I am scared for my wife's eyes. She can't see out and no one can see in. Look, they are like stones, grey stones, sea stones. Look at her. Look at how she is sitting on the edge of the bed, her nightgown on the floor, rolling Mohammed's marble around in her fingers and waiting for me to dress her. I am taking my time putting on my shirt and trousers, because I am so tired of dressing her. Look at the folds of her stomach, the colour of desert honey, darker in the creases, and the fine, fine silver lines on the skin of her breasts, and the tips of her fingers with the tiny cuts, where the ridges and valley patterns once were stained with blue or yellow or red paint. Her laughter was gold once you would have seen as well as heard it. Look at her, because I think she is disappearing.

'I had a night of scattered dreams,' she says. 'They filled the room.' Her eyes are fixed a little to the left of me. I feel sick.

'What does that mean?'

'They were broken. My dreams were everywhere. And I didn't know if I was awake or asleep. There were so many dreams, like bees in a room, like the room was full of bees. And I couldn't breathe. And I woke up and thought, please don't let me be hungry.'

I look at her face, confused. There is still no expression. I don't tell her that I only dream of murder now, always the same dream; it's only me and the man, and I'm holding the bat and my hand is bleeding; the others aren't there in the dream, and he is on the ground with the trees above him and he says something to me that I can't hear.

'And I have pain,' she says.

'Where?'

'Behind my eyes. Really sharp pain.'

I kneel down in front of her and look into her eyes. The blank emptiness in them terrifies me. I take my phone out of my pocket, shine the light of the torch into them. Her pupils dilate.

'Do you see anything at all?' I say.

'No.'

'Not even a shadow, a change of tone or colour?'

'Just black.'

I put the phone in my pocket and step away from her. She's been worse since we got here. It's like her soul is evaporating.

'Can you take me to the doctor?' She says. 'Because the pain is unbearable.'

'Of course,' I say. 'Soon.'

'When?'

'As soon as we get the papers.'