They asked me if I had been blind? When I said that was true, they asked how I had gained my sight. I told them about the voices that day and the man, Jesus, and the spitting and the pool. ‘He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.’ Some of them didn’t like my story at all. I could tell. They started going on about how it had happened on a Holy Day, and how that was breaking the rules and how this Jesus must be some sort of evil sinner if he didn’t follow those rules. Of course they weren’t talking to me, but to each other. I was just there, a nothing again. A nobody. This wasn’t about me seeing, it was about them and their rules. I wanted to tell them that I didn’t give a stuff about their rules, but I did – really – care about being able to see. They weren’t all in agreement. Some of the others started to say that something like this – me being the prime exhibit – could only be of God and that this Jesus must not be a sinner. Back and forth, back and forth. It was clear that what they cared about more than anything was a good argument. About ‘winning’ a good argument. I thought they’d forgotten about me altogether and I was considering leaving when one of them walked up to me and asked, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” My whole life, they had ignored my existence, acted as if I was an insult to their world order. Now they wanted my opinion. The world turns. “He’s a prophet,” I said. Don’t know where that came from really, but it shut them up for a bit. A few of them looked daggers at me. A few of them looked scared. The one of the dagger-eyes yelled out, “This is insane. I bet he was never blind in the first place.” It got messy. I told him exactly how much I thought he knew about it and there was a bit of an all-in slanging match for a while until one of the older blokes got us all to shut up. He told the 79
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