Page 83 of The Sign for Home

I signaled my own laughter—in the Protactile way—by gently grabbing Arlo’s shoulder with the tips of my fingers in quick, repeated motions.

“Question?” Arlo asked, looking puzzled. “When you know you love someone—you feel like you want protect sweetheart and they want protect you?”

I suddenly felt an odd sensation rise in my chest. Then pressure grew behind my eyes, and I had to inhale several times in order to contain myself.

“Yes. I think we wanted to protect each other,” I finally signed, grateful that sign language was not like a voice, vulnerable to failure when overcome with emotion. “I know I wanted to protect him, and I think he wanted to protect me. I loved him so much. When he broke up with me I was heartbroken, though not surprised. To be honest, I couldn’t believe someone that handsome and smart could ever be in love with me anyway.”

Arlo’s brows curved downward, bemused by my statement. “You also handsome.”

Suddenly I remembered poor Hanne worried whether Arlo thought she was beautiful or not. Now it was me feeling ridiculous.

“No offense,” I signed. “But can you see me well enough to know that? I might very well be hideous-looking.”

“Ha ha! I know you are handsome… how? Because how other people describe you. You… freckles and red hair. Skinny, but not like bones. Your hands: good strong hands, smart hands. Good heart. Handsome heart. What about your sweetheart? Bruno expert ASL? Beautiful hands?”

“Bruno’s ASL was breathtaking. A poet. But I don’t really recall the details of his hands, other than being fairly strong. I’m sorry.”

Arlo looked perplexed by my inability to remember Bruno’s hands, but then he smiled mischievously, his mind jumping to another topic.

“Hey, I tell you secret. Shh. Just between you and me, okay? I think Molly also in love with someone.”

“Really?” I signed. “Molly? Does she even know what sex is?”

Arlo turned red and did his best not to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly added. “I shouldn’t have said that. Why do you think she’s in love?”

“Two weeks ago at Public Talk. Elders lecture about sin of adultery. Wow! Trouble. They didn’t say what happened? No. Just warning to congregation. But then afterward”—snaps fingers—“Molly no longer going Ecuador. Punished. Elders say she has to stay in Poughkeepsie. Now both Snap and Molly must wait one year to see me. Ha ha. Snap, I will miss. Break heart. Molly miss? No way.”

“Ha ha,” I signed. Though I was far more curious than amused. “But who is going to interpret for you in Ecuador?”

“Other JW interpreter already lives in Ecuador,” Arlo signed. “She will okay. Certified. This moment, I don’t care. But still, I curious: Molly adultery with who? Then I realize: Molly not come into house anymore. Waits outside. She never secret talks anymore with Brother Birch. I wonder—was adultery talk about Molly and Brother Birch?”

I burst out laughing.

“You are very funny. Sick sense of humor!”

“No. True business,” Arlo signed, biting his lip, growing more agitated as he made his case. “Think. Many times Molly and Brother Birch talk secret. Sometimes I walk into living room… Molly and Brother Birch alone together! When? Always when Mrs. Brother Birch not home. JW say forbidden! Adultery very bad sin. They get caught. That’s why Molly and Brother Birch not allowed alone with each other, and now Mollyforbidden to go to Ecuador. Now Molly can’t concentrate, depressed. Sometimes I feel wet on her hands. Crying. Why? Because break up with Brother Birch.”

“Anything is possible,” I signed, suspecting Arlo was mostly having a revenge fantasy. “But what do you say we head out now?”

Arlo’s demeanor shifted again. He clearly wanted to say something.

“Hey, last question: Where did your Deaf sweetheart go? Maybe he will love you again? You better person now. You more friendly, open mind. Should email him. Not have email address? Maybe Larry can help! Finding lost people—Larry champion!”

“I’m afraid it’s too long of a sad story,” I signed. “We don’t want to get too far behind schedule. Aren’t you excited to see Shri?”

Arlo checked his braille watch. “Yes. Of course. But you said we have enough time, right? We talk five minutes more, then speed! Okay? I already tell you my two very big secrets. Not fair if you not tell. We friends. Tell me long sad story fast. Bruno stop loving you… why?”

Arlo’s hands waited in the air in front of me. My own felt like they weighed a hundred pounds.

“To be totally honest with you, I was drinking a lot during that time. And I felt frustrated with my life. I kept telling Bruno that I wanted to leave Poughkeepsie, and blamed him for our being stuck there, which wasn’t true. The real reason… I mean thereal, real reason, about a year into our relationship, we found out Bruno was very, very sick. And because there were no dependable interpreters around where he was getting medical care, I had to interpret for him. In fact, I was the one who told him—as if I were the doctor, coldly, calmly—that he was probably going to die.”

Arlo removed his hands from mine. For a moment I thought he wanted me to stop the story.

“Sorry,” he signed. “Hands shaking, what for? You don’t have to tell me story.”

“No. I’m okay,” I signed. “I want to tell you. I do. Anyway, after eightmonths of hoping for the best, pretending like I was brave, interpreting every doctor’s appointment, something broke inside me. I started fighting with him about stupid things.He didn’t eat enough. He wasn’t taking his medicine right. He wasn’t trying hard enough to live. My drinking started getting worse and the fights got worse. It was the cancer I wanted to be fighting, but I couldn’t, so I kept harping on the fact that I needed to get out of Poughkeepsie and move out west. Finally, Bruno got fed up. He told me he didn’t want to spend the last years of his life with a drunk, crazy hearing man. So he moved back with his Deaf family in Rochester. The funny thing is I didn’t blame him. I would have left myself if I could.”

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