Page 6 of The Sign for Home

Arlo tilted his head away from me, his eyebrows indicating some inner dialogue was happening. I was certain I had lost the gig. My escape plan to Philly would crumble, but at least Arlo would get some devout Tactile interpreter who could share her favorite Bible passages with him. And I wouldn’t have to break my promise to myself. Still, I felt disappointed.

“One more question?” Arlo suddenly signed. “Maybe later when Judgment Day happen, then you will believe in Jehovah God?”

I was just about to answer a decided no when Clara Shuster suddenly entered, causing me to nervously shove my hands into my pockets. Seeing Arlo’s hands hanging in the air waiting for me, Clara raised her eyebrows in a gentle reprimand.

“Remember, he’s tactile,” she said. “He looks like he sees you, right? He’s probably faking.”

I started to explain myself, but Clara held her hand up, her thumb and pointer finger indicating a pea-sized hole.

“He can only see about this much in his left eye these days, and even that’s starting to get foggy. With the right magnification equipment he can see enough to read, but tends to use braille for anything really long.”

“Other person here?” Arlo asked.

Arlo had noticed from my movements that I was talking to someone and not interpreting—something I usually would never do, since it’s incredibly impolite. I apologized and quickly, without voicing, caught Arlo up on everything Clara had said. A faint smile appeared on his face. I couldn’t tell whether it was due to Clara’s comment about his “faking it” or simply because I had interpreted everything.

While this short, silent exchange between us happened, Clara, who didn’t know sign language, stood there looking uncomfortable.

“What are you two signing to each other?”

“Um… just interpreting,” I said.

Clara looked at me and smiled knowingly.

“You know he perceives a lot more than we think. Trust me. He’s a smart one, and adorable, as you can see. Don’t tell him I said that.”

I already had, including her request not to interpret what she said. (Never tell an interpreternotto interpret something said in front of a Deaf person.) Arlo smiled as his cheeks flushed. Snap pricked up her floppy ears, gave a funny little happy growl, and banged her tail twice on the floor.

“Oh hush, Snap!” Clara said playfully. “They need to retire that old dog soon. She’s got arthritis in her hips and her eyesight is somewhatquestionable. Sometimes I’m not sure who’s guiding whom. Now, if you wouldn’t mind interpreting some business I have with Arlo? It will be a good way for him to see your style. I’ll do the same with the other applicant.”

What followed was a typical case manager–client conversation about things related to school: access to the library’s computer, mobility issues that could arise on a campus built on a hillside, how the state would cover the cost of books and provide a vibrating alarm clock for free.

Arlo appeared to understand everything I was interpreting, with only some clarifications on whether I was fingerspelling a D or an L. In the middle of one of Clara’s sentences Arlo interrupted, indicating he was just talking to me, and not to voice what he was saying.

“Clara Shuster’s face?” he asked. “Smiling, frowning—which?”

“Her expression is, well,in between. But not angry. Professional.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Then it hit me. To do the job right for Arlo, it wasn’t just about the language; I would need to describe people’s expressions, the room where they stood, whether they had food in their teeth. Everything. Distracted, I completely lost what Clara was talking about and had to ask her to repeat herself. When she did, I noticed my hands were shaking again. Then I started to worry whether Arlo smelled the half bottle of red wine I had the night before. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. A pipe-burst of sweat poured down my armpits. It was the DeafBlind octopus thing. It was back.

“You okay?” Arlo asked.

“Yes, yes, sure! It’s just very hot in here.”

I took a deep breath and tried to focus.Just do the job!Then, as Clara talked about Arlo’s goals for the class, I wanted to somehow replicate her demeanor, so I let my wrists go a little limp to indicate the languid lilt of her snooty, Connecticut-raised accent. She talked about how Arlo’s uncle felt it was necessary that Arlo improve his written communication since he was set to go on a yearlong mission to Ecuador with his church at the end of summer, and one of his tasks would include putting together writtenmaterial. Finally, as I worked on “embodying” Clara’s voice in my signs, my interpreter “flow” kicked in. Arlo was nodding at all the right places. He was getting it. Also turning Arlo’s ASL into spoken English—what we call “voicing”—went incredibly smoothly. When the Deaf person and the interpreter are a good match it can feel a little like channeling a vocal spirit. My shaking stopped. My sweating stopped.

I can do this!

“Well, it seems like you two work well together,” Clara finally said, noticing Arlo’s engagement. “So Arlo just needs to meet the other interpreter applicant, and then we’ll give you a call.”

“No. Wait!” Arlo signed, interrupting Clara. “Other interpreter… Don’t need. I decide finish. I want Cyril!”

Arlo searched for my face.

“Cyril? Interpret for me? Will?”

Suddenly, Arlo was making it my choice. If I didn’t leave then, it was going to be a long, complicated summer. The job frightened the hell out of me, but it was also beginning to excite me.

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