Fragments

by James F. David

  She visited her friends with one hand at first, and then used two, sending them to visit different friends at one time. Daphne had heard Grammy’s students complain about how difficult it was to play and how much they hated to practice, but there was nothing but joy in Daphne as she worked the keys, trying different rhythms and different combinations. Then she hit a combination she knew. It was a bit of one of Grammy’s favorite songs. She felt a new thrill. She could make music! She knew where the rest of the notes lived for the song and she visited them slowly at first and then more quickly. Then after a dozen repetitions she was playing it without error and the sounds of “Amazing Grace” filled the little house.

  Daphne stood at the keyboard and played the song over and over, enjoying the clarity that music brought to her mind. When she opened her eyes, she saw Grammy staring at her from the doorway. Daphne stopped immediately and dropped to her place on the floor, fearful some punishment might follow. She knew it was Grammy in the room but in her mind she saw her mother and she felt as if she had been caught with wet pants. Soon nothing was left but the confusion and the fear. Then she heard Grammy’s voice.

  “My goodness, child, you play beautifully and you’re only six. Why didn’t you ever play before?”

  Daphne didn’t answer, but she smiled. Grammy wasn’t mad, she was happy!

  “Would you please play some more? Can I help you?”

  Daphne rocked in confusion for a minute and then stood and walked to the piano. Grammy put her hands in her armpits and lifted her onto the piano bench. Then Daphne put her hands on the keyboard and began to play. She played every day of her life after that.

  Several happy years followed in Daphne’s life. She and Grammy lived together in their little house. Grammy continued to give piano lessons, and Daphne would sit by the piano rocking and listening. Eventually Grammy persuaded Daphne to sit in a chair instead of on the floor, and when the lessons were done Daphne would take her place at the piano. On Sundays and Wednesday evenings Daphne and Grammy would walk to the Baptist church for services where Daphne would revel in the music of the organ and the piano and then rock silently through the sermons. On some Sunday afternoons Grammy’s friends from the church would come to their house and listen to Daphne play, marveling at her ability and her repertoire of music. All of it was church music, but Grammy’s friends appreciated that too.

  Music was most important to Daphne, but she enjoyed other pleasures too. Spring and summer she and Grammy tended the flower beds and garden. Grammy grew strawberries, apricots, and plums in her yard and when the fruit was ripe Daphne would help pick it, finding a rhythm in the repetitive crop work. Grammy did the canning, giving Daphne the job of pouring the paraffin on top of the jars. There were vegetables to be harvested, and flowers to tend, and Daphne helped as best she could, wearing her own gloves, carrying her own trowel. Sometimes she would have to flee the garden for the piano, but Grammy understood and never scolded her.

  Daphne came to interact with those around her a little, never volunteering anything but responding when asked. Then came a few years of special schooling, where Daphne learned to read and to do math calculations. The teachers were surprised by how quickly she learned but were disappointed by her seeming lack of initiative to use her skills. It was during her school years that they discovered her other unique ability. Daphne was a calendar calculator.

  No one knew where Daphne picked up the ability and she never volunteered the information, but like most good things in her life it began with Grammy.

  Grammy kept a calendar by her piano to keep track of student lessons and then later used it for figuring up how much the parents of her students owed. For years Daphne listened to Grammy figure out loud the amount owed using the dates when lessons had been given. “There was Tuesday the seventeenth, and then Thursday the nineteenth, and then that make-up lesson on the twenty-third. That was a Monday . . . no Tuesday . . . no Monday.”

  One evening when Grammy was lying down Daphne had paused from playing the piano and before the confusing buzz of the environment took over her mind again, Daphne began flipping through the pages of the calendar. In the back she discovered a multiyear calendar. She quickly scanned the calendar and then took her place in the chair by the piano, resting until she felt the need to play again.

  The confusion attacked the fringes of her consciousness and Daphne began to rock to establish order in her mind. Then she began to play music in her mind, but for a reason she couldn’t explain the dates and the days of the calendar swirled in front of her. At first she was frightened by this new confusion but soon a pattern emerged. There was a rhythm to the dates that reminded her of music. Daphne found herself ordered by the dates in much the same way that music ordered her mind. It was comforting and she played with the dates over and over, and the next time Grammy wondered if a date was a Tuesday or a Wednesday Daphne told her. Grammy was pleased to find Daphne was correct about the dates and soon relied on Daphne to determine days and dates for her. Much to Grammy’s surprise Daphne could not only tell her what dates would be Tuesdays next week, but also next year in any given month. She could also do it for the next decade or for a century in the past. Grammy was delighted with Daphne’s new ability, and that made Daphne happy.

  Daphne’s happy years ended when Grammy suffered a stroke. Daphne knew something was wrong when Grammy didn’t come in to wake her. Seven days a week, 365 days a year Grammy came in at seven to wake Daphne, but on this morning Daphne woke by herself, confused. Where was Grammy? Daphne rose and dressed, knowing something was wrong, but unable to break from routine without sending herself into a hopeless state of confusion. Daphne went to the kitchen and sat in her usual chair. The kitchen table was bare; there was no oatmeal, no coffee percolating, no glass of juice. Even more afraid now, she sat in her place at the kitchen table and rocked, trying to restore order to her thinking. Grammy must be somewhere! she thought. When Daphne could think clearly enough she got to her feet and walked down the hall to Grammy’s door. The door creaked open slowly when she pushed on it. The curtains were still drawn and the bed unmade. There was a big lump in the middle of the covers. Daphne walked in one step at a time, pausing to rock between steps. When she reached the bed she rocked for a long time and then reached out and pulled back the covers. Grammy was lying in bed, her eyes open. Daphne cried with relief, then rocked to clear the confusion. When she could think again she realized Grammy wasn’t moving.

  Daphne stared into Grammy’s eyes. The intelligence, the humor, and the twinkle were gone. Daphne feared Grammy was dead but then she blinked. She was alive but why wouldn’t she talk? Why wouldn’t she move? Daphne pushed on Grammy’s shoulder to rouse her, but Grammy only rocked gently in response. Daphne pushed harder and this time Grammy’s mouth opened slightly and a little stream of spittle ran from the corner and down her chin. Daphne ran from the room and to the piano, and played. She was still playing that afternoon when the first of the schoolchildren came for lessons. Daphne stopped long enough to open the door, but then went straight back to the piano to play again. It was the puzzled mother who found Grammy.

  Daphne last saw Grammy when they wheeled her out of her home on a stretcher. They took Daphne away that day too and she never saw their home again. She spent the next six months in the state mental hospital, where she was tested and labeled autistic. She was uncontrollable for weeks after the forced separation from Grammy, rocking violently and playing a phantom piano with her hands. She might have disappeared forever inside herself if one of the attendants at the hospital hadn’t come to understand her hand movements and wheeled her to a recreation room with a piano. Daphne played for six straight hours that day, and they had to drag her away from the piano at bedtime. She got to play every day after that and the staff learned she could be coerced into cooperating by manipulating access to the piano. They released her to her first group home two months later—one with a piano.

  The piano helped, but Daphne didn’t adapt well to that home o
r the ones that followed. There was too much coming and going, too much noise, and too much visual clutter. When she wasn’t playing she rocked incessantly. She was uncooperative and virtually mute to those around her, never volunteering to speak. Her only contact was through calendar calculations. The attendants always found it fascinating and it was the one way Daphne could order her mind and communicate at the same time. The wonderful rhythm of the seasons comforted her, and out of that comfort she made limited contact. It wasn’t enough though, and the well-meaning social workers and psychologists tried to reach her, and the more they tried to break in the more she tried to keep them out.

  They moved her to five different homes, looking for an environment she could be comfortable in. It was in the fifth home she met Ralph. Ralph was already living at the home and was the opposite of Daphne. Nothing upset Ralph and everything pleased him. Ralph was mentally retarded and his simple mind comforted Daphne. No complex thoughts or emotions came from him.

  Ralph first made contact one day when Daphne was sitting at the piano. Ralph came down the hall walking toward the front door with his long strides. When he passed the living room he paused, and with two steps crossed the room to the piano. Daphne’s mind was well ordered that day and when Ralph leaned over and put his face directly in front of hers to speak, she connected with him.

  “I’m going for a Slurpee. You want I should bring you one? I gots enough money for two.”

  Daphne knew what a Slurpee was. Grammy would buy them for her occasionally in the summers. To Daphne’s surprise, and to the amazement of those around her, she spoke to Ralph.

  “Yes.”

  Ralph turned to go and then paused and turned back.

  “They got two flavors, you know. This month it’s Cherry Surprise or Coke. You gotta choose.”

  “Cherry.”

  “I could put some of both in. They got this handle and you get to squirt it out yourself. You just push this handle thing and it squishes out in the cup. I could get you some of both but it gets kind of yucky in the bottom. I mixed Very Very Grape and Orange once. Very yucky in the bottom.”

  “Cherry.”

  “Okeydokey.”

  Ralph came back with a cherry Slurpee thirty minutes later.

  “Here you go. I didn’t suck on it or nothing. I kept it in this hand and I kept mine in this hand. See I always hold mine in this hand. The straw’s got a spoon on the other end. It makes it hard to suck out the Slurpee when it gets to the bottom. I can show you how to do it if you get stuck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Daphne and Ralph were friends from then on. Ralph walked her to meals, talked to her while she played, or just sat with her in her room. He talked incessantly, but it seemed to have the same calming effect the piano had, so the attendants encouraged it. Besides, it kept Ralph from talking to them. Daphne was happy there with Ralph until they came to tell her Grammy had died. They let her play until bedtime that day, not bothering to try and get her to eat. Even Ralph couldn’t reach her that day, or the next. Only when they threatened to hospitalize her did she begin eating, and it was a week before she would do anything but play. Happiness was elusive after that, Ralph being the source for what little she had.

  Mrs. Williams and Barney came in and carried out the last of her boxes. A minute later Ralph appeared at her door. He was chewing a big wad of gum. Ralph loved gum.

  “Time to go, Daphne. I asked them if we could get ice cream on the way. They said maybe. Think they’ll have sprinkles? I hope they have those pointy cones. You like those pointy cones don’t you? Sure you do. Want some gum?”

  Daphne listened to Ralph prattle and let it drown out the confusion and her fear. She could think again, and when she did she thought of what Mrs. Williams had said. “They’re going to use her in some kind of experiment.” It had been explained to her, but she didn’t understand it then and she didn’t understand it now, but nothing could make her more afraid than another move. Daphne rocked, trying to get her courage up. Ralph stood by the door watching, talking all the while. Suddenly Ralph’s face wrinkled up into concern and he gave Daphne a worried look.

  “You coming, Daphne? We might get ice cream.”

  Then Ralph held out his hand and smiled. Daphne stood and took Ralph’s hand. Together they walked through the door.

  “I’d give you some gum, Daphne, but I chewed it all. Maybe when we get the ice cream we can get some more gum.”

  3

  FIRST ARRIVALS

  Dr. Wesley Martin was frustrated. There was a hardware problem somewhere and they couldn’t link the EETs with the server, and until they solved the hardware problem they couldn’t test the software, and there were always software problems. Eventually Len or Shamita would find a solution, but eventually was too long—his first savant was coming this morning.

  “I think I’ve got it.”

  Wes looked up to see Shamita’s former graduate student, Len Chaikin, holding up a cable. Permanently cheerful, Len had an inexhaustible supply of stupid jokes. He was also the only psychologist Wes knew who also had a degree in computer engineering.

  “Wes, unscrew the lock on that cable in the back of the EET,” Len said.

  Wes looked at the tangled web of cables and reached out.

  “No, the one below it.”

  Dutifully he twisted off the lock.

  “What’s the color band?”

  “Brown, green, green.”

  “As the wise man said, pickles make juicy bookmarkers,” Len said.

  “What?”

  Shamita traced a cable running to one of the empty cots. “We’ve got the cables reversed. It should be brown, green, red. Those damn connectors cover the last band.”

  Wes shook his head at the time wasted. Shamita and Len were already at work at switching the cables when Karon Wilson poked her head in the room. Karon had earned her doctorate under Wes and left a teaching job at Boston College when Wes offered her a chance to join his project.

  “Ms. Foxworth is here,” she said.

  “With Daphne?” Wes asked, anxiously.

  “She’s alone. She wants to talk to you,” Karon said grimly, then pulled her finger across her throat in a slicing motion.

  Ms. Foxworth hated the fact that Wes had managed to get permission to use the autistic savants in his experiment. She had complained bitterly that Wes was using them like rats and that it was immoral and dehumanizing. Fortunately, those at the highest level of the Kellum Foundation were interested in his project and with every concern raised by Ms. Foxworth Wes had persuaded the foundation to counter with another benefit for the savants or their families. Ms. Foxworth had stood in his way every chance she could until she saw herself losing the battle, and then, to Wes’s dismay, she convinced the foundation board that Wes’s grant should carry the condition that she live at the site. Ostensibly it was to assure the safety and comfort of the savants, but Wes suspected she was there to make sure he would fail.

  Wes thanked Karon but then decided to load his software while Shamita and Len finished reconnecting the EETs to the server—he wanted to establish the right relationship with Ms. Foxworth. It was his project and Ms. Foxworth needed to know that from the beginning. Fifteen minutes later he decided he’d pushed her far enough—he needed the savants.

  The dining room had become their lab, the table and chairs removed to the basement. The living room connected to the dining room, where Wes expected to find Ms. Foxworth fuming on the couch. She wasn’t there or in the kitchen either. Frustrated, now Wes searched for the person he had forced to wait.

  He found her on the second floor, giving orders and moving furniture. She and Karon were rearranging Daphne’s room. The dresser was in the hall and they were wrestling the bed from one end to the other.

  “This isn’t the time to be redecorating,” he complained.

  Karon was a small woman, no more than five feet tall with brown curly hair. Her body was unremarkable but her face was inordinately plastic and her every exp
ression exaggerated. Karon used her face to tell him he had just put his foot in it. Even from behind he could see Ms. Foxworth’s ears redden to match her hair. Ms. Foxworth was a tall slender woman who nearly matched Wes’s six feet, and wore her hair closely cropped. She spun around, her face red with anger.

  “Didn’t you read my instructions? I told you their environment has to be as consistent with their homes as possible—especially for Daphne. You rip someone out of a stable environment to use them as a lab animal and then don’t even make the least effort to minimize the trauma.”

  Wes tried to answer but she rushed on.

  “I sent you explicit instructions on the furnishings and arrangement of Daphne’s room and then just a few hours before she is to arrive I find you haven’t paid the least attention.”

  Wes saw an opening and jumped in, ill prepared.

  “We furnished this room just like you asked—”

  “You purchased the items on the list and then ignored my instructions on arranging. If I didn’t care about Daphne I would have let you leave the room like this and traumatize her. It would be weeks before she would be able to sit still for your experiments.”