He heard a voice calling to him from out of the village.
"Yaho there, Bogota! Come hither!"
At that he stood up, smiling. He would show these people once
and for all what sight would do for a man. They would seek him,
but not find him.
"You move not, Bogota," said the voice.
He laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from
the path.
"Trample not on the grass, Bogota; that is not allowed."
Nunez had scarcely heard the sound he made himself. He
stopped, amazed.
The owner of the voice came running up the piebald path
towards him.
He stepped back into the pathway. "Here I am," he said.
"Why did you not come when I called you?" said the blind man.
"Must you be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you
walk?"
Nunez laughed. "I can see it," he said.
"There is no such word as SEE," said the blind man,
after a pause. "Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet."
Nunez followed, a little annoyed.
"My time will come," he said.
"You'll learn," the blind man answered. "There is much to
learn in the world."
"Has no one told you, 'In the Country of the Blind the
One-Eyed Man is King?'"
"What is blind?" asked the blind man, carelessly, over his
shoulder.
Four days passed and the fifth found the King of the Blind
still incognito, as a clumsy and useless stranger among his
subjects.
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