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| blind:� my grandfather announced one day that he had gone blind, and from then on wore dark glasses and mismatched suits, and insisted on whatever nephew or inlaw happened to be nearby describing to him all the things he would have been seeing: buildings, landscapes, expressions of people, a kind of running narration for the visible world.� a lot of those evenings, stuck like barnacles to otherwise busy days, I would walk with him along the esplanade, speaking what I saw of the cafes, the sea, the drowning sky.� sometimes it seemed his head would be shaking slightly, but it could have been the wind, I thought, or one of the many palsied glitches of old age.� until one time he took of his glasses and looked me in the eye.� he wasn't blind.� he told me that he'd lied because all of his life he had thought the world he saw was different from other people's, and this was the only way he could check, to know if he was right. | ||