Blindfold

Neither of them was there for the most obvious reason. His staff badge dangled on its strip of blue webbing; her friend dangled in the background.

She took the piece of purple fabric and wrapped it around his head, binding his eyes closed gently, not wishing to hurt.

The dismantled seat lay in pieces on the floor at their feet. As he stood, blindfolded and vulnerable, she mixed the pieces up, as though they were a jigsaw, a puzzle meant to confound.

“Crouch down,” she told him, and he did. “There’s a piece to your side, on your right.” His hand slid across the floor until it found the side of the seat. “Lift it,” she told him. He obeyed. “Hold it there and lean forward, feeling with your left hand,” she said. “That piece there, that’s the back.”

He felt along the edge of the piece she had led him to, his hands stroking the surface of the wood.

“No,” he said. “That’s the front.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well in that case, feel to your left and slightly behind. That piece must be the back.”

He picked it up with his free hand and brought it to meet the side piece he was still holding up.

She crouched down, the silk of her dress moulding itself to her form, hissing slightly with the sound of motion.

“Here, let me help you,” she offered, her hand touching his briefly. He didn’t shrink away but raised a finger slightly to link with one of hers. She laughed.

“Now,” she said. “If I hold this here, you slide to your left again. The other side piece is at an angle three steps left.”

He found the piece and married it to the back piece. She held the structure upright and told him to stand and take three paces backwards.

“Under your left foot is the seat,” she told him. He crouched and retrieved it from the floor.

“I should have put this in first,” he said.

She saw that he was right.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll take the back piece out and you can slide the seat part in.”

“Agreed,” he said.

They worked together, her watching him working deftly, unable to see. His hands were strong, his body poised. The seat, sides and back were linked. Their hands had touched again as he tried to slot the seat into one of the sides. She had guided his fingers to find the slot and marry it to the notch.

“The front is to your right,” she said softly into his ear. They were both crouching, their heads close together. She had no need to raise her voice. “Move over two steps. It’s just there.”

He brought it back to where she was holding the rest of the seat. His hands worked out where the notches were that needed to fit with those on the seat sides. He slid the last piece in.

“Ta-dah!” she said as he removed the blindfold.

They stood and looked at his handiwork.

“You put that back together again quickly,” she said.

“That’s because I made it,” he replied.

“Oh,” she said, looking away from the seat and at him. “You’re a carpenter?”

“A carpenter. A furniture maker. Not usually in mdf, though,” he laughed.

He turned to her. “Now it’s your turn,” he said, smiling.

“Oh no!” she replied. “That wasn’t the deal.”

He grinned and brought the blindfold around her head anyway. He was less gentle than she had been with him. He tied it tightly at the back, then brought the ends round to the front and knotted them again in front of her eyes.

“Can you see?” he asked.

“It’s so tight, I can’t even open my eyes,” she said.

He disappeared from beside her and she heard him dismantle the seat and move the pieces around. She felt disorientated, lost suddenly. The room seemed to have expanded, leaving her in a vacuum. She put out a hand and found his curly head. She withdrew as quickly as she had touched.

She heard his voice, close again.

“Okay,” he said. “Crouch down.”

Again the rustle and hiss of the silk as she moved her body into a crouching position. She hoped that her skirt hadn’t ridden up too high. She hoped that the seams would withstand this crouching. His voice was gentle, his accent different to hers. She concentrated on what he was saying, knowing that she was frowning behind the blindfold.

She moved her hands around the floor, seeking out the pieces as he directed. She used her fingers to work out the shape of the notches and the slots. She sensuously learned the shapes and patterns of the pieces, bringing them together, his voice encouraging her all the time.

“Here,” he said, his hand brushing against hers, “I’ll help you.”

His fingers closed around hers and helped her to push the seat home into one of the sides.

“I’ll hold this up while you find the other piece. Over to your right. Three paces.”

She tried to hold up the seat as she moved.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “I’ve got it.”

Slowly, perhaps more slowly than was strictly necessary, she put the seat together.

“Well done,” he said, when she removed the blindfold and looked to see what she had created.

There were other people waiting.

“I have more customers,” he said with a wink. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

His eyes were blue.

“He liked you,” her friend told her later, as they left to look at the exhibition.

“He was doing his job,” she replied.

Halfway up the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder. He smiled at her across the room, then blindfolded somebody else.

© J R Hargreaves February 2007