She lowered the strap of her nightgown.
In the glow of the lamplight, he saw her shoulder. Where previously there had been only a single black butterfly tattoo, put there so long ago he could hardly remember when, he now saw two butterflies, the new one slightly larger than the other, its wings a bright yellow laced with black. The new butterfly seemed to hover over the original, as though kissing it with its outstretched wings.
His eyes suddenly flooded with tears.
He pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely and felt his tears mingling with hers as surely as did the butterflies on her shoulder.
Ice, 1983
Teddy was talking to him now.
They had just made love.
The first words she said to him were, “I love you.”
She used the informal sign, a blend of the letters “i,” “l,” and “y,” her right hand held close to her breast, the little finger, index finger, and thumb extended, the remaining two fingers folded down toward her palm. He answered with the more formal sign for “I love you”: first touching the tip of his index finger to the center of his chest; then clenching both fists in the “a” hand sign, crossing his arms below the wrists, and placing his hands on his chest; and finally pointing at her with his index finger — a simple “I” plus “love” plus “you.”
They kissed again.
She sighed.
And then she began telling him about her day.
He had known for quite some time now that she was interested in finding a job. Fanny had been with them since the twins were born, and she ran the house efficiently. The twins — Mark and April — were now eleven years old, and in school much of the day. Teddy was bored with playing tennis or lunching with the “girls.” She signed “girl” by making the “a” hand sign with her right fist, and dragging the tip of her thumb down her cheek along the jawline; to make the word plural, she rapidly indicated several different locations, pointing with her extended forefinger. More than one girl. Girls. But her eyes and the expression on her face made it clear that she was using the word derogatively; she did not consider herself a “girl,” and she certainly didn’t consider herself one of the “girls.”
Well, I went to this real estate agency on Cumberland Avenue this morning, Teddy was saying with her hands and her eyes and her face. I’d written them a letter answering an ad in the newspaper, telling them what my experience had been before we got married and before I became a mother, and they wrote back setting up an appointment for an interview. So I got all dolled up this morning, and went over there.
To express the slang expression “dolled up,” she first signed “x,” stroking the curled index finger of the hand sign on the tip of her nose, twice. To indicate “doll” was in the past tense, she immediately made the sign for “finished.” For “up” she made the same sign anyone who was not a deaf-mute might have made: She simply moved her extended index finger upward. Dolled up. Carella got the message, then visualized her in a smart suit and heels, taking the bus to Cumberland Avenue, some two miles from the house.
And now her hands and her eyes and her mobile face spewed forth a torrent of language. Surprise of all surprises, she told him, the lady is a deaf-mute. The lady cannot hear, the lady cannot speak, the lady — however intelligent her letter may have sounded, however bright and perky she may appear in person — possesses neither tongue nor ear, the lady simply will not do! This despite the fact that the ad called only for someone to type and file. This despite the fact that I was reading that fat bastard’s lips and understanding every single word he said — which wasn’t easy since he was chewing on a cigar — this despite the fact that I can still type sixty words a minute after all these years, ah, the hell with it. Steve, he thought I was dumb (she tapped the knuckles of the “a” hand sign against her forehead, indicating someone stupid), the obvious mate to deaf, right? (she touched first her mouth and then her ear with her extended index finger), like ham and eggs, right? Deaf and dumb, right? Shit, she said, signing the word alphabetically for emphasis, S-H-I-T!
He took her in his arms.
He was about to comfort her, about to tell her that there were ignorant people in this world who were incapable of judging a person’s worth by anything but the most obvious external evidence, when suddenly she was signing again. He read her hands and the anger in her eyes.
I’m not quitting, she said. I’ll get a goddamn job.
She rolled into him, and he felt her small determined nod against his shoulder. Reaching behind him toward the night table, he snapped off the bedside light. He could hear her breathing in the darkness beside him. He knew she would he awake for a long time, planning her next move.
Teddy’s appointment at the law offices was for three o’clock that afternoon. She arrived at twenty minutes to, and waited downstairs until two-fifty, not wanting to seem too eager by arriving early. She really wanted the job; the job sounded perfect to her. She was dressed in what she considered a sedate but not drab manner, wearing a smart suit over a blouse with a stock tie, panty hose color-coordinated with die nubby brown fabric of the suit, brown shoes with French heels. The lobby of the building was suffocatingly hot after the dank drizzle outdoors, and so she took off her raincoat before she got on the elevator. At precisely 3:00 P.M. she presented herself to the receptionist at Franklin, Logan, Gibson and Knowles and showed her the letter she had received from Philip Logan. The receptionist told her Mr. Logan would see her in a few moments. At ten minutes past three the receptionist picked up the phone receiver — it must have buzzed, but Teddy had not heard it — and then said Mr. Logan would see her now. Reading the girl’s lips, Teddy nodded.
“First doorway down the hall on your right,” the girl said.
Teddy went down the hallway and knocked on the door.
She waited a few seconds, allowing time for Logan inside to have said, “Come in,” and then turned the doorknob and went into the office. The office was spacious, furnished with a large desk, several easy chairs, a coffee table, and banks of bookcases on three walls. The fourth wall was fashioned almost entirely of glass that offered a splendid view of the city’s towering buildings. Rain slithered down the glass panels. A shaded lamp cast a glow of yellow illumination on the desktop.
Logan rose from behind the desk the moment she entered the room. He was a tall man wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie. His eyes were a shade lighter than the suit. His hair was graying. Teddy guessed he was somewhere in his early fifties.
“Ah, Miss Carella,” he said, “how kind of you to come. Please sit down.”
She sat in one of the easy chairs facing his desk. He sat behind the desk again and smiled at her. His eyes looked warm and friendly.
“I assume you can… uh… read my lips,” he said. “Your letter…”
She nodded.
“It was very straightforward of you to describe your disability in advance,” Logan said. “In your letter, I mean. Very frank and honest.”
Toddy nodded again, although the word disability rankled.
“You are… uh… you do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
She nodded, and then motioned to the pad and pencil on his desk.
“What?” he said. “Oh. Yes, of course, how silly of me.”
He handed the pad and pencil across to her.
On the pad, she wrote: I can understand you completely.