immediately swiveled her head, causing some difficulty with the hair-untangling process. She rose and came over to us, standing before Freddy.
He gave her a hand sign that evidently meant,
Thanks for coming over, but I really don’t need you.
She returned to her trio of hairdressers.
“Why don’t you just cut the damn stuff off?” I called over.
The three beautifiers looked at me pityingly, as though I didn’t understand some basic fact of the universe.
“All right,” I said, turning back to Freddy. “She had some sort of connection with the Comanche.”
“She has a rudimentary grasp of English, probably from exposure at a young age,” Freddy said.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said.
“If you monitor her closely, you’ll see her respond to certain words.”
“She doesn’t respond to me at all,” I said. “If she understands how to speak, why would she remain silent?”
“Elective mutism,” Freddy said. “It’s a recognized phenomenon. There was that Philadelphia woman, a survivor from a fire—”
“Pish,” I interrupted him. “This girl doesn’t talk.”
“Do something sometime,” Freddy said. “Catch her gaze and hold it. You will see, when you look into her eyes, a hint of a ruined, frightened child. Of course she doesn’t speak. The cat of fear has gotten hold of her tongue. It will take some while. But I am confident that with enough care, when she feels secure, she will speak. And then our real work can begin.”
“So your theory is simple and optimistic,” I said, feigning a nonchalance that I didn’t feel. “She spoke English as a settler child, she was taken by Indians, you don’t know how young, she was raised up as a captive.”
Even as I said it, I thought of my earlier insight.
Never a captive of anyone, always where she was by choice.
“Yes, that’s about it,” Freddy said.
“But in any case, she’s not a feral child at all and thus not a suitable subject for research,” I said. “Too bad for your purposes.”
“Don’t neglect a fourth thing we know about her,” Freddy said.
“Which is what?”
“Her independence. She is able to operate wholly on her own. She demonstrates agency. Look at her.”
I did, I was, I had been.
“Self-contained, not other-directed. Which implies that she has spent a good deal of time alone.”
“Being raised by wolves,” I suggested, not seriously.
“Or raising herself,” Freddy responded.
• • •
Day passed into night.
Depots, punctuation in a run-on sentence. Humboldt, Mill City,Winnemucca, Golconda. Some of them little more than a single wood-framed station shack, a water tank, a stock pen, huddled in the dust. Others able to summon drummers, hunters, townspeople, trade.
We left the wastes of Nevada and entered the wastes of Utah. Coin, Bovine, Terraco, Matlin, Ombey.
No other landscape I had ever experienced more proved the point that beauty and terror are sisters. I stared out at the desert and felt its challenge. Sandobar, so mighty and impressive, seemed dwarfed by the country, dwindling to a puny, uncertain sanctum, huffing and puffing but making small headway.
Anna Maria had directed the furnishings and ornamentation of the cars, rich carvings of oiled walnut, plush upholstery, a Brussels carpet in one, Turkish in another. There were great expanses of mirrors in gilt frames. From home she brought a tiger pelt, with its large, proud head, its striped fur still untattered, sleek and glossy years after Friedrich’s late brother, Sonny, my uncle, brought it back from India.
We spent most of our time on our trip in the big, unpartitioned parlor car, second to last in the consist, called
Crucible.
It was here that we drowsed in the overstuffed chairs by the windows, sometimes catching a lucky break to witness a bald eagle soaring alongside, flying with us as though it were one of our party.
The berdache and Tu-Li played at the game of Chinese tiles or at cards, dealing hands of
He gave her a hand sign that evidently meant,
Thanks for coming over, but I really don’t need you.
She returned to her trio of hairdressers.
“Why don’t you just cut the damn stuff off?” I called over.
The three beautifiers looked at me pityingly, as though I didn’t understand some basic fact of the universe.
“All right,” I said, turning back to Freddy. “She had some sort of connection with the Comanche.”
“She has a rudimentary grasp of English, probably from exposure at a young age,” Freddy said.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said.
“If you monitor her closely, you’ll see her respond to certain words.”
“She doesn’t respond to me at all,” I said. “If she understands how to speak, why would she remain silent?”
“Elective mutism,” Freddy said. “It’s a recognized phenomenon. There was that Philadelphia woman, a survivor from a fire—”
“Pish,” I interrupted him. “This girl doesn’t talk.”
“Do something sometime,” Freddy said. “Catch her gaze and hold it. You will see, when you look into her eyes, a hint of a ruined, frightened child. Of course she doesn’t speak. The cat of fear has gotten hold of her tongue. It will take some while. But I am confident that with enough care, when she feels secure, she will speak. And then our real work can begin.”
“So your theory is simple and optimistic,” I said, feigning a nonchalance that I didn’t feel. “She spoke English as a settler child, she was taken by Indians, you don’t know how young, she was raised up as a captive.”
Even as I said it, I thought of my earlier insight.
Never a captive of anyone, always where she was by choice.
“Yes, that’s about it,” Freddy said.
“But in any case, she’s not a feral child at all and thus not a suitable subject for research,” I said. “Too bad for your purposes.”
“Don’t neglect a fourth thing we know about her,” Freddy said.
“Which is what?”
“Her independence. She is able to operate wholly on her own. She demonstrates agency. Look at her.”
I did, I was, I had been.
“Self-contained, not other-directed. Which implies that she has spent a good deal of time alone.”
“Being raised by wolves,” I suggested, not seriously.
“Or raising herself,” Freddy responded.
• • •
Day passed into night.
Depots, punctuation in a run-on sentence. Humboldt, Mill City,Winnemucca, Golconda. Some of them little more than a single wood-framed station shack, a water tank, a stock pen, huddled in the dust. Others able to summon drummers, hunters, townspeople, trade.
We left the wastes of Nevada and entered the wastes of Utah. Coin, Bovine, Terraco, Matlin, Ombey.
No other landscape I had ever experienced more proved the point that beauty and terror are sisters. I stared out at the desert and felt its challenge. Sandobar, so mighty and impressive, seemed dwarfed by the country, dwindling to a puny, uncertain sanctum, huffing and puffing but making small headway.
Anna Maria had directed the furnishings and ornamentation of the cars, rich carvings of oiled walnut, plush upholstery, a Brussels carpet in one, Turkish in another. There were great expanses of mirrors in gilt frames. From home she brought a tiger pelt, with its large, proud head, its striped fur still untattered, sleek and glossy years after Friedrich’s late brother, Sonny, my uncle, brought it back from India.
We spent most of our time on our trip in the big, unpartitioned parlor car, second to last in the consist, called
Crucible.
It was here that we drowsed in the overstuffed chairs by the windows, sometimes catching a lucky break to witness a bald eagle soaring alongside, flying with us as though it were one of our party.
The berdache and Tu-Li played at the game of Chinese tiles or at cards, dealing hands of
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