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- Speech Sounds—1
- Speech Sounds
- Octavia E. Butler
- There was trouble aboard the Washington Boulevard bus. Rye had expected
- trouble sooner or later in her journey. She had put off going until loneliness and
- hopelessness drove her out. She believed she might have one group of relatives
- left alive—a brother and his two children twenty miles away in Pasadena. That
- was a day’s journey one-way, if she were lucky. The unexpected arrival of the
- bus as she left her Virginia Road home had seemed to be a piece of luck—until
- the trouble began.
- Two young men were involved in a disagreement of some kind, or, more likely, a
- misunderstanding. They stood in the aisle, grunting and gesturing at each other,
- each in his own uncertain T stance as the bus lurched over the potholes. The
- driver seemed to be putting some effort into keeping them off balance. Still, their
- gestures stopped just short of contact—mock punches, hand games of
- intimidation to replace lost curses.
- People watched the pair, then looked at one another and made small anxious
- sounds. Two children whimpered.
- Rye sat a few feet behind the disputants and across from the back door. She
- watched the two carefully, knowing the fight would begin when someone’s nerve
- broke or someone’s hand slipped or someone came to the end of his limited
- ability to communicate. These things could happen anytime.
- One of them happened as the bus hit an especially large pothole and one man,
- tall, thin, and sneering, was thrown into his shorter opponent.
- Instantly, the shorter man drove his left fist into the disintegrating sneer. He
- hammered his larger opponent as though he neither had nor needed any weapon
- other than his left fist. He hit quickly enough, hard enough to batter his opponent
- down before the taller man could regain his balance or hit back even once.
- People screamed or squawked in fear. Those nearby scrambled to get out of the
- way. Three more young men roared in excitement and gestured wildly. Then,
- somehow, a second dispute broke out between two of these three—probably
- because one inadvertently touched or hit the other.
- As the second fight scattered frightened passengers, a woman shook the driver’s
- shoulder and grunted as she gestured toward the fighting.
- The driver grunted back through bared teeth. Frightened, the woman drew away.
- Speech Sounds—2
- Rye, knowing the methods of bus drivers, braced herself and held on to the
- crossbar of the seat in front of her. When the driver hit the brakes, she was ready
- and the combatants were not. They fell over seats and onto screaming
- passengers, creating even more confusion. At least one more fight started.
- The instant the bus came to a full stop, Rye was on her feet, pushing the back
- door. At the second push, it opened and she jumped out, holding her pack in one
- arm. Several other passengers followed, but some stayed on the bus. Buses
- were so rare and irregular now, people rode when they could, no matter what.
- There might not be another bus today—or tomorrow. People started walking, and
- if they saw a bus they flagged it down. People making intercity trips like Rye’s
- from Los Angeles to Pasadena made plans to camp out, or risked seeking
- shelter with locals who might rob or murder them.
- The bus did not move, but Rye moved away from it. She intended to wait until the
- trouble was over and get on again, but if there was shooting, she wanted the
- protection of a tree. Thus, she was near the curb when a battered blue Ford on
- the other side of the street made a U-turn and pulled up in front of the bus. Cars
- were rare these days—as rare as a severe shortage of fuel and of relatively
- unimpaired mechanics could make them. Cars that still ran were as likely to be
- used as weapons as they were to serve as transportation. Thus, when the driver
- of the Ford beckoned to Rye, she moved away warily. The driver got out—a big
- man, young, neatly bearded with dark, thick hair. He wore a long overcoat and a
- look of wariness that matched Rye’s. She stood several feet from him, waiting to
- see what he would do. He looked at the bus, now rocking with the combat inside,
- then at the small cluster of passengers who had gotten off. Finally he looked at
- Rye again.
- She returned his gaze, very much aware of the old forty-five automatic her jacket
- concealed. She watched his hands.
- He pointed with his left hand toward the bus. The dark-tinted windows prevented
- him from seeing what was happening inside.
- His use of the left hand interested Rye more than his obvious question. Lefthanded people tended to be less impaired, more reasonable and
- comprehending, less driven by frustration, confusion, and anger.
- She imitated his gesture, pointing toward the bus with her own left hand, then
- punching the air with both fists.
- The man took off his coat revealing a Los Angeles Police Department uniform
- complete with baton and service revolver.
- Rye took another step back from him. There was no more LAPD, no more any
- large organization, governmental or private. There were neighborhood patrols
- and armed individuals. That was all.
- Speech Sounds—3
- The man took something from his coat pocket, then threw the coat into the car.
- Then he gestured Rye back, back, toward the rear of the bus. He had something
- made of plastic; in his hand. Rye did not understand what he wanted until he
- went to the rear door of the bus and beckoned her to stand there. She obeyed
- mainly out of curiosity. Cop or not, maybe he could do something to stop the
- stupid fighting.
- He walked around the front of the bus, to the street side where the driver’s
- window was open. There, she thought she saw him throw something into the
- bus. She was still trying to peer through the tinted glass when people began
- stumbling out the rear door, choking and weeping. Gas.
- Rye caught an old woman who would have fallen, lifted two little children down
- when they were in danger of being knocked down and trampled. She could see
- the bearded man helping people at the front door. She caught a thin old man
- shoved out by one of the combatants. Staggered by the old man’s weight, she
- was barely able to get out of the way as the last of the young men pushed his
- way out. This one, bleeding from nose and mouth, stumbled into another, and
- they grappled blindly, still sobbing from the gas.
- The bearded man helped the bus driver out through the front door, though the
- driver did not seem to appreciate his help. For a moment, Rye thought there
- would be another fight. The bearded man stepped back and watched the driver
- gesture threateningly, watched him shout in wordless anger.
- The bearded man stood still, made no sound, refused to respond to clearly
- obscene gestures. The least impaired people tended to do this—stand back
- unless they were physically threatened and let those with less control scream
- and jump around. It was as though they felt it beneath them to be as touchy as
- the less comprehending. This was an attitude of superiority, and that was the
- way people like the bus driver perceived it. Such “superiority” was frequently
- punished by beatings, even by death. Rye had had close calls of her own. As a
- result, she never went unarmed. And in this world where the only likely common
- language was body language, being armed was often enough. She had rarely
- had to draw her gun or even display it.
- The bearded man’s revolver was on constant display. Apparently that was
- enough for the bus driver. The driver spat in disgust, glared at the bearded man
- for a moment longer, then strode back to his gas-filled bus. He stared at it for a
- moment, clearly wanting to get in, but the gas was still too strong. Of the
- windows, only his tiny driver’s window actually opened. The front door was open,
- but the rear door would not stay open unless someone held it. Of course, the air
- conditioning had failed long ago. The bus would take some time to clear. It was
- the driver’s property, his livelihood. He had pasted old magazine pictures of items
- he would accept as fare on its sides. Then he would use what he collected to
- feed his family or to trade. If his bus did not run, he did not eat. On the other
- hand, if the inside of his bus was torn apart by senseless fighting, he would not
- Speech Sounds—4
- eat very well either. He was apparently unable to perceive this. All he could see
- was that it would be some time before he could use his bus again. He shook his
- fist at the bearded man and shouted. There seemed to be words in his shout, but
- Rye could not understand them. She did not know whether this was his fault or
- hers. She had heard so little coherent human speech for the past three years,
- she was no longer certain how well she recognized it, no longer certain of the
- degree of her own impairment.
- The bearded man sighed. He glanced toward his car, then beckoned to Rye. He
- was ready to leave, but he wanted something from her first. No. No, he wanted
- her to leave with him. Risk getting into his car when, in spite of his uniform, law
- and order were nothing—not even words any longer.
- She shook her head in a universally understood negative, but the man continued
- to beckon.
- She waved him away. He was doing what the less impaired rarely did—drawing
- potentially negative attention to another of his kind. People from the bus had
- begun to took at her.
- One of the men who had been fighting tapped another on the arm, then pointed
- from the bearded man to. Rye, and finally held up the first two fingers of his right
- hand as though giving two-thirds of a Boy Scout salute. The gesture was very
- quick, its meaning obvious even at a distance. She had been grouped with the
- bearded man. Now what?
- The man who had made the gesture started toward her.
- She had no idea what he intended, but she stood her ground. The man was half
- a foot taller than she was and perhaps ten years younger. She did not imagine
- she could outrun him. Nor did she expect anyone to help her if she needed help.
- The people around her were all strangers.
- She gestured once—a clear indication to the man to stop. She did not intend to
- repeat the gesture. Fortunately, the man obeyed. He gestured obscenely and
- several other men laughed. Loss of verbal language had spawned a whole new
- set of obscene gestures. The man, with stark simplicity, had accused her of sex
- with the bearded man and had suggested she accommodate the other men
- present—beginning with him.
- Rye watched him wearily. People might very well stand by and watch if he tried
- to rape her. They would also stand and watch her shoot him. Would he push
- things that far?
- He did not. After a series of obscene gestures that brought him no closer to her,
- he turned contemptuously and walked away.
- Speech Sounds—5
- And the bearded man still waited. He had removed his service revolver, holster
- and all. He beckoned again, both hands empty. No doubt his gun was in the car
- and within easy reach, but his taking it off impressed her. Maybe he was all right.
- Maybe he was just alone. She had been alone herself for three years. The illness
- had stripped her, killing her children one by one, killing her husband, her sister,
- her parents. . . . .
- The illness, if it was an illness, had cut even the living off from one another. As it
- swept over the country, people hardly had time to lay blame on the Soviets
- (though they were falling silent along with the rest of the world), on a new virus, a
- new pollutant, radiation, divine retribution. . . . The illness was stroke-swift in the
- way it cut people down and strokelike in some of its effects. But it was highly
- specific. Language was always lost or severely impaired. It was never regained.
- Often there was also paralysis, intellectual impairment, death.
- Rye walked toward the bearded man, ignoring the whistling and applauding of
- two of the young men and their thumbs-up signs to the bearded man. If he had
- smiled at them or acknowledged them in any way, she would almost certainly
- have changed her mind. If she had let herself think of the possible deadly
- consequences of getting into a stranger’s car, she would have changed her mind.
- Instead, she thought of the man who lived across the street from her. He rarely
- washed since his bout with the illness. And he had gotten into the habit of
- urinating wherever he happened to be. He had two women already—one tending
- each of his large gardens. They put up with him in exchange for his protection.
- He had made it clear that he wanted Rye to become his third woman.
- She got into the car and the bearded man shut the door. She watched as he
- walked around to the driver’s door—watched for his sake because his gun was
- on the seat beside her. And the bus driver and a pair of young men had come a
- few steps closer. They did nothing, though, until the bearded man was in the car.
- Then one of them threw a rock. Others followed his example, and as the car
- drove away, several rocks bounced off harmlessly.
- When the bus was some distance behind them, Rye wiped sweat from her
- forehead and longed to relax. The bus would have taken her more than halfway
- to Pasadena. She would have had only ten miles to walk. She wondered how far
- she would have to walk now—and wondered if walking a long distance would be
- her only problem.
- At Figuroa and Washington where the bus normally made a left turn, the bearded
- man stopped, looked at her, and indicated that she should choose a direction.
- When she directed him left and he actually turned left, she began to relax. If he
- was willing to go where she directed, perhaps he was safe.
- As they passed blocks of burned, abandoned buildings, empty lots, and wrecked
- or stripped cars, he slipped a gold chain over his head and handed it to her. The
- pendant attached to it was a smooth, glassy, black rock. Obsidian. His name
- Speech Sounds—6
- might be Rock or Peter or Black, but she decided to think of him as Obsidian.
- Even her sometimes useless memory would retain a name like Obsidian.
- She handed him her own name symbol—a pin in the shape of a large golden
- stalk of wheat. She had bought it long before the illness and the silence began.
- Now she wore it, thinking it was as close as she was likely to come to Rye.
- People like Obsidian who had not known her before probably thought of her as
- Wheat. Not that it mattered. She would never hear her name spoken again.
- Obsidian handed her pin back to her. He caught her hand as she reached for it
- and rubbed his thumb over her calluses.
- He stopped at First Street and asked which way again. Then, after turning right
- as she had indicated, he parked near the Music Center. There, he took a folded
- paper from the dashboard and unfolded it. Rye recognized it as a street map,
- though the writing on it meant nothing to her. He flattened the map, took her
- hand again, and put her index finger on one spot. He touched her, touched
- himself, pointed toward the floor. In effect, “We are here.” She knew he wanted to
- know where she was going. She wanted to tell him, but she shook her head
- sadly. She had lost reading and writing. That was her most serious impairment
- and her most painful. She had taught history at UCLA. She had done freelance
- writing. Now she could not even read her own manuscripts. She had a houseful
- of books that she could neither read nor bring herself to use as fuel. And she had
- a memory that would not bring back to her much of what she had read before.
- She stared at the map, trying to calculate. She had been born in Pasadena, had
- lived for fifteen years in Los Angeles. Now she was near L.A. Civic Center. She
- knew the relative positions of the two cities, knew streets, directions, even knew
- to stay away from freeways, which might be blocked by wrecked cars and
- destroyed overpasses. She ought to know how to point out Pasadena even
- though she could not recognize the word.
- Hesitantly, she placed her hand over a pale orange patch in the upper right
- corner of the map. That should be right. Pasadena.
- Obsidian lifted her hand and looked under it, then folded the map and put it back
- on the dashboard. He could read, she realized belatedly. He could probably
- write, too. Abruptly, she hated him—deep, bitter hatred. What did literacy mean
- to him—a grown man who played cops and robbers? But he was literate and she
- was not. She never would be. She felt sick to her stomach with hatred,
- frustration, and jealousy. And only a few inches from her hand was a loaded gun.
- She held herself still, staring at him, almost seeing his blood. But her rage
- crested and ebbed and she did nothing.
- Obsidian reached for her hand with hesitant familiarity.’ She looked at him. Her
- face had already revealed too much. No person still living in what was left of
- human society could fail to recognize that expression, that jealousy.
- Speech Sounds—7
- She closed her eyes wearily, drew a deep breath. She had experienced longing
- for the past, hatred of the present, growing hopelessness, purposelessness, but
- she had never experienced such a powerful urge to kill another person. She had
- left her home, finally, because she had come near to killing herself She had
- found no reason to stay alive. Perhaps that was why she had gotten into
- Obsidian’s car. She had never before done such a thing.
- He touched her mouth and made chatter motions with thumb and fingers. Could
- she speak?
- She nodded and watched his milder envy come and go. Now both had admitted
- what it was not safe to admit, and there had been no violence. He tapped his
- mouth and forehead and shook his head. He did not speak or comprehend
- spoken language. The illness had played with them, taking away, she suspected,
- what each valued most.
- She plucked at his sleeve, wondering why he had decided on his own to keep the
- LAPD alive with what he had left. He was sane enough otherwise. Why wasn’t he
- at home raising corn, rabbits, and children? But she did not know how to ask.
- Then he put his hand on her thigh and she had another question to deal with.
- She shook her head. Disease, pregnancy, helpless, solitary agony . . . no.
- He massaged her thigh gently and smiled in obvious disbelief.
- No one had touched her for three years. She had not wanted anyone to touch
- her. What kind of world was this to chance bringing a child into even if the father
- were willing to stay and help raise it? It was too bad, though. Obsidian could not
- know how attractive he was to her—young, probably younger than she was,
- clean, asking for what he wanted rather than demanding it. But none of that
- mattered. What were a few moments of pleasure measured against a lifetime of
- consequences?
- He pulled her closer to him and for a moment she let herself enjoy the closeness.
- He smelled good—male and good. She pulled away reluctantly.
- He sighed, reached toward the glove compartment. She stiffened, not knowing
- what to expect, but all he took out was a small box. The writing on it meant
- nothing to her. She did not understand until he broke the seal, opened the box,
- and took out a condom. He looked at her, and she first looked away in surprise.
- Then she giggled. She could not remember when she had last giggled.
- He grinned, gestured toward the backseat, and she laughed aloud. Even in her
- teens, she had disliked backseats of cars. But she looked around at the empty
- streets and ruined buildings, then she got out and into the backseat. He let her
- put the condom on him, then seemed surprised at her eagerness.
- Speech Sounds—8
- Sometime later, they sat together, covered by his coat, unwilling to become
- clothed near strangers again just yet. He made rock-the-baby gestures and
- looked questioningly at her.
- She swallowed, shook her head. She did not know how to tell him her children
- were dead.
- He took her hand and drew a cross in it with his index finger, then made his
- baby-rocking gesture again.
- She nodded, held up three fingers, then turned away, trying to shut out a sudden
- flood of memories. She had told herself that the children growing up now were to
- be pitied. They would run through the downtown canyons with no real memory of
- what the buildings had been or even how they had come to be. Today’s children
- gathered books as well as wood to be burned as fuel. They ran through the
- streets chasing one another and hooting like chimpanzees. They had no future.
- They were now all they would ever be.
- He put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned suddenly, fumbling for his small
- box, then urging him to make love to her again. He could give her forgetfulness
- and pleasure. Until now, nothing had been able to do that. Until now, every day
- had brought her closer to the time when she would do what she had left home to
- avoid doing: putting her gun in her mouth and pulling the trigger.
- She asked Obsidian if he would come home with her, stay with her.
- He looked surprised and pleased once he understood. But he did not answer at
- once. Finally, he shook his head as she had feared he might. He was probably
- having too much fun playing cops and robbers and picking up women.
- She dressed in silent disappointment, unable to feel any anger toward him.
- Perhaps he already had a wife and a home. That was likely. The illness had been
- harder on men than on women—had killed more men, had left male survivors
- more severely impaired. Men like Obsidian were rare. Women either settled for
- less or stayed alone. If they found an Obsidian, they did what they could to keep
- him. Rye suspected he had someone younger, prettier keeping him.
- He touched her while she was strapping her gun on and asked with a
- complicated series of gestures whether it was loaded.
- She nodded grimly.
- He patted her arm.
- She asked once more if he would come home with her, this time using a different
- series of gestures. He had seemed hesitant. Perhaps he could be courted.
- He got out and into the front seat without responding.
- Speech Sounds—9
- She took her place in front again, watching him. Now he plucked at his uniform
- and looked at her. She thought she was being asked something but did not know
- what it was.
- He took off his badge, tapped it with one finger, then tapped his chest. Of course.
- She took the badge from his hand and pinned her wheat stalk to it. If playing
- cops and robbers was his only insanity, let him play. She would take him, uniform
- and all. It occurred to her that she might eventually lose him to someone he
- would meet as he had met her. But she would have him for a while.
- He took the street map down again, tapped it, pointed vaguely northeast toward
- Pasadena, then looked at her.
- She shrugged, tapped his shoulder, then her own, and held up her index and
- second fingers tight together, just to be sure.
- He grasped the two fingers and nodded. He was. with her.
- She took the map from him and threw it onto the dashboard. She pointed back
- southwest—back toward home. Now she did not have to go to Pasadena. Now
- she could go on having a brother there and two nephews—three right-handed
- males. Now she did not have to find out for certain whether she was as alone as
- she feared. Now she was not alone.
- Obsidian took Hill Street south, then Washington west, and she leaned back,
- wondering what it would be like to have someone again. With what she had
- scavenged, what she had preserved, and what she grew, there was easily
- enough food for them. There was certainly room enough in a four-bedroom
- house. He could move his possessions in. Best of all, the animal across the
- street would pull back and possibly not force her to kill him.
- Obsidian had drawn her closer to him, and she had put her head on his shoulder
- when suddenly he braked hard, almost throwing her off the seat. Out of the
- corner of her eye, she saw that someone had run across the street in front of the
- car. One car on the street and someone had to run in front of it.
- Straightening up, Rye saw that the runner was a woman, fleeing from an old
- frame house to a boarded-up storefront. She ran silently, but the man who
- followed her a moment later shouted what sounded like garbled words as he ran.
- He had something in his hand. Not a gun. A knife, perhaps.
- The woman tried a door, found it locked, looked around desperately, finally
- snatched up a fragment of glass broken from the storefront window. With this she
- turned to face her pursuer. Rye thought she would be more likely to cut her own
- hand than to hurt anyone else with the glass.
- Speech Sounds—10
- Obsidian jumped from the car, shouting. It was the first time Rye had heard his
- voice—deep and hoarse from disuse. He made the same sound over and over
- the way some speechless people did, “Da, da, da!”
- Rye got out of the car as Obsidian ran toward the couple. He had drawn his gun.
- Fearful, she drew her own and released the safety. She looked around to see
- who else might be attracted to the scene. She saw the man glance at Obsidian,
- then suddenly lunge at the woman. The woman jabbed his face with her glass,
- but he caught her arm and managed to stab her twice before Obsidian shot him.
- The man doubled, then toppled, clutching his abdomen. Obsidian shouted, then
- gestured Rye over to help the woman.
- Rye moved to the woman’s side, remembering that she had little more than
- bandages and antiseptic in her pack. But the woman was beyond help. She had
- been stabbed with a long, slender boning knife.
- She touched Obsidian to let him know the woman was dead. He had bent to
- check the wounded man who lay still and also seemed dead. But as Obsidian
- looked around to see what Rye wanted, the man opened his eyes. Face
- contorted, he seized Obsidian’s just-holstered revolver and fired. The bullet
- caught Obsidian in the temple and he collapsed.
- It happened just that simply, just that fast. An instant later, Rye shot the wounded
- man as he was turning the gun on her.
- And Rye was alone—with three corpses.
- She knelt beside Obsidian, dry-eyed, frowning, trying to understand why
- everything had suddenly changed. Obsidian was gone. He had died and left
- her—like everyone else.
- Two very small children came out of the house from which the man and woman
- had run—a boy and girl perhaps three years old. Holding hands, they crossed
- the street toward Rye. They stared at her, then edged past her and went to the
- dead woman. The girl shook the woman’s arm as though trying to wake her.
- This was too much. Rye got up, feeling sick to her stomach with grief and anger.
- If the children began to cry, she thought she would vomit.
- They were on their own, those two kids. They were old enough to scavenge. She
- did not need any more grief. She did not need a stranger’s children who would
- grow up to be hairless chimps.
- She went back to the car. She could drive home, at least. She remembered how
- to drive.
- Speech Sounds—11
- The thought that Obsidian should be buried occurred to her before she reached
- the car, and she did vomit.
- She had found and lost the man so quickly. It was as though she had been
- snatched from comfort and security and given a sudden, inexplicable beating.
- Her head would not clear. She could not think.
- Somehow, she made herself go back to him, look at him. She found herself on
- her knees beside him with no memory of having knelt. She stroked his face, his
- beard. One of the children made a noise and she looked at them, at the woman
- who was probably their mother. The children looked back at her, obviously
- frightened. Perhaps it was their fear that reached her finally.
- She had been about to drive away and leave them. She had almost done it,
- almost left two toddlers to die. Surely there had been enough dying. She would
- have to take the children home with her. She would not be able to live with any
- other decision. She looked around for a place to bury three bodies. Or two. She
- wondered if the murderer were the children’s father. Before the silence, the
- police had always said some of the most dangerous calls they went out on were
- domestic disturbance calls. Obsidian should have known that—not that the
- knowledge would have kept him in the car. It would not have held her back
- either. She could not have watched the woman murdered and done nothing.
- She dragged Obsidian toward the car. She had nothing to dig with her, and no
- one to guard for her while she dug. Better to take the bodies with her and bury
- them next to her husband and her children. Obsidian would come home with her
- after all.
- When she had gotten him onto the floor in the back, she returned for the woman.
- The little girl, thin, dirty, solemn, stood up and unknowingly gave Rye a gift. As
- Rye began to drag the woman by her arms, the little girl screamed, “No!”
- Rye dropped the woman and stared at the girl.
- “No!” the girl repeated. She came to stand beside the woman. “Go away!” she
- told Rye.
- “Don’t talk,” the little boy said to her. There was no blurring or confusing of
- sounds. Both children had spoken and Rye had understood. The boy looked at
- the dead murderer and moved further from him. He took the girl’s hand. “Be
- quiet,” he whispered.
- Fluent speech! Had the woman died because she could talk and had taught her
- children to talk? Had she been killed by a husband’s festering anger or by a
- stranger’s jealous rage? And the children . . . they must have been born after the
- silence. Had the disease run its course, then? Or were these children simply
- immune? Certainly they had had time to fall sick and silent. Rye’s mind leaped
- Speech Sounds—12
- ahead. What if children of three or fewer years were safe and able to learn
- language? What if all they needed were teachers? Teachers and protectors.
- Rye glanced at the dead murderer. To her shame, she thought she could
- understand some of the passions that must have driven him, whomever he was.
- Anger, frustration, hopelessness, insane jealousy . . . how many more of him
- were there—people willing to destroy what they could not have?
- Obsidian had been the protector, had chosen that role for who knew what
- reason. Perhaps putting on an obsolete uniform and patrolling the empty streets
- had been what he did instead of putting a gun into his mouth. And now that there
- was something worth protecting, he was gone.
- She had been a teacher. A good one. She had been a protector, too, though only
- of herself. She had kept herself alive when she had no reason to live. If the
- illness let these children alone, she could keep them alive.
- Somehow she lifted the dead woman into her arms and placed her on the
- backseat of the car. The children began to cry, but she knelt on the broken
- pavement and whispered to them, fearful of frightening them with the harshness
- of her long unused voice.
- “It’s all right,” she told them. “You’re going with us, too. Come on.” She lifted
- them both, one in each arm. They were so light. Had they been getting enough to
- eat?
- The boy covered her mouth with his hand, but she moved her face away. “It’s all
- right for me to talk,” she told him. “As long as no one’s around, it’s all right.” She
- put the boy down on the front seat of the car and he moved over without being
- told to, to make room for the girl. When they were both in the car, Rye leaned
- against the window, looking at them, seeing that they were less afraid now, that
- they watched her with at least as much curiosity as fear.
- “I’m Valerie Rye,” she said, savoring the words. “It’s all right for you to talk to
- me.”
- Afterword
- “Speech Sounds” was conceived in weariness, depression, and sorrow. I began
- the story feeling little hope or liking for the human species, but by the time I
- reached the end of it, my hope had come back. It always seems to do that.
- Here’s the story behind “Speech Sounds.”
- Speech Sounds—13
- In the early 1980s, a good friend of mine discovered that she was dying of
- multiple myeloma, an especially dangerous, painful form of cancer. I had lost
- elderly relatives and family friends to death before this, but I had never lost a
- personal friend. I had never watched a relatively young person die slowly and
- painfully of disease. It took my friend a year to die, and I got into the habit of
- visiting her every Saturday and taking along the latest chapter of the novel I was
- working on. This happened to be Clay’s Ark. With its story of disease and death,
- it was thoroughly inappropriate for the situation. But my friend had always read
- my novels. She insisted that she wanted to read this one as well. I suspect that
- neither of us believed she would live to read it in its completed form—although, of
- course, we didn’t talk about this.
- I hated going to see her. She was a good person, I loved her, and I hated
- watching her die. Nevertheless, every Saturday I got on a bus—I don’t drive—
- and went to her hospital room or her apartment. She got thinner and frailer and
- querulous with pain. I got more depressed.
- One Saturday, as I sat on a crowded, smelly bus, trying to keep people from
- stepping on my ingrown toenail and trying not to think of terrible things, I noticed
- trouble brewing just across from me. One man had decided he didn’t like the way
- another man was looking at him. Didn’t like it at all! It’s hard to know where to
- look when you’re wedged in place on a crowded bus.
- The wedged-in man argued that he hadn’t done anything wrong—which he
- hadn’t. He inched toward the exit as though he meant to get himself out of a
- potentially bad situation. Then he turned and edged back into the argument.
- Maybe his own pride was involved. Why the hell should he be the one to run
- away?
- This time the other guy decided that it was his girlfriend—sitting next to him—
- who was being looked at inappropriately. He attacked.
- The fight was short and bloody. The rest of us—the other passengers—ducked
- and yelled and tried to avoid being hit. In the end, the attacker and his girlfriend
- pushed their way off the bus, fearful that the driver would call the police. And the
- guy with the pride sagged, dazed and bloody, looking around as though he
- wasn’t sure what had happened.
- I sat where I was, more depressed than ever, hating the whole hopeless, stupid
- business and wondering whether the human species would ever grow up enough
- to learn to communicate without using fists of one kind or another.
- And the first line of a possible story came to me: “There was trouble aboard the
- Washington Boulevard bus.”
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