Samedi the Deafness by Jesse Ball Page B
Authors: Jesse Ball
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Psychological fiction, Self-Help, Personal Growth, Memory Improvement, Terrorists, Mnemonics, Psychological Games, Sanatoriums
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looking out the window. It was Wednesday, he thought. Wednesday. Three days till Saturday. He wished he could speak to McHale again, and judge if the man was mad or not.
He turned. Grieve was up on one elbow, looking at him. Her bare shoulder and arm were out of the sewn bag. What fine skin.
Grieve cocked her head, and made a noise like a crow.
—That's the noise, she said, that crows make to warn the other crows when something that isn't a crow is coming through the woods.
The Garden
In the center of the house there was a garden. James stood by it and watched a man with scissors. First the scissors were sharpened for a very long time. The noise was somehow cruel.
Never, thought James, would I want to hear such noise through a window, to hear such a noise and not know why it had come.
The shears trimmed the plants held by the man. So sharp were they that they did not seem to touch that which they cut. The man did not look at James. All his great attention was spread throughout the garden. He was broad of face and feature, broad of limb and leg. He moved with a slow precision. Nothing seemed to escape him. His effect on the garden was noticeable. As he moved it seemed to order itself around him.
James was sure that it was Samedi. Never had he felt so lessened by the presence of another. Like a child, James turned in his own hand. Like a window he shut.
He stepped back, stepped back again, and found himself at the door. He stepped back through it, shut it, and leaned against the other side.
—What do I know? asked James. What do I give myself to know?
And he knew then that the task before him was too large, that a man like Samedi could entertain him like a passing notion, but would never be persuaded by his speech or swayed by his actions.
A gravity then, as of a sickroom bound to the passing of its few.
James went along the hallways, went upon the stairs. What he would do he did not know, but at times he heard the ringing of bells; at times he froze. Yet none came to him, and there were no words in his head but those he himself spoke in indecision.
Today he said, I will explore the house. I will learn what I can, and then make my escape.
Upon the porch he passed McHale, dressed as though returning from town. James made as if to speak, but McHale scowled and passed, shaking his head.
Good lord, thought James. I forgot the rule. He looked at the bell in his hand.
James had breakfast on the porch. It was brought to him by the maid, Grieve, but he pretended that he did not know her. He supposed she would have been fired if it was found out that she was helping him. So, he gave her the cold shoulder. This seemed correct; she did the same to him.
The omelet was quite good. He ate it with satisfaction. Peppery, he thought. And the toast had been buttered while still hot. Perfect.
On the grass, children were playing. Where could they have come from? thought James.
And then he realized that there were children everywhere. Children on the porch, children on the lawn, children behind him in the house. Never had he seen so many children in one place.
—Why so many children? James asked the man seated next to him.
As if out of a long sleep, the old man answered slowly:
—It is a field trip. Every year the children come. Oh, how we who live here long for and await this day. Can you see their little hats, their little shirts? Have you ever seen a shoe so small?
The old man snatched at one of the children running past, catching the back of the little fellow's overalls and dragging him to him.
—No! said a nurse, suddenly appearing out the doorway.
She slapped the old man's hand with a ruler. He let go of the child, who ran off happily to the lawn.
The nurse gave a long, considered look to the old man.
—Olsen, we don't want to put you back in, do we?He said nothing, but grumbled quietly and looked into his lap.
—I said, we don't want to put you back in, do we? Do
He turned. Grieve was up on one elbow, looking at him. Her bare shoulder and arm were out of the sewn bag. What fine skin.
Grieve cocked her head, and made a noise like a crow.
—That's the noise, she said, that crows make to warn the other crows when something that isn't a crow is coming through the woods.
The Garden
In the center of the house there was a garden. James stood by it and watched a man with scissors. First the scissors were sharpened for a very long time. The noise was somehow cruel.
Never, thought James, would I want to hear such noise through a window, to hear such a noise and not know why it had come.
The shears trimmed the plants held by the man. So sharp were they that they did not seem to touch that which they cut. The man did not look at James. All his great attention was spread throughout the garden. He was broad of face and feature, broad of limb and leg. He moved with a slow precision. Nothing seemed to escape him. His effect on the garden was noticeable. As he moved it seemed to order itself around him.
James was sure that it was Samedi. Never had he felt so lessened by the presence of another. Like a child, James turned in his own hand. Like a window he shut.
He stepped back, stepped back again, and found himself at the door. He stepped back through it, shut it, and leaned against the other side.
—What do I know? asked James. What do I give myself to know?
And he knew then that the task before him was too large, that a man like Samedi could entertain him like a passing notion, but would never be persuaded by his speech or swayed by his actions.
A gravity then, as of a sickroom bound to the passing of its few.
James went along the hallways, went upon the stairs. What he would do he did not know, but at times he heard the ringing of bells; at times he froze. Yet none came to him, and there were no words in his head but those he himself spoke in indecision.
Today he said, I will explore the house. I will learn what I can, and then make my escape.
Upon the porch he passed McHale, dressed as though returning from town. James made as if to speak, but McHale scowled and passed, shaking his head.
Good lord, thought James. I forgot the rule. He looked at the bell in his hand.
James had breakfast on the porch. It was brought to him by the maid, Grieve, but he pretended that he did not know her. He supposed she would have been fired if it was found out that she was helping him. So, he gave her the cold shoulder. This seemed correct; she did the same to him.
The omelet was quite good. He ate it with satisfaction. Peppery, he thought. And the toast had been buttered while still hot. Perfect.
On the grass, children were playing. Where could they have come from? thought James.
And then he realized that there were children everywhere. Children on the porch, children on the lawn, children behind him in the house. Never had he seen so many children in one place.
—Why so many children? James asked the man seated next to him.
As if out of a long sleep, the old man answered slowly:
—It is a field trip. Every year the children come. Oh, how we who live here long for and await this day. Can you see their little hats, their little shirts? Have you ever seen a shoe so small?
The old man snatched at one of the children running past, catching the back of the little fellow's overalls and dragging him to him.
—No! said a nurse, suddenly appearing out the doorway.
She slapped the old man's hand with a ruler. He let go of the child, who ran off happily to the lawn.
The nurse gave a long, considered look to the old man.
—Olsen, we don't want to put you back in, do we?He said nothing, but grumbled quietly and looked into his lap.
—I said, we don't want to put you back in, do we? Do
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