Inf. 3.58 Poscia ch’io v’ebbi alcun riconosciuto
Barnesy:
I can hear voices, much better than before, I mean. I never really listened to what a voice sounded like before but now it’s all I’ve got to go on I’m much more quick to judge based on what someone sounds like.
I don’t like to go down to the wine bar on my own but there are only so many nights in listening to the radio that you can tolerate. God, I used to go out every bloody night before I got moved up here. For my own good, of course. For my safety; they have to say that. It’s just one more thing to add insult to injury. Literally. Anyway, when I was back down there, I was in a miniscule flat just across from a petrol station right off the centre of Islington and I loved it. I knew hundreds of people then. By their faces, I mean. Starting off at nodding acquaintanceship, that’s the easiest way, and then it becomes natural, inevitable that one day you say hello, and then after that you chat. When you’re blind, you don’t know who’s around you so you never get to make the first move to make friends.
Anyway, I decided I’d go down to the wine bar, for a drink, for a sit with some voices. The problem with the radio is that more often than not it’s just the one line of audio; you never get the sense of being in a group. Anyway, I could hear Peg roaring with laughter as I made my way down the stairs and that cheered me up – she’s got one of the best laughs I’ve ever heard, deep and fat, and it doesn’t go on too long. It made me smile as I opened the door. But then I thought I heard something else. I stopped, and pretended to feel my way across the fliers they always stack up on the table by the bottom of the steps. There’s no way I was going in if it was him. I listened. Nothing. Then Peg laughed again, and then I heard her call, ‘Barnesy! Here you go dear, look, here’s your table,’ and so it was too late, I was in.
generating dante 