He returned to consciousness blind and without a body. His first thoughts were not formed of words; his feeling were confused, inexpressible. He receded, disappeared somewhere, and returned. It was only when he found his internal speech that he could put questions to himself. What was I afraid of? What kind of darkness is this? What does this mean? And when he made this step, he was able to think: What am I? What is happening to me?
He tried to move, to locate his arms, legs, torso, knowing now that he had a body, or at least that he should have one. But nothing responded, nothing moved. He could not tell if his eyes were open. He felt no lids, no blinking. He exerted all his strength to lift the lids, and perhaps succeeded. But he saw nothing except the same darkness as before. These attempts, requiring tremendous effort, again led him to the question: What am I? I am a man.
This obvious answer was a revelation to him. Then, immediately, he knew its obviousness and smiled at himself, because what kind of brilliant discovery was that?
Words returned slowly, from where he did not know, and at first were scattered and without pattern, as i£ he were pulling them up like fish out of unknown depths. Am. l am. Where, I do not know. I cannot feel my body. Why is that? Now he began to feel his face, the cheeks, possibly the nose. He was even able to move the nostrils, though that took an enormous exertion of will. He stared, moving the eyeballs, in all directions, and concluded, because his ability to reason had returned: Either I am blind or it is completely dark. The darkness brought to mind night, and night a great space full of pure, cold air, and air suggested breath. Am I breathing? he asked himself, and listened carefully to his darkness, which was so like nothingness and yet so unlike it.
It seemed to him that he was breathing, but not in the usual way. The belly, the ribs were motionless, held in incomprehensible suspension; the air entered by itself and gently left. There was no other way he could breathe.
He had a face now, lungs, nostrils, a mouth, eyes, though unseeing. He decided to make a fist, remembering perfectly what hands were and how to close them tight. Still he felt nothing, and fear returned, this time rational, from logic: This is either paralysis or I have lost my arms and possibly my legs. The conclusion seemed false -- he had lungs, that was certain, and yet no body. Into his darkness and fear intruded tones, measured, distlnt, dull. Blood?
His heart? It was beating. Then he heard, like the first tidings from the outside, the sounds of speech. His hearing opened suddenly, though it was mulfled. There were two people speaking -- he distinguished two voices -- but he did oot understand what they were saying. The language was known to him; the words, however, were indistinct, like objects seen through misted glass or a fog. As he focused his attention more, his hearing sharpened, and -- strangely -- t was through his hearing that he emerged from himself, finding himself in a space that had a bottom, top, and sides. This meant gravity, he realized. Then he started to concentrate completely on the hearing. The voices were masculine, one higher and softer, the other low, a baritone, very close. Perhaps he could speak himself, it he tried, But he wanted to listen first, not only out of curiosity and hope, but also because it was a pleasurable thing to hear so well and to comprehend more and more human speech.
