The Incident Report by Martha Baillie Page B

necktie.
    â€œWell, now, if you’ll recall, we were discussing clothing and the curious difficulty some of us have in parting with certain garments. There was one such garment I bought in 1946, and I’ve dragged it along with me ever since. A housecoat . Of course, nobody in my family wore such a thing, a housecoat , and neither did any of the people we knew. We were what you’d call poor, working-class people. But I bought myself this housecoat anyway. It’s made of felt. I’m not sure it’s entirely fabricated from wool, but there’s wool in the mix for sure, and now, as you might expect—it was purchased in 1946, as I believe I mentioned—it has big gaping holes under the arms. It hangs in my wardrobe, quite alone, and I don’t have many occasions to wear it. But in the winter when the house is cold and I don’t want to turn up the heat too high, I’ll pull it on and wrap it around me, and this garment, this housecoat , doesprove useful enough. It has white piping along the edges of its pockets and cuffs and such, and silver stitches, if you please.”

INCIDENT REPORT 118
    I walked with my eyes closed.
    â€œThis way, this way, good. I won’t let you trip.”
    â€œAre we nearly at the greenhouse?”
    â€œAlmost.”
    â€œIs the moon still out.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIs anyone else around?”
    â€œNo. Nobody I can see, except two men.”
    â€œWhere are they?”
    â€œSome place far away, walking their dogs. Off by the edge of the park. They each have a dog. One small dog is white, with short legs and short fur, one big dog is brown with curls.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYou are welcome. Is there something else you would like to see?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAre you sure? You could see a lot through my eyes. The trees are casting dark precise shadows.”
    â€œWhat happens when we reach the greenhouse?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNothing?”
    â€œI then close my eyes, Darkest Miriam, and it’s your turn to lead me.”
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œHome.”
    â€œYou don’t have a home, Janko.”
    â€œDon’t I?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat about my apartment?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd my paintings?”
    â€œThey are the closest thing you have to a home.”
    â€œWhat if I have children? Where will they live?”
    â€œYou won’t have children.”
    â€œI won’t? You are deciding I won’t have children? But I want to have children.”
    â€œI don’t see you having any.”
    â€œYou mean you don’t want me to have any? Is that what you mean?”
    â€œI haven’t any idea if I want you to or not. I’m saying what I see when I close my eyes.”
    â€œOpen your eyes.”
    â€œHave we reached the greenhouse?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen why should I open them?”
    â€œOpen them, Darkest Miriam.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you want me to leave you here?”
    â€œAre you afraid of what I’ll see, if I keep my eyes closed?”
    â€œAfraid. Afraid. Why are you always thinking about fear? Life is bigger than fear.”
    â€œAre you afraid of what I’ll see if I keep them closed?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI am afraid of what you will see if you keep your eyes closed.”
    â€œThen I’ll open them.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œThey’re open now.”
    â€œGood. I see that they are. And you see, we are not far from the greenhouse.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter anymore, Janko.”
    â€œYou are disappointed?”
    â€œThe moon is gone.”
    â€œIt will come back.”
    â€œI was only imagining.”
    â€œYou said that I won’t have any children. It sounded like a curse. You didn’t mean to curse me, but that is how it sounded.”
    â€œI said what I saw, what I saw with my eyes shut. Not what I wanted to