She looked back at me and he tapped her on the arm to 'act her to pay strict attention to him. He lifted her hand and placed her fingers on his own neck. Then he nodded at her and she began. When she spoke, he either shook his head or nodded. If he shook his head, he repeated the word and then had her do it again and again. The intensity of concentration was impressive. She not only reacted to the vibrations in his throat, but the tiniest movement in his lips.
Finally, Mrs. Westington appeared in the doorway to announce that lunch was ready.
"Thank you," Tyler said, and told Echo. He also complimented her on her work. She smiled with pride when she turned to me.
"Are deaf people more sensitive to people's expressions,gestures." I asked him as he rose from his seat. He looked at me as if I had made a discovery it normally took years to make.
"Yes," he said. "When you lose one sense, you compensate with the others. Blind people depend more on hearing. Deaf people on seeing. feeling. I even have her listening to music."
"How?"
"By having her place her hand on the speaker so she can sense the beat, the bass. You'll see. She can actually identify tunes."
"You're very good with her," I told him as we started out. "I can see why she's learning so well with you."
As if he was distrustful of all compliments, he searched my face before replying. "She's a very bright girl and that makes it easier, believe me. She also has an unrelenting determination to bridge that gap between herself and other people. If she had been given instruction properly during the earlier ages when she should have been instructed, she would be far ahead by now."
I wasn't deaf. but I could read his gestures and demeanor clearly. He spoke down to me as if he were sitting on some high throne of authority and intelligence, and I were some lowly commoner there to pay him respect.
"She should be in a more regular classroom situation," he continued. "I worry about her not having interaction with other young people her age."
"I think that is Mrs. Westington's concern. That's why she wants me here."
He didn't look convinced. In fact, he shook his head and smirked. "That's hardly a substitution. First of all, you're not really her age."
"She's fourteen. right? I'm only seventeen."
He stopped in the hallway, drew his head back, and lifted his chin. "You're not seriously suggesting a girl of fourteen has much in common with a girl of seventeen, are you? Especially a girl like you."
"What do you mean, a girl like me?"
"You've been on your own. Who knows what you've seen and done on the road and before? Your level of sophistication is generations away from her. C'mon, you aren't out of school that long that you have
forgotten the differences between a ninth grader and an eleventh grader, especially when it comes to girls. Girls," he lectured. "'move up the social ladder much faster than boys." He nodded toward Echo, who was walking on ahead of us. "She's like a boy, a boy in elementary school at best. You should be very careful about what you say to her, what you show her," he added sharply.
I nodded, but his words and the cold way in which he spoke to me made me feel more and more like an intruder. I fell behind him as we entered the dining room. Mrs. Westington had put out a nice spread of cold cuts, cheeses, breads, and a jug of homemade lemonade. There were homemade cookies as well. I watched as Echo and Tyler signed between them, holding their private little chat. Then Tyler pointed to things on the table and had her pronounce them. If she didn't do it clearly, he put her hand on his neck and repeated it, making her repeat it until she pronounced the word better.
Mrs. Westington stood by watching and listening with a smile on her thin lips. I slipped into a chair, conscious of doing anything that might distract Echo from Tyler and his constant tutoring. His way was to make everything they did together, every situation and activity , part of the learning experience. The world was her classroom. No bells rung in her school to end the session or the day, but Tyler was right about her-- she had an insatiable appetite for learning,
"Echo has improved so much since Tyler came to teach her," Mrs. Westington told me.
I glanced at him, but he was busy fixing himself a sandwich and dipping into the cole slaw and potato salad.
"I'm sure she has," I said. "He'll do wonders for you as well," she said.
Tyler looked up sharply. "Let's wait and see how she does on the evaluations. Mrs. Westington. As I told you before. I have no idea what kind of a student she was when she was in school."
"Oh, she must have been a good student. She'll do well." Mrs. Westington insisted.
Tyler ignored her, and me, for that matter. He and Echo continued their private conversations. I felt like someone who didn't know she was invisible and wondered why no one paid any attention to her. I could see that even Mrs. Westington wasn't able to follow their signing that well. They moved their hands and fingers with lightning speed. It brought back memories of Uncle Palaver humorously imitating a southerner trying to understand a New Yorker who spoke so quickly. Mrs. Westington nodded at me and shrugged to indicate she was lost when it came to following them. She returned to the kitchen.
"How long does it take to communicate that well with someone who can't hear?" I asked him.
"It takes as long as it takes," he replied dryly. "Obviously, it depends on your ability to learn yourself and, as I have said repeatedly. I have no idea what you're capable of doing and what you aren't capable of doing. It might take you weeks or you might not get proficient at it for months or maybe you'll never succeed at it. School and learning have obviously not been a priority in your life. Why should it suddenly be now?"
I felt the heat that accompanied my rising blood travel up my neck and into my face. "You don't know what has and what hasn't been a priority in my life."
He shrugged. "No. I don't. That's the point."