Page 42 of The Sign for Home

I assumed Arlo had made the request and wondered if it was a sign that he had changed his mind and was ready to tell me more of his story. But when Professor Bahr opened the door to her office, I saw that Arlo wasn’t even there.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it!” Professor Bahr exclaimed. “Come in.”

“It’s probably better to wait until Arlo gets here,” I said, getting an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

“Don ‘t be silly,” she said, directing me to one of the two chairs facing her desk. “I need to discuss something with you alone. Arlo will be here in about thirty minutes.”

And there it was: the reason for my discomfort. I stood at the back of the chairs, puzzling on how to explain the ethical problem she was presenting. Professor Bahr swept herself behind her desk. It was another day of bee earrings and the royal-blue dashiki.

“Um,” I said. “Really it’s better if I wait for the student.”

“Please just sit!” Professor Bahr commanded, only half smiling now.

I did.

The stuffy windowless room was just a bit larger than a cubicle, with shelves of books packed tightly. The limited wall space was filled with photos of Professor Bahr’s husband, and what I assumed were other family members, as well as degrees from the City College of New York and Columbia University. There was also a tropical travel poster of Saint Kitts taped to where a window might be. Now that I was seated, Professor Bahr’s demeanor shifted to something far more serious. She tapped her pen on Arlo’s response essay about Whitman’s poem and the sublime. I immediately saw how the white, crisp pages were bloodied with red correction marks. There was a large red D circled at the top. I immediately felt sad and a little defensive.

“I’m afraid we have a grave problem, Mr. Cyril. A grave problem. I need your advice. Arlo’s paper is a disaster. His grammar and spelling are unbelievable…”

“Hold it just a minute,” I interrupted. “If we could—”

“Just look at it! The idea he has about Whitman and the sublime is a good one, a sound idea. And his personal anecdote, if the reader coulddecipher it, could be moving. But his writing! How to say this politely? Oh, there is no way to say it politely: It is atrocious!”

“If you could just—”

“He writes as if he doesn’t know the language! The verbto beis missing completely or else misused. And I won’t even begin to discuss his butchering of prepositions: on, of, about, in, over, et cetera. It’s grammar goulash!”

“Professor, please stop!” I barked, then quickly lowered my voice. “I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t clear. I can’t discuss the consumer with you without him present. It’s unethical. I’m sorry.”

At first Professor Bahr looked offended by my explanation, but soon her ire deflated. Three times she started to say something, but then stopped. Finally, she just tossed Arlo’s paper on the desk in front of me and placed her hand over her eyes. With a quick glance I could see Arlo hadn’t asked the teacher for help, and had made only a few adjustments from the draft he had shown me. His English was still a mess, filled with his unique mix of ASL transliteration, acquired linguistic quirks, and moments of a convoluted but impressive intellect. Something between a young elementary school student and an Eastern European philosopher who only took two semesters of English. I had seen something similar in the writings of a hundred other Deaf students who suffered language deprivation.

Professor Bahr sighed, frustrated and sad.

“I called you here because I thought you, far more than your colleague, had a yearning to be supportive.”

“I do,” I said. “And I’m sure she does too, in her way. But the point is, if I’m here without the student’s permission, then it’s a betrayal of his trust. He needs to know that anything he says to me or in my presence won’t be shared with other people, so even finding me here alone with you could shake that trust. You understand, right?”

“Yes, I see what you’re saying,” Professor Bahr said, still looking despondent. “It’s just that I truly want to help Arlo, but I don’t think I’m theone. His language problem appears to be far too serious. I think it would be better if he found a more remedial program that helps the learning disabled.”

I wanted to scream, and not because I was in jeopardy of losing an entire summer of my escape money. Arlo would be heartbroken. And there it was, one of those moments every interpreter faces. You have knowledge you want to share, but you also have to think about the ethics of sharing it. Ethical rigidity or empathetic advocacy? And as I tended to do, I erred on the side of advocacy, even as I sensed it might come back to bite me in the ass later.

“Look, Professor, let’s not talk about Arlo. Let’s just talk about my general experience over the years working with the Deaf. And I’m being totally honest with you, this atypical English thing… it’s pretty common. Sure, there are Deaf who are brilliant writers. DeafBlind as well. There’s Helen Keller of course, but also other contemporary Deaf and DeafBlind poets, novelists, and essayists who are truly amazing. Whether a Deaf or DeafBlind individual learns to write well depends on any number of things. Most important, at what age they first had access to language. But even for the ones who struggle with writing perfect English, it doesn’t mean they are stupid or learning disabled.”

“I never said Arlo was stupid,” Professor Bahr interjected defensively.

“I know, I know. And remember we’renottalking about Arlo, and I don’t teach the Deaf. I’m just an interpreter, explaining what I’ve seen and heard over the years. What I’m saying is that even with that kind of grammar, it doesn’t mean the Deaf person can’t read or comprehend or learn. I’ve worked with people whose writing wasn’t that much better than Arlo’s. Yet they’ve managed to find their right vocation and have thrived. The thing is this: learning to write for the Deaf isn’t the same as a hearing person learning another spoken language. The hearing learner gets to listen to the cadence of the language from birth; the Deaf never do. Sure, they might be able to learn the rules, but it’s not quite the same. ASL, in fact, isstructurally more like Chinese than English. There are no tenses. There aren’t pronouns the way we use them. And now I’m gonna break my own rule and speak about Arlo specifically. When Arlo chooses to really express himself in ASL, he is fluent and very articulate.”

I could see that Professor Bahr was on the edge of convincing, but not yet there.

I picked up Arlo’s paper and read the opening paragraph while Professor Bahr watched me. Again, I was convinced that Arlo had accomplished something really special that Professor Bahr was missing.

“I have a question,” I said, becoming even more animated. “When you read his paper, did you understand his thesis?”

Professor Bahr nodded. “I did. And, as I said, it was a first-rate thesis. That’s why I was confused with how badly he wrote it. To be honest, I wondered if…”

Her voice trailed off, and I saw a faint glimmer of distrust in her eyes. Immediately she became embarrassed.

“You thought maybe someone else gave him the idea?” I asked. “Let me be clear, the idea was all his. I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but the fact that you comprehended Arlo’s fairly complicated thesis is proof of how smart he really is. And proof that your class is making a difference.”

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