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Something strange was happening to Mitya.
Specifically, with his eyesight.
Pantalone first noticed it at the theater, where the two of them had gone to enjoy Odette’s new performance. Mitya usually chattered away and commented on everything that was happening. This time, however, he sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the center of the stage, but it seemed as though he were looking not at Odette, but through her. Pantalone glanced at Mitya from time to time, but when he noticed a faint smile on his lips, he calmed down and went back to watching the action on stage.
After the thunderous applause died down and the ballerinas took their bows, Pantalone and Mitya went down to the foyer and then into the lobby. Mitya blinked frequently, as if trying to shake the glints of the lights out of his eyes.
“What do you think of Odette’s outfit today?” Pantalone asked, adjusting his fur coat, on which a blue stone sparkled brightly.
Mitya finally tied his scarf, and they slowly stepped out onto the street, enjoying the slow waltz of the snowflakes falling from the sky.
“It was very beautiful today. I especially liked her new piece of jewelry—it was so unusual, curved,” Mitya replied, rubbing his eyes slightly as he headed toward the carriage waiting for them.
Pantalone frowned, letting the unsuspecting Mitya walk ahead of him.
Odette’s piece of jewelry wasn’t curved.
***
The second time happened when they went to the library together. Mitya insisted that he needed help finding certain books about alchemy and that he couldn’t manage without Pantalone. Pantalone’s mere agreement was enough to make Mitya’s eyes light up with joy.
Upon arriving at the largest library in Snezhnaya, Mitya immediately hurried off to hide in the science section, and Pantalone had to work hard to find him among the multitude of thick books.
“I can’t find one book,” Mitya fumbled as soon as he and Pantalone made eye contact.
“Which one?”
“I think… I think it’s called Psychology and Alchemy,” Mitya rubbed the back of his neck and began looking around again, trying to find the right title.
Pantalone sighed. He, too, began scanning hundreds of books with his eyes, and in less than a minute, he found the book they were looking for.
It seemed impossible, but Mitya’s eyes began to shine even brighter the moment Pantalone handed him the book.
However, the problem was that the essay he needed was practically right under Mitya’s nose.
***
By the third time, Pantalone’s suspicions had only grown.
Mitya rubbed his eyes very often and, despite himself, squinted to make out the words that were right in front of him.
This happened quite frequently.
Pantalone watched as Mitya once again argued with Dottore about something, and at one point he declared that the painting depicted three boats, not two. In response to this statement, Dottore merely laughed, ran his hand through Mitya’s hair, and ruffled it, causing Mitya to flinch in annoyance.
Pantalone shifted his gaze to the cup he was holding. That evening, tea no longer tasted pleasant or fragrant.
Because Mitya really couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
And that was incredibly frightening.
***
After realizing that Mitya’s eyesight was deteriorating day by day, Pantalone understood that he needed to do something as soon as possible.
Leaving his office and setting aside the reports and funding requests from others, Pantalone walked down the wide corridor of the Zapolyarny Palace, feeling his hands tremble slightly. A suffocating silence weighed on his temples. Pantalone headed straight for the laboratory, and the moment he crossed the threshold, he was enveloped by the smell of antiseptic, metal, and many other things that were hard to identify. He walked deeper inside, oblivious to everything around him, and spotted a familiar and comforting figure. Dottore was bent over his desk, diligently writing something down on a piece of paper.
Pantalone quietly walked up to him and put his arms around his shoulders. Dottore flinched, but quickly realized who was standing behind him.
“Feofan?” he asked, turning around as he saw that Pantalone had closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Zandik, I have a feeling something bad is happening,” Pantalone said in a strained voice.
Dottore frowned and slowly rose from the table, now standing face to face with Pantalone. He could see that Pantalone was very dejected, so he placed his hand on Pantalone’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Pantalone drew closer to the warm touch but did not lift his head.
“What do you mean?” Dottore asked, puzzled, tilting his neck slightly to look into Pantalone’s face.
Pantalone swallowed, clasping the Dottore’s hand with his fingers. He was silent for a long time, but Dottore waited calmly for his answer.
“I think…” he began. “I think Mitya is losing his eyesight,” Pantalone finally whispered. Dottore froze, but didn’t remove his hand from Pantalone’s cheek. Instead, he placed his other hand on Pantalone’s other cheek and made him look him in the eyes. Pantalone bit his lip.
“Why does this upset you so much?” Dottore asked, trying to reassure him. “I’ll ask right away to excuse him from class and have his eyes checked. If necessary, he’ll get all the treatment he needs. Everything will be fine. I am the best doctor, after all.”
Pantalone smiled faintly, and Dottore gently kissed him on the lips.
“Get back to work, Feofan, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
Pantalone couldn’t help but think about it for the rest of the day. He really did try to read the reports as carefully as possible, but the meaning of the sentences slipped away from him as soon as he finished reading them, and sometimes the letters wouldn’t form words. So at one point, Pantalone simply buried his face in his hands and sighed, unable to shake the thought of Mitya’s eyesight from his mind.
Yes, Dottore had replaced Pantalone’s lungs once and was a brilliant doctor and scientist, but what if Mitya’s eyesight wasn’t just getting worse—what if he was sick with something?
Having children is terribly hard, Pantalone thought.
In the end, he had to go back to signing the documents. Nevertheless, he kept remembering how Mitya had started making frequent mistakes and seeing letters other than the ones that were actually in front of him. Or, for example, he would miscount the number of objects near him. He often rubbed his eyes. He tried to blink them clear. He said that the lamps looked magical, even though they didn’t shine in any unusual way.
When the sun crept below the horizon, Pantalone got ready as quickly as he had never seemed to do before. He didn’t even say anything to his subordinates, leaving them without tasks for the next day. He needed to meet with Dottore as soon as possible.
Dottore’s workday was sometimes shorter than Pantalone’s, so by the time Pantalone finally got home, Dottore was already sitting cross-legged in an armchair in their bedroom, reading something.
“Ah, Feofan,” Dottore smiled, setting the book aside and hugging him. “Go change quickly; I’ll pour you tea…”
“What about Mitya’s eyesight?” Pantalone interrupted. His voice was filled with concern.
Dottore raised an eyebrow as if he hadn’t understood the question, then nodded.
“He has astigmatism,” he said simply. “It’s not severe, but it’s progressing—and quite rapidly. I’m not entirely sure why it developed, but it’s probably due to growing up or heredity… Nevertheless, I haven’t detected any complications, so all he’ll need is a pair of special glasses and, if necessary, surgery. It’s a very quick procedure…”
Pantalone didn’t hear what else Dottore said. He sank silently onto the bed, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. The corners of his eyes began to sting uncomfortably.
“Feofan, what’s wrong?” Dottore asked anxiously, kneeling down in front of him.
Pantalone remained silent. But a few seconds later, Dottore saw streams of tears on Pantalone’s cheeks.
“Feofan,” Dottore called again. He removed Pantalone’s gloves and took his hands in his own, squeezing them tightly. “What’s wrong?” Dottore repeated. “Why are you…”
“Surgery?” Pantalone smiled bitterly.
He never thought that even his own child would ever need surgery. At that thought, under Dottore’s anxious gaze, and overcome by an inexplicable fear and sense of guilt, Pantalone closed his eyes, and a new stream of tears glistened on his cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Feofan, please,” whispered Dottore.
“Did you tell him?”
Dottore froze.
“Yes, I told Mitya about it. He said it would make him look more like you. With glasses.”
Pantalone’s lips trembled, and he pulled his hands away from Dottore’s, covering his face and feeling his palms grow wet with tears. He sniffled. Dottore sighed and moved closer to him, sitting down beside him so their knees and shoulders touched, and wrapped an arm around his waist while stroking his hair with his other hand.
“Feofan, why are you crying?” he asked quietly.
“I…” Pantalone sniffled again. “Why does he has to go through surgery too?” he asked, as if it were the most unfair thing in his life.
Dottore gently removed Pantalone’s hands from his face and looked into his tear-stained, reddened eyes. He leaned in closer, planting a brief kiss on his damp lips, and brushed Pantalone’s stray hair away from his forehead.
“There's nothing to be afraid of. He won't feel a thing. I'd even say he won't realize the surgery ever happened. I'll do it in a matter of minutes, Feofan. I promise. Besides, we don't have to do it now. Mitya can wear glasses first. I can make him glasses with my own hands."
Pantalone remained silent, looking Dottore directly in the eyes. Dottore silently stroked his waist, and Pantalone bit his lip, suddenly embracing him with both arms and burying his wet face in the crook of Dottore's neck. Dottore hugged him back, stroking up and down his tense back.
“I love you,” Pantalone whispered. “I love you, and I endlessly love Mitya. I just...”
“I know,” Dottore interrupted. “It's alright. We'll fix everything. Don't worry so much,” he smiled. “I can't stand to see you cry. Not even Mitya cried.”
Pantalone chuckled, his lips brushing Dottore's neck.
Of course, his Mitya hadn't cried. Because Mitya wasn’t only smart, but also strong.
Pantalone calmed down, and Dottore helped him wash his face and change, once again promising that he would take care of everything.
The next day, Mitya, with joy in his eyes, appeared at the threshold of Pantalone's office. On his face were beautiful rectangular glasses with a chain adorned with small blue, purple, and yellow stones that sparkled when Mitya moved his head. He smiled, showing off to Pantalone, who had forgotten to breathe. Dottore had made him the chain, just as he had once made one for Pantalone so he wouldn't lose his glasses.
“Father decorated my glasses,” Mitya said proudly. “How do I look?”
Pantalone's warm gaze swept over Mitya's face.
“I'm just like you now,” Mitya added, and this completely broke Pantalone. He spread his arms wide, and Mitya immediately came to him, hugging him. Pantalone closed his eyes.
“They suit you,” he replied.
Only I'm just like you now echoed in his head, only I love you, Zandik.