Preface
Gently, Delanna stroked the plump, peachy cheeks of the little entity. Swaddled cosily within layers of thick, soft pink blankets, her porcelain eyelids closed, her chest tranquilly rising and falling, she was the picture of perfection.
Only, she was not perfect: not at all. She was flawed, spoiled.
Tears drifted from Delanna’s moist eyes and ran down her face, skimming her stunningly chiselled cheekbones.
She pulled her eyes away, gazed up and beyond, stared out upon the glistening turquoise waters. The waves rolled gently, their mellow hiss mesmerising. The sirens were singing, chanting their cryptic, rhythmic songs of beauty.
A single, pure white bird swooped, glided across the glistening surface of the water. Delanna gazed after it for a long, long time, desirous of the innocence, the freedom, it possessed.
***
Chapter I
When life gives you lemons
‘To your left, Cecily: Aah! Perfect. Hold the basket still and I’ll drop the last of the lemons.’
One by one they fell: smooth, ripe, beautifully glossy lemons of the brightest, sunniest, most optimistic Yellow. Cecily caught very single lemon in her deep, woven basket with expert skill and manoeuvrability, shuffling this way and that to receive the satisfying thud of the small citrus fruit as it hit the bottom of her casket.
‘Are you managing alright, Cecily?’ was Marianna’s anxious cry as she peered down below and attempted to examine the contents of the basket.
‘Of course I am,’ Cecily replied coolly. A relaxed, rather coy smile formed upon her lips. She explained lightly: ‘just because I’m blind doesn’t mean that I’m useless.’
‘Yes, well...’ Marianna trailed off, clearly embarrassed. Changing the subject, she muttered, ‘let’s move on to the next tree.’
Cecily heard the rather amusing sound of her fellow cultivator as she attempted – none too gracefully – to make her way down the ladder propped up against the thin yet sturdy trunk of the lemon tree.
Stepping forward, she caught Marianna’s sweaty palm in an attempt to steady her. Cecily heard the swish of Marianna’s hair as she jerked her head sharply, amazedly, to look at her as regards her brilliantly sharp reaction.
Born with a complete lack of sight in both of her eyes, Cecily had trained her ears, which were laced with impressively acute and sensitive hearing ability. Unfortunately, not everybody had faith in her powers of perception.
Marianna hadn’t long arrived on the lemon farm: she had replaced Cecily’s former partner, Ava, who had left the plantation after getting married. At only seventeen years, Marianna was a rather pessimistic soul. She felt as though it was compulsory to follow Cecily wherever she went: as if Cecily was a child and it wasn’t safe for her to be left alone. Never mind that Cecily was five years older and had managed perfectly fine cultivating and picking the lemons in the past all on her own. Fortunately, patience was one of Cecily’s more prominent virtues.
Marianna stepped heavily off the ladder, panting like an exhausted dog. ‘It’s terribly hot!’ she exclaimed, her childish lisp fingering her every word.
‘So it is,’ agreed Cecily, removing her wide-brimmed straw sun-hat. She shivered with pleasure as the rays of the baking hot sun fell upon her tanned neck and shoulders. Cecily loosened her limbs and let the blissful warmth caress her body.
‘We’re being worked like wretched mules,’ Marianna commented rather irritably. Cecily heard the splash of water as her flask was tipped upside-down and Marianna took a long, deep swig of fluid.
‘You make it sound as if we’re builders, hauling slabs of stone in the blistering heat,’ replied Cecily, her tone demure yet lightly humorous. ‘It’s only the spring: the temperature will rise considerably in the next few months. Besides: our work is
hardly strenuous. We cultivate and collect lemons.’
‘It still doesn’t change the fact that we work long hours and receive very little pay,’ grumbled Marianna.
Cecily was inclined to agree. Sir and Madam Venturi, the owners of the plantation, were hardly generous with their workers’ wages. There again, Cecily herself knew she could hardly complain when it came to her pay-packet. She was provided with a place to sleep, clothes to wear, and food to eat. In fact, for somebody completely blind, Cecily had been very lucky indeed to stay in the Venturi’s employment for the good part of twenty years.
As soon as she had been able to hold a bucket she was sent out to work in the cultivation fields. You see, Cecily had been born and raised upon the Lemon farm. She had been cared for until her early teens by Anna and Leonard, a rather lovely elderly couple who tended the beautiful gardens of The Venturi’s estate.
From a young age had Cecily been told the truth of her birth mother: she had apparently worked on the plantation for only a year when she became pregnant. Apparently, the identity of the Cecily’s father was unknown. Sadly, Cecily’s mother, an un-wed eighteen-year-old named Lucia, had died whilst in her labour. Cecily knew nothing of her mother except what she had been told: that Lucia was a clever young woman, with light, silky brown hair, and a beautiful smile, who was a hard worker and an excellent cook. Anna often spoke fondly of Lucia, as if they had been very close.
The Venturi’s had kindly provided for Lucia’s orphan child, supplying a nanny to wean her and paying Anna and Leonard to care for her, a reality which rather bemused Cecily yet at the same time filled her with surreal gratitude. She had often wondered why such wealthy estate owners as the Venturi’s had taken such honourable measures, yet, as Anna would aptly chide, curiosity killed the cat.
Cecily always felt a twinge of inquisitiveness when it came to the subject of her mother. Because she could not see, and therefore could not read expression, Cecily had learned to read peoples’ voices. When Anna and Leo spoke of Lucia, they always seemed restrained, hasty, as if they were holding something from Cecily.
Anna had cared for Cecily with the devotion of a loving mother. She’s taught her to cook and clean, and had trained her in the way of the housewife. Anna had accepted the challenge of rearing the blind child with rather unexpected enthusiasm. No task was ever too difficult for Anna.
Cecily had fond memories of her childhood. In the days of Anna’s youth, when Cecily was a child, Anna would dress her in her favourite lilac skirt and floppy sunhat, and together, they would set off into the grounds of the plantation. Twenty-five-or-so years ago, Anna brimmed with vigour and stamina.
Now, at the ripe old age of sixty-nine, she had begun to tire. She had terrible arthritis in her hands and toes, yet she deliberately masked the pain.
Leo and Anna had been married for fifty two years, five months, and nineteen blissful days. Leonard was a good husband; a hard working man bearing the toll of seventy-one years of life. He would often tell of how Cecily was a cause of great joy to them both when she was brought into their household, for they were unable to have children of their own. Anna was as barren in her twenties and thirties as she was now.
Cecily still lived with Anna and Leo in their small cottage adjoined at the rear of the central house. It was a sturdy old place, built in the Ancient Roman fashion; warm and cosy in the winter, and cool and breezy in the summer. Cecily, of course, had never seen her bedroom, yet she could tell it was clean and spacious. She would often sit upon her stone windowsill – baking warm after soaking up the days’ sun - on sweet spring evenings. The dusky breeze would mellow her mood, relax her body. Cecily had been told how beautiful the view was from her window. She knew some thought the room had been spoiled on her, for the vista was most excellently picturesque from her particular window, and, of course, she could not see it.
And yet, she could, in her own special way. It was an unconventional way, or perhaps, better described, a unique way. The loveliness, the beauty: its aura would prickle at her bones, sear her heart, sooth her body in its caress.
‘Nonsense!’ Cecily would exclaim if someone had reiterated the fact that she was sightless. ‘I can see.’ She would insist, adding proverbially, ‘to see does not always involve the use of the eyes.’
She would tap at her heart, feel it beating. Oh yes, she would think, I can see.
