull rumbling, down there, underground.’
‘With all these cars passing I can’t hear a thing.’
‘That’s because you aren’t used to it. But it does make a noise. It’s all the small water-channels in town rising. If they go on like that for another week, we’ll be flooded out.’
‘You really think so?’
‘I’m telling you. Here, shove your ear down against the pavement, you’ll hear it then.’
Besson knelt down and rested his head on the concrete surface. At once he caught the muffled, vibrating roar of the swollen water-channels. It was a most disturbing sound.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘There is a noise down there.’
‘It’s the beginning of the flood.’
For a moment neither of them said anything. Besson watched the man’s face. He had heavy, sanguine features, and an absolutely impassive expression. Not even his wrinkles stirred. Round his dark glasses, close to the eye-sockets, were several curious scars. They had a whitish, puffy appearance.
‘Have you — have you been doing this for long?’ Besson asked.
‘Doing what?’
‘Well I mean, selling papers.’
‘Oh, the papers. Four years and more now, yes.’
‘What did you do before that?’
‘Oh, I’ve had a go at everything. I’ve sold National Lottery tickets, and done odd jobs. But I prefer papers. They pay better, and you don’t need to keep shouting.’
‘Do a lot of people buy papers?’
‘Heavens, yes, indeed they do. But the Lottery, now, that’s something else again. There were days when it was all right, and others when I didn’t sell a single ticket.’
‘Just a matter of luck, h’m?’
‘Well, sure. What d’you expect with the Lottery?’
‘But — but what do you think about, sitting there like that all day?’
The man coughed.
‘Oh, I’ve got plenty to occupy me. You’d be surprised how quickly the time passes. I think about whatever I please, or sometimes I’ll listen to the radio. I’ve got a little transistor set in my pocket. Here, have a look.’
The man brought out a small black and red object. He turned a knob, and music blared out of it. He held the set against his ear for two or three seconds, then switched it off and shoved it back in the pocket of his lumber-jacket.
‘I’m very fond of music,’ he said. ‘And there are always people who enjoy a bit of a chat when they buy their paper. Sometimes my wife comes and keeps me company. I count my takings, too. It all helps.’
‘All the same, there must be days when you get fed up with the whole business.’
‘Well, yes, when it gets really cold I’d rather be at home. But if I stayed away too often, someone’d pinch my beat.’
‘Is it hard to get one?’
‘Too true it’s hard. First you have to get a permit. They don’t go handing them out to just anyone. And that’s not all, either. After you’ve wangled your permit you have to buy yourself a beat. Costs the earth, I don’t mind telling you. When I’ve had enough of the game I’ll sell my beat to someone else. The only trouble is, if you’re away, some other bastard always moves in.’
‘Suppose you’re sick?’
‘That’s just a risk you have to take. But most times it’s another regular, see? They’re not the sort to set themselves up in a corner without knowing who it belongs to.’
‘Doesn’t it ever happen?’
‘Sure, it happens, but not often. Besides, it’s nearly always a tramp or a beggar. They go looking for trouble. Luckily for us, we’ve all got permits, so we just whistle up a cop and get our beat back.’
‘And you say you’ve been here four years?’
‘You mean on this beat?’
‘That’s right.’
‘No, no, only a year here so far. It’s a good beat, this one. People pass by on their way to the station, so trade’s pretty brisk. No, before this I was further down-town. I sold up there and took over this place. But I had to fight for it. At the beginning we had those wide Paris newsboys here, a regular gang of them. You know the ones, they all wear blue blouses and peaked caps. Get in everywhere nowadays, they do. They’ve got those sort of small mobile kiosks, and just sit by them all day long. Well, they soon saw I’d got myself a good beat, and they tried to intimidate me. But I wasn’t having any, I stood firm. I may be blind but I’ve got my head screwed on the right way. Got the best of them in the end, too, put the union boys on to them, and after that they left me alone. But it was pretty tough. They’re young, they can hold down jobs — why don’t they let the old folks be? If there was anything else I could do I shouldn’t stay here long, I promise you.’
‘And is it a long time since — I mean, that you’ve been, well, like that?’
‘Like that? Oh, my eyes, you mean.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, it happened ten, fifteen years ago.’
‘How?’
‘At work. A petroleum explosion. But that’s all old history now. The doctors told me they’d try to save at least the one eye. Had three operations, but it didn’t come off.’
‘What did it do to you?’
‘How d’you mean, what did it do to me?’
‘I mean what effect did it have on you, not being able to see any more, and all that?’
The man reflected for a moment.
‘Well, it shook me all right, that’s true enough, But you soon get used to it, you know. It’s pretty good hell at first, I don’t mind admitting — you bump into everything, and hurt yourself, and you’re always scared of falling. But you get acclimatized soon enough. You know, when you get down to it, being blind isn’t so very different from waking up during a power cut. You sort yourself out fast enough, it doesn’t take long to get organized. It’s all right in your own home. But outside on the street—’ He broke off.
‘On the street, yes?’
‘Yes, well, on the street it’s quite a different matter. I don’t mind admitting, I’m not too fond of having to get back home by myself, even now. I’m always scared that there’ll be some manhole left open on the pavement, and I’ll tumble down it. But if I’m with my wife, then it’s all right, I’m not frightened.’
‘And you — you don’t regret not being able to see—’
‘See what?’
‘No, I meant, do you ever regret not being able to see any more, period?’