Music in the Night (Logan 4)

"I can understand a little sign language," he said. "And I can learn the rest fast. Don't worry.Ill protect you," he promised.

After I got my food and returned to the table, I did feel less tentative and insecure. I listened to their conversations and ate. Every once in a while, Lawrence turned to me and asked me how I would say or ask for something through signing. I showed him and he committed it quickly to memory.

Someone else, someone in my past, learned sign language that quickly, I remembered. I could see myself teaching him. Who was he? Everything I did raised another question about who I was and where I belonged, and every question felt like a needle in my side demanding attention.

"You shouldn't be encouraging her," Megan warned. "She won't snap out of it as fast."

"She'll be fine," Lawrence said, smiling at me.

"Listen to him, Doctor Lawrence Taylor. Hang a shingle over your room door," Megan said. She looked at the doorway and then leaned in toward me. "Here comes Mrs. Kleckner. You better not act too stupid," she advised.

"How are we doing now?" Mrs. Kleckner asked after she approached our table.

"Fine and dandy, Mrs. Kleckner. We're an absolutely happy little group of idiots and screwballs," Megan remarked with a fat smile.

"You're not really very funny, Megan. I'm hoping you'll realize that soon. For your own sake, as well as everyone else's," she added.

"Oh, I'll try, Mrs. Kleckner," Megan promised with a false smile on her lips.

Mrs. Kleckner turned to me.

"I understand you've lost your voice."

I looked at Megan and Lawrence and then at her before I nodded.

"Very well," Mrs. Kleckner continued, "you have your session with Doctor Southerby now. Come along, Laura," she said.

I looked at the others. Their eyes were wide with concern.

"Good luck with your doctor," Megan said as I stood up. "I hope things go better for you this time," she added, telling me I had met him before. I smiled, signed my thanks, and left with Mrs. Kleckner.

Doctor Southerby wasn't in his office when I was brought there. Mrs. Kleckner had me take a seat in front of the big desk and then left. I sat quietly waiting, gazing at everything and wondering how it could be that I had been here before. None of it looked even vaguely familiar. A side door opened and Doctor Southerby entered. He smiled softly and went to his desk.

"So," he began as soon as he sat, "you've had a little setback, I understand. Lost your voice?"

I didn't know what else to do, so I nodded.

"You can use sign language," he said. "I know it well."

I felt like I was in a foreign country and had finally found another person who spoke my language. The questions flowed out of me so quickly, my hands could barely keep up. Doctor Southerby's eyes followed and his smile widened and widened.

"Whoa," he cried. "Let's take it one at a time. You're in a clinic for people who have mental and psychological problems. It's a clinic mainly for young people. It was established by a foundation funded by wealthy people and has become one of the more prestigious and successful institutions of its kind in the northeast, if I may say so," he added proudly. "I'm one of the chief therapists here and your case has been assigned to me.

"As we were discussing yesterday, you suffered a serious traumatic experience and it has affected your memory. You have a form of general amnesia, but it is the sort of amnesia that won't last long. I feel confident of that."

"Yes," he said after I signed my question, "when you first arrived here, you could speak, but you couldn't recall anything about yourself."

I signed, "Why can't I speak now?"

"I don't know yet," he said, looking very thoughtful. "I'm just learning about your background myself and the information I need is slow in coming, unfortunately," he said with a grimace. "However, since you know sign language so well, it is something that is obviously in your background. Someone close to you is deaf. Does that jog your memory a bit?"

I thought.

"Yes," I told him, "but I can't remember much about her right now."

"You will. Suddenly, you will see someone else doing it and you'll realize who it is," he promised. "Until then, since you are unable to speak . ."--he reached into a drawer and came up with a notebook-- "I would like you to write down everything you remember; everything you think and anything that occurs to you about yourself, or people here, anything," he said, handing me the notebook.

I took it gingerly.