to his wife about taking him bowling and then switches on the TV to watch it after Robert is in the room and he knows he can't see what he is watching. However, by the end of the short story, the narrator, after drawing the cathedral with Robert's hands on top of his so that Robert can "see" the cathedral, chooses to keep his eyes closed, even after Robert tells him to open them again:

But I had my eyes closed. I thought I'd keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do.

As he keeps his eyes closed, he experiences something of Robert's permanent condition, and at the same time undergoes a kind of epiphany where he feels that he is not "inside anything." Ironically, the narrator moves from finding blindness an incomprehensible condition that he mocks to embracing it and finding a sense of liberation through it. Blindness is thus used as a motif to explore the change in the narrator and to highlight his growth and development. Also, the refusal to call Robert by name shows the intrusion into his life that Robert and his blindness cause as Robert's blindness intitially threatens to put a wedge between the narrator and his wife though in the end Robert and his blindness becomes a common bond between them.

Robert provides the narrator with a "new vision" by uniting with him in the drawing of a cathedral, an act in which they closed their eyes and moved their hands together, connecting in spirit to one another.

Before Robert arrives the narrator is a man who is discontent. He is dissatisfied with his job, socially awkward, lacking in religious faith, without friends and without children. Most of all, he is unable to communicate with his wife with the openness and intimacy that the blind man can, and he is envious of the man's connection with his wife. "It was beyond my understanding" he remarks.
Truly, there is a certain sarcasm to the narrator. For instance, when he first meets Robert, the narrator jokes about the blind man's eyes, saying that one eye made an effort to keep in one place, but the other eye "was on the roam without his knowing it or wanting it to be." For the most part, however, the narrator spares Robert from his sarcasm; instead, he sits passively and listens. That is, until his wife falls asleep, and then the narrator is left to entertain Robert himself. 

The two men begin to drink, and then Robert agrees to "smoke some dope" with the narrator. As the night progresses, there is little on the television, so the narrator watches a program about cathedrals. This sparks the blind man Robert to ask the narrator if he is religious, and he tells Robert, "I guess I don't believe in...anything." Then, as the program continues, Robert asks the narrator to describe a cathedral. But, the narrator refuses, "It just isn't in me to do it." Still, Robert insists, so the narrator goes to his wife's room and finds some pens; he goes to the kitchen and finds a shopping bag. When he returns, the men sit on the floor and Robert puts his hand over the narrator's in an encouraging manner. 
While the narrator draws, he taps into something he has not felt before: his artistic/spiritual side. At first, he draws a box, but then he elaborates by sketching a roof, flying buttresses, and great doors. About this time, the narrator's wife wakes up and asks what they are doing. Robert replies, "We're drawing a cathedral." He tells the narrator to close his eyes, and he does. 

"Keep them that way," he said...."Don't stop now. Draw."
So we kept on with it. His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now. 

The man who does not believe in anything, the narrator, finally finds something to believe in. His spiritual experience with Robert is "like nothing else" he has ever felt. Finally, the narrator connects with the spirit of another; he is in communion with Robert.

On his first visit to her home, the extroverted blind friend of the narrator's wife interacts with the narrator by having the husband of his friend draw what he sees on the television; in doing so, the narrator allows Robert to share his sight through art; at the same time, the narrator shares Robert's inner vision of beauty and feeling. This act of sharing gives each man meaning, and as such, relieves suffering from the narrator as he obtains new insights.

When the blind visitor, Robert, and the narrator are left alone after the wife falls asleep, the narrator offers Robert some marijuana, and Robert says he will try it. Then, more uninhibited, Robert attempts to communicate with the husband by placing his hand over his while "bub" draws for him a cathedral that is being discussed on a television show. This tactile act makes the drawing attain another dimension as the two men share a vision together of the ancient church.                                                      

In another literary work entitled "The Secret Sharer," Joseph Conrad's captain of a ship takes on a stowaway and they become secret friends. As they finally part, the captain reflects upon this friend:

...no one in the world should stand now between us, throwing a shadow on the way of silent knowledge and mute affection. the perfect communion of a seaman with his first command.

It is this same "perfect communion" that occurs with Robert and the narrator because meaning has depended upon sharing the experience. Indeed, sharing has made all the difference in relieving the husband of his emotional "blindness" as he no longer feels shut out: 

"I didn't feel like I was inside anything."
"It's really something," I said.

Robert gives the narrator new vision through the ability to create.   A new vision is constructed when the narrator has to sketch the cathedral for Robert.  As the narrative opens, the narrator is shown to be one that lacks vision.  It is through the act of creation and communion that he grows. The vision that the narrator gains can be seen through the encouragement that Robert gives him:  ‘'Go ahead, bub, draw,' he said. 'Draw. You'll see. I'll follow along with you. It'll be okay. Just begin now like I'm telling you.'’’  The encouragement to draw and to share this with another is where vision becomes a part of the narrator's being.  While the opening of the drama featured the narrator as lacking this vision while retaining physical vision, Robert has taught the narrator "to see" in a more spiritual sense.

This vision is transformative as the narrator understands more of himself, the world, and his place in it.  This revelation causes him to remark that  ‘‘My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything.’’  Being able to see outside of what is into the world of what can be and what might be is the new vision that Robert has given to the narrator, a condition of being that is "really something." 

It may be a mistake to attach too much significance to the fact that the narrator keeps referring to Robert as "the blind man." When an author gives a character a particular identifying habit or physical trait, he has to keep reminding the reader of it or the reader is likely to forget it. Such an identifying mark is sometimes called a "shtick." It is of the utmost importance that the reader visualize Robert as blind, but the name Robert is of no great importance. This is largely a matter of narrative technique.

In The Catcher in the Rye, for example, Salinger keeps reminding the reader that Holden Caulfield is wearing a red hunting hat. This helps the reader visualize the hero, and it also serves to characterize him as still a kid trying to be a grown-up, as well as possibly to characterize him as someone who is "hunting" for something. The hunting cap is a "shtick." There is probably no better word to describe these literary devices.

You will note that there are other things about Robert which the author keeps repeating. One is the fact that the blind man has a beard. This is of no importance to the plot, but it helps the reader to visualize Robert. Here are a few examples:

"I have winter in my beard now."

He lifted his beard and he let it fall.

As he listened to me, he was running his fingers through his beard.

There are several other places where Robert handles his beard. The narrator is telling about something that happened in the past. He would not really remember the various times that Robert touched his beard, but Carver risked the threat to his verisimilitude because as a good fiction writer he knew it was important to maintain some impression of the blind man in the reader's mind.

Carver also gives the blind man at least one identifying speech habit. He keeps calling the narrator "Bub." There is no great significance to this; it just helps to characterize Robert and helps the reader remember him.

"Bub, I'm a Scotch man myself," he said fast enough in this big voice.

"Right," I said. Bub! "Sure you are. I knew it."

You will find many more of these "Bubs" throughout the story.

A good example of how an author will use speech pecularities to characterize and maintain an impression of a character can be found in James Thurber's often-anthologized story "The Catbird Seat." Ulgine Barrows, Mr. Martin's nemisis, keeps using using expressions she picks up from listening to baseball games on her radio.

She had, for almost two years now, baited him. In the halls, in the elevator, even in his own office, into which she romped now and then like a circus horse, she was constantly shouting these silly questions at him. "Are you lifting the oxcart out of the ditch? Are you tearing up the pea patch? Are you hollerinig down the rain barrel? Are you scraping around the bottom of the pickle barrel? Are you sitting in the catbird seat?"

One of Martin's assistants explains:

Red Barber announces the Dodger games over the radio and he uses these expressions--picked them up down South. . . . "Tearing up the pea patch" meant going on a rampage; "sitting in the catbird seat" meant sitting pretty.

These zany repetitions of annoying nonsensical questions are part of Ulgine Barrows' "shtick."

Robert has developed certain strong personality traits just because of the fact that he can't see. Like all blind people, he has had to depend on others. This has caused him to develop trust in people, something lacking in the narrator, who reveals himself as suspicious, defensive, jealous, and slightly hostile.

The narrator doesn't like himself. He is an underachiever. He doesn't like his job. He is socially awkward. He has an inferiority complex. He has no religious faith. He has no friends. He has no children and is  in danger of losing his wife, who is getting tired of his fecklessness and negativity. They live in a cheap apartment in some nondescript  neighborhood. His only interests are in drinking, smoking marijuana, and watching television.

One reason the narrator is apprehensive about the blind man's visit is that he fears it will interfere with his routiine. He might not be able to drink as much as usual. He probably won't be able to smoke pot or watch television. He is prepared to dislike Robert because he suspects that his wife has a better relationship with this blind man than she has with him, even though she hasn't actually seen Robert in ten years. The narrator feels certain that in all their taped correspondence, his wife must have revealed a lot of unpleasant truths about her husband.

Robert's visit threatens to cause further domestic friction. Even before the blind man gets there, the narrator is making little jokes that reveal his uneasiness, jealousy and hostility.

"Maybe I could take him bowling," I said to my wife. She was at the draining board doing scalloped potatoes. She put down the knife she was using and turned around.

(It is a nice Carveresque touch that the wife puts down her knife before turning around. She doesn't want to look menacing.)

"If you love me," she said, "you can do this for me. If you don't love me, okay. But if you had a friend, any friend, and the friend came to visit, I'd make him feel comfortable." She wiped her hands with the dish towel.

The biggest contrast between narrator and guest is that the narrator is shy, awkward, unsure of how to play the role of host, whereas Robert is relaxed and affable. The blind man not only has had to trust others but has learned that most people are basically kind and decent.

Whatever fears the narrator had about Robert's disrupting his routine, he quickly gets over them. It is as if the blind man can only see the good and likable part of his host. Robert likes to drink. He is willing to try smoking pot. It turns out that he not only likes television but actually owns two sets. The reader can feel the narrator opening up with this friendly stranger. The culmination of the evening occurs when the narrator turns on the television set and has to try to describe to the blind man what he is seeing.

I said, "The truth is, cathedrals don't mean anything special to me. Nothing. Cathedrals. they're something to look at on late-night TV. That's all they are."

Any reader looking for grand epiphanies and resolutions in Carver's stories is doomed to disappointment. The two men end up symbiotically drawing a cathedral on a paper bag, symbolizing the spiritual alienation of modern man. Their moment of intimacy is a pathetic contrast to the powerful religious faith that inspired men in the Middle Ages to cooperate for decades in creating their cathedrals. Carver intentionally ends his story with a characteristic understatement.

"It's really something," I said.

Originally, the narrator had made several botched attempts at explaining to Robert what exactly cathedrals looked like.  Frustrated he gives up and says, "“You’ll have to forgive me...It just isn’t in me to do it. I can’t do any more than I’ve done.”  This statement of defeat is pretty typical of the narrator to this point; he is a rather pessimistic and unhappy man. 

At this point, Robert steps in to help, holding the narrator's hand as he draws a cathedral. The narrator begins to change.  All of a sudden, he CAN draw it, he CAN help Robert to see it.  He is drawing roofs, buttresses, windows, the whole thing, when before he was stuttering and felt pessimistic and incompetent.  Of the experience, the narrator offers the following summation, which considering his pessimism, is huge:  "It was like nothing else in my life up to now."  He is so moved by the experience that he finds it incomparable to anything else he has ever experienced-pretty profound.  It is so moving that he closes his eyes, and without  even looking at it, concludes, "It's really something."  Robert helps him to get outside of his shell, to experience something out of his comfort zone, and finally to trust himself and his own capabilities.  He opens the narrator's eyes to his own potential, and to beauty that exists within himself.