"Phyllis_A._Whitney_-_Feather_On_The_Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Whitney Phyllis A)

"I see. Does she get sawed in half?"
"That's old stuff. Farley-he's not my father-likes to invent new tricks. Though sometimes they don't work-and then I laugh at him."
"What does he do then?"
"He hits me." She spoke matter-of-factly-not liking to be hit but accepting reality. "You still didn't tell me what you do."
"I'm a teacher. I teach boys and girls around your age."
Something about her gentled just a little. "Teachers aren't so bad. Except that we always move, and when I make friends with a teacher we go away."
In all my fantasies of finding my daughter I had clung to the dream of something that might identify her: one faint hope that she might remember how she had "talked" on her hands so happily to her grandparents when she was three.
"I teach deaf children," I said.
Her face brightened, and for the first time she looked interested. "What do you teach them?"
"All the usual lessons. And I teach them signing as well."
"What's signing?"
"It's a language the deaf can use with their hands and fingers-sign language. So deaf children can talk to each other, and to me."
"Show me."
I held back. This was the card I kept up my sleeve. If she could remember anything about signing, that might be a real test. But I hesitated to take this step, even though I'd told myself that I'd given up. Her reaction might be too final.
"Why are you interested?" I asked.
"Because of Uncle Tim-that's what everybody calls him. He can't hear and he talks funny-though I can understand
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him pretty well, I write him notes when he can't read my lips, and he loans me books. Better books than the old lady has downstairs. Uncle Tim likes mysteries too."
This was an unexpected development. I'd been given the idea that the man hidden away upstairs was a little backward.
"Show me something in that sign language," Alice persisted.
I took a deep breath and risked it, moving my hands. She watched with interest but no recognition.
"What did you say?"
It really wasn't a test, I told myself. After all, Debbie had been three years old-only three. Of course she wouldn't remember.
"I said, T would like to meet Uncle Tim.' "
Her look was solemn, still suspicious.
"What do they call those signs?"
"They're part of a special language called Ameslan. You understand Ameslan by seeing everything in signs instead of hearing it in words."
"Anyway, I don't know if Uncle Tim would want to meet you."
"You could find out. Tell him I work with the deaf."
"Maybe. I'll think about it."
"Does he try to speechread? Read lips?"
"I guess he tries to. He gets mixed up a lot."
"That's because so many words seem alike when you speak them. Look in a mirror sometime and say 'bury' and 'marry.' Or try 'grouch' and 'ouch'-though theie's a little difference there."
Alice snickered-not a real laugh. "That might look like 'He's a terrible ouch.' Maybe you could teach him some signs."
"I could try. But who would he talk to around here?"
"Me. You could teach me too."
"I'm afraid there won't be time. I'm going away soon. But
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perhaps I can ask Mrs. Aries about this. If you stay here, perhaps you could both learn a few things that might help him. Has he been deaf all his life?"
"I asked Dillow that, and he said it happened when Uncle Tim was around fifteen."
"That's an advantage. It means that he remembers the sound of words so he's not like those who have never heard anything or learned how to talk. Both my parents are deaf, and my father was born that way. Because of that, I had to learn to sign when I was little."
I'd caught her interest now, but probably only because I was someone different.
"Uncle Tim may not need signing," I went on. "Though fingerspelling might help if there was anyone around to understand. That's easier. It's spelling words on one hand. It's good for when there are names, or words that are hard. People who live with the deaf really ought to learn these | things."
"The old lady never would. She just thinks her brother is I dumb. Once she sent him away to a bad place. Show me how | to say my name."
I spelled "Alice" for her on my fingers and she imitated I me quickly. Then she sighed. "Anyway, she won't help him |-the old lady. And she hates me."
"Why do you think that?"
"I've heard her. One time when Dillow didn't catch me {listening she told him I wasn't a lovable child." When I didn't react, Alice continued slyly. "Maybe she's right. I do mean things. I spilled your hand stuff in the bathroom, and I meant to."
"You mean so you could prove that you aren't lovable?"