“Mama,” I sign, “would you interpret for me? I have a question to ask Andrew.”
She looks to Papa, who nods. Andrew is looking at us. No one is interpreting. Mama nods as well.
“I’ve been watching you conduct your experiments,” I tell him.
He guzzles his ale, then wryly replies, with a piercing look, “I have noticed.”
Nancy and I were not quite as covert as we had hoped.
“Do you think a local element is causing our deafness?” I ask him.
Andrew looks surprised.
Miss Hammond beams with delight. I am one of her best students. Though my talent lies more in words than scientific problems.
“That is my theory,” he responds, looking mostly at Mama. He also glances at me with interest. This is the first time we are conversing, albeit with Mama’s help. “I think the well water may have a rare impurity that causes your infirmity.”
I cannot tell if Andrew’s speech is cordial. Would Mama interpret insults the way Reverend Lee did? Perhaps Andrew is careful not to let her see that side of him.
“We all drink the same water.” Mr. Pye signs as fluently as he speaks. He is echoing what I said to Nancy.
“That is true,” Andrew says. “There may be an explanation for that.”
“Have you seen any similar cases?” Mr. Pye asks.
“My hypothesis,” Andrew says rather loftily, “is based on Cadwallader Colden’s work on the epidemic of yellow fever. In 1743, he published essays explaining how filthy living conditions were related to high incidence of the disease in New York City.”
Mr. Pye says, “I don’t see how that’s relevant to deafness in Chilmark. It’s not a disease, like yellow fever.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Andrew says.
Miss Hammond signs and speaks, “Honestly, in all my years I have not heard of any person in this town suffering and dying from the inability to hear.”
“I agree,” Mr. Pye quickly adds. “In some ways, I have always considered my deaf neighbors luckier for the less than melodious sounds they escape. Roosters, screaming infants, and the like.”
Papa laughs broadly. I stifle a giggle. It is common deaf humor on the island to name all the ways that the hearing are disadvantaged.
“Very amusing, sir,” Andrew says, ignoring Papa and me, “but wouldn’t it be better if these people didn’t have to live their lives in a reduced state?”
Papa, Mr. Pye, Miss Hammond, and I stare at Andrew. Mama seems embarrassed to have interpreted it for us but says nothing.
I look at Papa. He is watching intently. Why does he keep quiet? Are his thoughts not appropriate for a polite supper?
I have wondered if Papa feels powerless having his wife speak for him on important matters. There is usually a lovely balance between them. George and I could never turn them against each other in our disputes. But this intruder has tipped the scale in a way I would have never imagined.
I sometimes feel in chats with hearing peers that it can be difficult to put in my own thoughts. They interpret whenever possible, but when they converse in a group, they look and talk only to one another. It is not mean-spirited but careless. They forget to slow down and include me. Is this what Papa is feeling?
“Young man, I am aghast that you would make such an insulting remark under our hosts’ roof,” Mr. Pye signs and speaks.
I want to stand up and applaud.
“I meant no offense,” Andrew says, Mama still signing for him. “We are in the Enlightenment. The purpose of science is not only to better understand the world around us but also to improve the lot of the suffering.”
Ever a peacemaker, Papa raises his mug in a toast: “Health good long.” Everyone follows his example, but the gathering feels strained.
“What is the desired outcome of your experiments?” Mr. Pye asks sharply.
“Pardon me, sir,” Andrew replies, “but I don’t understand the question.”
Mr. Pye signs and speaks, “If we clean our water supply and other foul living conditions, assuming there are any in Chilmark, do you mean for the deaf to disappear? Is it your opinion that deafness is a scourge to eliminate, like yellow fever?”
“I think the healthier and more whole we are, the better,” Andrew says. “We must strive for perfection, not just in nature but among men. Anything less is a poor substitute.”
Mama hesitates while interpreting Andrew’s last remark. “Please eat,” she replies as she quickly changes from interpreter to hostess and takes up her fork to eat after smiling at her guests.
There is a long silence. Mama looks to Papa.
He signs, “My wife prepared a delicious repast. My daughter is impressionable. I don’t care for these discussions at my family’s table. I don’t know what will come of your study of our island, but the Lamberts will no longer take part in it.”
Mr. Pye and Miss Hammond are beaming. I can’t read Mama’s expression.
“At least you all live like Christians,” Andrew says, trying to ingratiate himself again.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Miss Hammond signs and speaks.
“Why, madam, because you are surrounded by the savage races,” Andrew responds.
“They are mostly Christianized,” Mr. Pye tells him.
“Yes,” Andrew acknowledges, “the Church has done what it can.”
“I think the Church has done quite enough,” Miss Hammond signs and speaks.
“What I’d like to know,” Mama signs and speaks, “is what is to be done with the children of Wampanoag women and freedmen. The Wampanoag complain that we stole their land, even though we paid them for it honestly. Now that the women are giving birth to mongrels, will they still lay claim to Wampanoag land? I don’t see how they can.”
How can Mama be so cruel? “Mongrel” is a good way to describe pups, not children. Sally is a girl just like me. Is it Andrew who brings out the worst in Mama?
I think about what Thomas explained to me, that the Wampanoag do not place the same importance on bloodlines as we do, and that the land belongs to Moshup, who shares it with his people.
I look
