Saving Beauty and the Beast

"No, seriously, Andrew..." I say.

I was prepared for anything more than the meagre sum the music school was paying me. Generally I only received 50 percent of what the school earned, and it came up to five US dollars per student per hour. If he was willing to pay me six US dollars per hour, it would be an upgrade good enough.

"I am serious. Work for me till the 31st of the third month. You will receive the million dollars by cash only on the 31st. If you leave before, you get nothing from me. This is my way of ensuring that you do not quit halfway and put me through the hassle of looking for a substitute. Do you agree to my terms?" He asks.

My heart thumps. I feel it go dup dup dup and then quicker.

"Yes. I agree." I say.

"You know a good offer when you see one." He says, smiling.

I take in a deep gulp of sea air. This seems too good to be true.

*

From that very moment, I become his eyes to the world. After having a simple breakfast of bread and marmalade together in the dining room of the yacht, he shows me around his yacht which has been his residence on sea for the past year. It is like a big hotel, only that it all belongs to him. There is a swimming pool, a cinema, a workout room, a library and two huge master bedrooms.

His crew is minimal. They consist of Ralph the captain, Suzanna the maid who doubles up as the chef and Alfonso the jack of all trades who assists Ralph as co-captain. I learn that Suzanna and Alfonso are husband and wife, while Ralph is a retired lawyer who used to work at Andrew's law firm. He took early retirement to take up seafaring. I get along cordially enough with them. They all seem very polite and professional.

But my employer, Andrew is in a different category altogether. There are moments when he gets into states of bitterness, and moments when he looks utterly depressed. And moments when I can swear that if he had eyes, they would be twinkling like stars.

Daily I take him down the pier and onto the mainland. I learn how to hoist him into the passenger seat of my car. Then I fold up his wheelchair and place it in the boot. We drive around town mostly.

I will tell him what I see to the greatest detail. He will normally keep quiet but I know he is listening because his ears tend to wriggle a little and his nose twitches. Sometimes I see some moisture on his cheeks. I cannot tell if he is sweaty due to the tropical heat or if he is thinking of better days.

The town is big enough to have a different place of interest to visit every day. Sometimes I bring him to the park, to the centre, to the shops and cafes where we would have drinks or a meal together, depending on the time. Sometimes he prefers to stay at the coast line. I will then push his wheelchair all along the coast pavement. Sometimes we just stay in the yacht. We have many moments of silence there because he does not ask me to describe his yacht and generally we are both quiet people. I sometimes wonder whether he wants me to go home earlier than the proposed time.

The pier is generally quiet, but there are a few holiday-goers now and then, mostly from the docked yachts. They do not stay long. After two or three days, they set sail to Belatek, the main attraction in the region.

*

We have been together for a month now. We are both in the yacht, in the library this time. After dinner, I had walked to his yacht from my childhood home nearby.

He has been drinking a concoction of liquor from what bottles I can see on the table. He offers me a glass of any liquor I want. I opt for white wine.

"Drinking alcohol is illegal for some people here due to religious reasons, I gather." He says.

"Yes." I say, but I choose not to elaborate.

I sip more of the white wine.

"You have never asked me what happened to my eyes. Are you not curious?" He asks.

"Yes, but I do not know if you wish to talk about it." I answer, looking at him out of habit.

I take the opportunity to study him a lot during moments like these. He cannot bite, he cannot see. I can study unobserved.

"My lover's husband caught us together in bed and attacked me with acid four years ago. You may have heard of the actress Rachel Freene." He says.

His body kinds of spasms and immediately I move closer to him. I was just about to touch him when I stop myself.

"Doctors say that part of my retina is damaged. Any exposure to light risks me losing my sight completely. I may never see again. Until we know for certain, I must keep my eyes bandaged all the time. This is essential for the cells to regenerate. Alfonso helps me change the gauze every night." He says.

He touches the bandage which covers his eyes. He looks down.

I do not know what to say, what to do to make him feel better.

Perhaps speaking about my past would make his more tolerable.

But I do not know really. All I know is that I need to console him.

I reach out for those hands, without gloves now, and hold them lightly. He does not expect me to touch him. His skin burns on mine, almost lurching out to hit me back but then he somewhat calms down. Our interlocked hands rest on his bandaged eyes.

My hands tremble when they graze down his cheeks, to the scared tissue of skin where the bandage was. I feel like crying, but I have sworn to be detached.

"Don't cry for me." He says, softly and almost tenderly.

I stifle a sniff. I take my hands away and wipe my tears.

"I do not want your pity. I know you have been feeling sorry for me all the way through." He says, in a harsh voice now.

"How can I not?"

My words vibrate into the air, caught midway in my throat.

"Go home, Miss Phan. I have no further need of you tonight." He says.

His voice is hard. He is chasing me away.

"I am not crying anymore. Let me stay." I say.

But I am lying.

"My senses are more alert now that I cannot see. So please don't tell lies. Go home and wash up and don't think about me." He says.

He pulls a bell by the side of the room next to his seat.

"Alfonso will see to my needs." He says.

"Tell me what to do. Alfonso is having a late dinner with Suzanna." I say.

"I pay him well enough to cater to my needs, the same way I pay you well enough to leave me when you're not needed." He says, voice strained.

I figure that he wishes to retire to his bedroom. I try to lift him up into his wheelchair but he resists. He pushes me away roughly.

"Please let me help you, Andrew." I say.

Please let me help you take the pain away, I want to say but I stop short there.

"How?" His voice rasps out at me.

"Let me get you to the bedroom. Then I promise to leave." I say.

At that moment, I hear Alfonso enter the library. He looks at the both of us.

"It's alright Alfonso. I will assist Andrew tonight. Go continue your dinner date with your wife." I say, trying to smile a little.

Alfonso looks uncertain. He is waiting for Andrew to say something.

Andrew finally speaks.

"This woman won't leave me alone. Fortunately I have the patience to deal with her antiques tonight." He says curtly in Alfonso's direction.

"Yes, Mr. de Louterbergh." Alfonso says.

It comes to my realization that I am the only one calling him by his first name.

"Put your arms around my shoulders." I say, instructing my blind invalid.

He does as he is told. He is no longer resisting me.

When he is cooperating, it is easier to get him into the wheelchair. His body brushes mine and my heart stops beating for a second. We are in very close proximity. Grandmother will have never approved. But I do not care. She is not here anyway.

I tell her I am working as a personal assistant to the blind invalid in the yacht. She is okay about that because he is blind and he is an invalid. He will not harm me like other men.

I push the wheelchair into his bedroom. I have seen it cursorily before when he gave me the grand tour with Ralph. It is a grand bedroom with tapestries and a four poster bed. The bedroom is carpeted all over. The adjoining bathroom has a shower tub and sink made of gold.

"I normally take a shower before I retire for the night." He says.

"I do that too. The humidity is unbearable by the sea." I say.

"And I thought you are a local woman." He says.

"I am." I say. "But I have lived in cooler climates before, and I had rather enjoyed the coolness." I add in.

I realize that I had to get him into the shower. I raise him up again. Those legs of his are wooden. I wonder if it was due to the acid attack or something else, but I dare not ask. He slumps onto me. His arms go around mine. His lips brushes my cheeks. I feel like a bitch- the female dog on heat. And I feel vulgar. I am not in my right mind. I must be losing it.

"Do I have to undress you?" I ask, in a whisper.

"Do you want to?" He retorts back immediately, also in a whisper.

"Can you undress yourself?" I ask.

I bite my lips.

"Not when you have lifted me up and when my arms are around your shoulders for support." He says.

"I am not doing it the right way." I say.

My heart is beating erratically. I can hear my heart in my ears.

"No, not unless you want to see me in a state of undress." He says.

I cannot read the expression in his voice. Unfathomable.

"No." I say.

"No what?" He asks, achingly.

I feel his body tense up against mine. His warm breath against mine. Every fibre of my being shook.

This is not right. Why am I helping him this way?

"What does Alfonso normally do?" I ask.

"Alfonso lets me undress myself in the wheelchair, and then he carries me into the shower where there is another chair there. He places me there and I do the rest on my own." He says.

"Shall I place you back into the wheelchair?" I ask.

"I am at your mercy. Do as you will." He says.

At least he does not sound bitter anymore. His voice is not hard and strained. His voice is very obliging.

"Shall I just get you into the bathroom and place you on the chair in the shower? Then I do not have to see you naked." I say.

"My clothes will be damp. I don't want to get them wet. Fungus starts to grow on my clothes in this humidity. I can attest to that." He says.

"Is my body offensive to you?" He asks.

"No, Andrew." I say.

My voice is not mine.

"Repugnant because I am a blind, scarred and crippled?" He asks.

It feels like he is challenging me into something.

I do not know if I am up to the challenge.

"No, Andrew." I say.

I proceed to place him on the wheelchair. He cooperates with me. I turn away as I hear the whooshing of fabric onto the floor.

"I am ready." He says.

Keeping my gaze low, I turn towards him. His clothes are in a pile on the carpet. Dry.

"You can put my clothes into the laundry basket at that corner there." He says.

He points out the direction. I see the laundry basket. Quickly I place his clothes there.

"Now, take me into the shower." He says.

I try to close my eyes but I could not lead him into the bathroom with my eyes closed.

I see him as God had created him. His whole body as a man. I see his upper torso, lower torso and his maleness before me. I stare at it longer than anything else. I have not seen a man in a long time. Ten years.

His appendage is long and its width was broader than I had imagined. His maleness is raised, but could it be because he needed to use the bathroom or that I had made him mad earlier? I am clueless and I want to believe that he needs the bathroom terribly.

"Do you need to urinate first?" I ask.

So blunt, I thought belatedly. Lisa, do you have any other way of saying it? I talk to my inner self.

"No." He answers, in a quiet voice.

"Are you still angry with me?" I ask again.

"I don't know." He says, voice raw now.

Nevertheless I raise him again and his appendage brushes my thighs. I shudder. I am quite the witch. I do somehow want this. But I do not want this at the same time.

A very feminine sound, like a rasp, escapes me. I try to breathe normally.

His body is unnaturally still and rigid. And every inch of the skin I hold on to, it gets harder by the second. He is hot, like fire. I am being burnt at the stake. I am a witch. I am losing it again. I cannot take this. I have to drop whatever I am doing.

"I am so sorry, Mr. de Louterbergh. I cannot help you anymore. I will call Alfonso now." I say.

I feel I have to opt for the formal Mr. now.

But he is still in my arms, completely naked. His bare chest inches closer onto my breasts. My arms are around him. I am his legs. He will fall without me.

Oh, whatever in the world made his two legs useless?

"What are you sorry for?" He asks.

I cannot answer.

The way I feel about your body, Andrew. The way your body seems to respond to me.

The way I do not trust myself. The way I do not want to trust you.

"My grandmother would not approve. This is a conservative country with a significant Muslim population." I say, rambling out now.

"You are not Muslim, are you?" He asks.

"Not entirely." I say.

"Buddhist? Hindu? Christian?"

He goes on a rampage.

"Yes and no. I am spiritual. I subscribe to all religions. I believe in the truth of all of them. It is men's interpretation that I find fault with. I believe too much. That's the problem with me. I do not know what's right, what's wrong." I say.

It was like a cry for help to him to free me from confusion. I am so screwed up. I am with a naked man and I am pouring my heart out to him whilst he is perched on me for support.

"I am an atheist. I believe that when you die, you die. That's it." He says.

"So sad. I do not want to believe that. I am afraid of death. Of there being nothing after we die." I say.

"In life I am as good as dead anyway. So I am well prepared." He answers.

There is no feeling in his voice. It scares me.

"But you are much alive and kicking, Mr. de Louterbergh." I say.

"This is not who I want to be. But this is who I am now. Just look at me. A hideous crippled beast." He says.

His emotions start to rise dramatically. He is being bitter again.

"You are not a beast, Andrew." I say, opting for his first name now.

It sounds friendlier. It sounds as though I know him well. But I know nothing about him apart from what I can see about him.

"It's the man inside who matters more than the beast outside." I say.

I try to make some space between the both of us. From his waist, my hands reach out to touch his heart. I press my palms against where I think his heart is.

"I can feel you here inside." I say.

He is silent. He lowers his head to my height like he can really see me.

"Miss Phan, you barely know me. You don't know who I am inside. I am a beast inside too. Before I was blinded and crippled, I was an unscrupulous and selfish lawyer. I gave no care about anything except myself." He says.

I believe every word he says. I take it all in. But what can I say to him that would take away the bitterness?

"I have no redeeming qualities. I had many affairs and I cared nothing about the feelings of the women I had been with. I used them to get more high-profile clients. Until I was blinded by Rachel's husband." He says.

I touch his forehead. I tuck strands of runaway hair behind his ears. I try to see beyond his face, into his suffering. I want to do something but I know not what.

"You are quiet now. I have repulsed you but you will not say it because of the sum I am prepared to offer you after three months." He says.

"You do not repulse me. That I know for sure." I say, truthfully.

My heart reaches out to him.

I see my pain. I see his pain. Our pain. Our different worlds collide in my heart.

"Still, Miss Phan, you won't be here with me if not for the money." He says.

His voice is curt and stinging.

I keep quiet. You are wrong, Andrew. I would have been with you for nothing at all.

"You have kept me company this one month. I have been leading a solitary and lonely life. I would have been here for much less than a million dollars." I say.

I try to speak as a matter of fact but it is difficult. My voice breaks a little.

Oh, you fool of a beast. I would have begged to be with you. I come that cheap.

"You don't know what you're getting into." He says.

"I don't care really." I say, honestly.

I have grown attached to this man, for better or worse.

"God, why are you so naïve?" He practically yells into my face.

I know he does not mean it but his voice is loud. My eardrums go numb for a second.

"I'm not who you think I am either." I say. "Definitely not naïve."

"Oh, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa..." He says.

My name trails on until I stop him.

"Andrew, please take my word for it." I say.

I try to distract him. The hand which was on his heart I move upwards to touch his lips. I trace the contours of his lower lip. He goes still, then he is aroused and then he is unnaturally rigid.

Abruptly he speaks.

"Do you know what the worst part is? I have not changed one bit. I am still the same man inside. I am still the beast inside out. Nothing has changed about me. I have just grown more bitter, wary and unforgiving."

His voice is softened for my sake but its tone is harsher now.

"I can sense that." I say.

I can more than sense. I had known all along, had I not? I could feel so much about him.

"I am losing myself, can't you see? I have lost my sight and lost the use of my legs and I am losing my mind." He says.

"What you see here is only the tip of the iceberg. I have had moments where I cannot control myself. I bang my head on the wall, I hurt myself and I want to suffer more." He says.

His voice breaks. He is sobbing onto my shoulders. His rigid body is now limp.

I have no recollection of how I managed to place his uncooperative, limp, sobbing body on the bed and of how I managed to ransack his cupboard for some clothes.

I dress him up in an oversized looking t-shirt. I haul his hands upwards while he sobs. Initially he resists but then he gives way. I lay him on the bed while I put on boxer shorts for him.

I move him to the headboard of the bed and manage to lean him there slowly while lifting his crippled legs gently.

I place his head on my chest.

"Cry all you want. Let it all out, Andrew. Let yourself go." I say.

I try to remain calm for him and for myself but I am going to burst into tears.

"Crying won't help. Nothing helps, can't you understand!" He sobs and yells at the same time.

His voice is shrill and his tears start dripping from the gauze. It is drenched.

I try to take off the gauze.

He pushes my hands away.

"Let me understand, Andrew. Let me into your pain. Let me feel how you feel." I say.

"Nothing helps, you fool... just leave me alone. Go home now. You have overstayed your welcome." He says.

His voice is incoherent. He is pulling at his own hair. He is pushing me away.

I do not listen to what he says or does to me. I hear only the pain in his voice. The suffering which is breaking him.

"You are fired! Take your money and leave! It's in the desk drawer. Go, go, go!" He yells.

He has lost all semblance of control. He is trying to rip his shirt off by pulling it apart.

I sob now. I know how he feels. Because I was him. I am still him. I had lost control of myself. I lost myself wholly. I was a total meltdown. I still am.

I know I cannot leave him like this.

"Go before I hurt you. Just go, oh God, just go." He cries.

He latches onto the bedsheets. He tries to pull the smooth fabric apart.

I have no words. I try to hug him despite his hands tearing on the bedsheet.

He feels my arms around him.

"Let me go, Lisa!" He cries.

His hands are flailing and flapping in all directions.