Dante's Wood

by Lynne Raimondo

  She showed me around the garden, pointing things out as we went. There was a tactile map near the front that I’d missed, a brass plaque that showed the layout and what was planted in the various beds. “Most of our blind clients have multiple disabilities and lack the motor and intellectual skills to read Braille,” Alice explained, “so the signs are a bit of an indulgence on my part. But I wanted the garden to be fully appreciated by all visitors. The beds are at seat height so they can be worked on from a wheelchair, and there are special tools for planting and weeding in the shed. We grow herbs and lettuce and a few vegetables in season, which we use in our kitchen. All of what we raise is organic. Can you guess what this is?” she asked, opening some sort of bin.

  “Smells like rotten eggs. Is it compost?”

  “Yes,” she said. “We have three wet and two dry stacks that we use to recycle food scraps. It’s remarkable how quickly they’re broken down into fertilizer under the right conditions. Do you know how it works?”

  “Not really,” I confessed.

  “We layer wet and dry material and add an accelerator. Kept moist, the material will break down into usable fertilizer in about a month. Hosing the stacks down during spring and summer is one of our clients’ favorite chores.”

  “Are they all assigned chores?”

  “To the extent possible, yes. The ambulatory ones, like Charlie, are obviously able to manage a greater range of tasks, and we encourage them to take part in all of the center’s upkeep, not just washing up after meals, but minor maintenance such as changing light bulbs and repairing furniture. We also teach them how to cook and do laundry. Our goal is to give them all the skills they need to live independently.”

  After the center’s website I had been expecting just this sort of idealistic claptrap. “Isn’t that unrealistic?”

  “For the vast majority of our population, yes. But they take great pride in being able to participate in the same everyday activities as their nondisabled peers. Pride and a sense of purpose. Can you imagine living without that? Despite all the advances we’ve made as a society, most people still think the lives of the severely disabled aren’t worth living. We want to change that perception by example.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  “Well, aren’t we bitter. How long have you been blind, if I might ask?”

  “Long enough to know how big a hurdle you face. Most people can’t fathom why you and I don’t just leap off the nearest bridge.”

  Alice sighed. “I know.” I felt her hand begin to tremble on my sleeve. “That’s what’s made all of this so much worse. I worked so hard to bring the center to where it is, and now . . .”

  I realized she had begun to cry.

  I did what seemed chivalrous and took her into my arms. She was shapelier than I’d imagined, curves in all the right places, and her hair smelled like ripe currants. She was wearing a lamb’s wool sweater and her body felt like a soft bird against my chest. A very nice bird. She shook with muffled sobs while I tried to comfort her with ineffectual pats to the back.

  After a long while Alice stopped and I handed her my handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, taking it from me. “That was very unprofessional of me. It’s just that I’ve been under such strain lately and I can’t help feeling that it’s all my fault. Maybe if I’d been able to see what was going on . . .”

  “Don’t think like that,” I said, imagining myself in her place and coming rapidly to her defense.

  “But it’s unavoidable,” she said. “I’d been warned about Shannon and of course I tried to observe her behavior myself, but there are just some things I can’t do as well as a sighted supervisor. And now I’m afraid that my mistake will be seen as further proof that blind people . . . that we shouldn’t be placed in positions of responsibility. The newspapers haven’t come out and said it point-blank—that would be too politically incorrect—but every article goes on and on about how many of the staff members here are disabled too, as though it explains everything that happened. That’s why I was surprised you didn’t know.”

  “I’ve been ignoring the papers recently. I don’t think either one of us is going to be nominated for Blind Role Model of the Year. But you say you were warned about Shannon?”

  “Yes. Regina Best, our speech therapist, came to me last summer and expressed concerns about how Shannon was interacting with our clients. Regina thought she was too physically affectionate with them, but when I asked her to be more specific she could only point to the type of behavior I would expect from any trained caregiver. Many of our clients are easily distracted and don’t always understand verbal instructions. A gentle touch to the arm or the cheek is often necessary to help them to focus on what the speaker is saying. And hugs are a means of providing positive reinforcement, as a well as a way of celebrating their victories.”

  “But Ms. Best didn’t see it that way?”

  “Regina tends to view everything in black and white. She’s an active member of the disability-rights movement and always on the lookout for what she regards as patronizing behavior on the part of ‘ableists.’ She has a valid point, to a degree. Unsolicited touching can be humiliating, as I’m sure you’ve experienced when someone has insisted on pulling you across a street. But Regina takes it too far, likening pats on the head to how plantation owners treated slaves in the South, or how pet owners treat dogs and cats. That’s not the way we think of our clients here. Still, in light of what’s happened, perhaps we ought to have had a strict policy against any physical contact, the way they do in almost all public schools nowadays. It makes you wonder what our society is coming to when we can’t allow any displays of affection for fear it will pave the way for abuse.”

  “Do you think Shannon was abusing Charlie?”

  Alice sighed uncomfortably. “The conclusion seems inescapable, doesn’t it? He fathered her baby.”

  “I’ll grant that, but it doesn’t mean Charlie killed her. You said you tried to observe Shannon with her students. Did you notice anything unusual about her relationship with Charlie?”

  “I sat in on some of her classes, of course, especially in the fall of last year, when we were preparing annual performance evaluations. I should delegate more, but I like to know everything that’s going on at the center. With the benefit of hindsight, I think Shannon may have been more attentive to Charlie than some of her other students. He’s such a sweet boy, it’s hard not to respond to him.”

  “You were working here the morning of the murder. You didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No. I always arrive here around seven o’clock on weekdays. But since I don’t drive, I enter by the front door. My office is also at the front of the building, on the third floor, so I doubt I would have noticed anything happening in the alley.”

  “The rear entrance is unsupervised?”

  “Yes. We don’t have the resources for more than one security guard and it always seemed unnecessary until now. The door to the alley is kept locked, naturally. Employees access the building using key cards, and there’s a motion sensor that turns a light on when the entranceway is approached. Most of the staff park their cars in the lot where Shannon’s body was found.”

  “Does the system record who comes in and out?”

  “It’s not that sophisticated, I’m afraid. Why? Do you think a staff member could be responsible for Shannon’s death?”

  “It’s a possibility that should be explored. Did she have any enemies you were aware of?”

  “Well, I couldn’t say she and Regina were on the best of terms, but Regina’s above suspicion. She’s a wheelchair user and I doubt she can lift her arms above her head. The police thought so too, apparently. They didn’t spend more than five minutes questioning her, though that may have been the result of subtle prejudice. Regina is very seriously disabled and, sadly, some people find her appearance disconcerting. It’s a shame because she’s a very shrewd observer.”

  “Would you mind if I spo
ke to her?”

  “That’s up to Regina, but I’d be glad to show you to her classroom when we’re finished.”

  “Is there anyone else who may have harbored a grudge against Shannon?”

  “A grudge? I’m afraid I can’t help you there, Doctor, even if I were the type to dwell on petty disputes among my staff. I knew Shannon wasn’t universally liked, but almost everyone rubs others the wrong way sometimes. Shannon was a bit immature, but also young in years. I thought she could grow out of it. It’s what I kept telling Regina.”

  “What about friends at the center, someone she might have confided in?”

  “Dean Parsons, maybe. Or Leslie Sherman. I think they went out for drinks together sometimes after hours.”

  I pulled out my Blindberry and made a note of these names. “Do you think they would talk to me?”

  “Perhaps,” Alice said. “But you might stand a better chance of getting them to open up if I asked the questions first. What are you interested in finding out?”

  “I have reason to believe Shannon was in a relationship with someone that ended a few months before she died. Did you know anything about it?”

  “No. As I said, I try to stay out of the personal lives of my staff. Shannon came alone to the last holiday party, but that’s all I can tell you.”

  “When was that?”

  “In December, the week before Christmas.”

  “Did she seem depressed then, upset?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “How about later in the spring, before she was killed?”

  “I didn’t notice anything different about her then, either. But I was somewhat distracted. We were overwhelmed with a major grant application, one that would have enabled us to expand our home care program significantly. If you work in a hospital, you know what that process is like.”

  All this time we had been standing two feet from one another. I wasn’t sure why, but I sensed there was something else she wanted to say to me. All of a sudden she answered my question by touching my sleeve. “Thank you for letting me cry on your shoulder. I didn’t realize how much I had been bottling up inside until then.”

  “It’s what I’m supposed to be good at—getting people to unlock their feelings. I just hope I’ll be able to continue doing it.”

  “Oh.” Alice jerked her hand away as if suddenly chagrined. “I didn’t . . . how inconsiderate of me. Here I am so focused on my own troubles I didn’t even think that you might be under siege too.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “I will too. I always have. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone I don’t need to explain everything to.”

  I knew what she meant. “I’d be glad to offer my shoulder again if you need it. Or better yet, buy you dinner sometime.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said. “I’d like that. And I won’t forget to ask around about boyfriends. Just give me a day or two.” I heard a faint click as she opened the crystal on her watch. “Shall we go see Regina then?” she asked. “I hate to cut our conversation short, but I have another appointment in ten minutes’ time.”

  I left her feeling like I’d gained an ally.

  Regina Best stooped to receive me. At least that’s how it felt, though it was I who had to stoop to take her frail hand. It was as insubstantial as straw but there was a defiance in the way she returned my grasp that challenged me to pity her. Alice had told me she had a degenerative disorder that, starting in late childhood, had gradually twisted her body into a grotesque shape, eventually robbing her of the ability to move all but her head and shoulders. Independent breathing would go next, and then speech. I felt like an arriviste in comparison.

  “It’s always refreshing to talk to someone who doesn’t shudder and look away when they first see me,” she explained casually as she led me into the empty classroom. I followed the hum of her motorized wheelchair to an arrangement of table and chairs. “Sit down,” she said in a reedy but commanding voice. “There’s a seat directly to your left. But be warned, it’s a little lower than you’re used to.”

  I appreciated the precise directions until I realized what she meant. The chair she’d indicated was kindergarten sized and forced my knees practically to my chin. Seated this way, Regina Best’s head was only a few inches away from mine. Her breath exuded a medicinal scent, like a dentist’s.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Now I won’t have to twist up to look at you. My spine is curved and I can’t sit up straight, so I ask visitors to come down to my level. I’m sure they think it’s a terrible imposition—like all those handicapped parking spaces.”

  I couldn’t argue with her. I’d often felt a wave of annoyance when I was in a hurry to park and there were three or four reserved spaces standing empty. Besides, the seat I was in right then was damned uncomfortable.

  “Are you active in our movement?” she asked straightaway.

  “I’m not much of a joiner.”

  “You should be, you know. Our fight is every bit as important as the civil-rights movement in the sixties. It enrages me that the same so-called liberals who see racism and sexism everywhere refuse to acknowledge the persistent discrimination we face. We don’t want handouts, just the right to be treated with dignity. When a person with disabilities can’t get through a restaurant door that’s too narrow for a wheelchair it’s the same as saying ‘we don’t serve coloreds.’”

  “Well, maybe a little different,” I offered foolishly.

  “How? Don’t you feel deliberately excluded when you come across a doorway that isn’t signed in Braille?”

  I felt compelled to explain that Braille signage was a convenience, but apart from restroom doors and elevator buttons, not something I strictly needed. “I can always ask for directions.”

  “But that’s exactly my point. You shouldn’t have to ask. Disability is purely a social construct. If we lived in a barrier-free society you wouldn’t be ‘disabled’ anymore. You’d be just like everyone else.”

  Everyone except people who could see. “Maybe, but not all things that would make life easier for me are worth the cost.”

  Regina sniffed dismissively. “How expensive can it be to put Braille on signs?”

  “I wasn’t talking only of dollars.”

  “Or to install audible traffic signals?”

  “Now that you say it, beeping traffic lights are a good example of what I mean. They cover up the sound of traffic and make blind pedestrians seem more helpless than they really are. I’ll allow there’s a much stronger argument in favor of wheelchair ramps in public places.” I was hoping to end the discussion there.

  Regina, however, wasn’t giving up. “So you don’t think access is important?”

  “No, but you can’t ask for special accommodations all the time and expect to fit in.”

  “You care too much about that. It shouldn’t be our job to fit in. It should be society’s job to integrate us.”

  I should have just agreed, for the sake of moving on, but I didn’t like what she was saying. “I thought you weren’t asking for special favors. Doesn’t everyone have to respect some social norms if they don’t want to live alone?”

  Regina sidestepped that. “I can tell you’re a clever man,” she said. “But you’re not fooling me. I see it all the time. You hate yourself, don’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I noticed it right away when you sat down, how you threw your cane on the floor like you couldn’t get away from it fast enough.” I wondered where else she expected me to store a five-foot pole while stuffed into my miniature chair. “You despise it and everything it implies.”

  It seemed to be my day for being on the receiving end of opinions about my mental health. Was there anyone who didn’t think I was a self-loathing candidate for electric shock therapy?

  “The only thing it implies,” I said resignedly, “is that I’m not fond of dogs.”

  “I’ll prove it to you,” Regina went on, undeterred. �
�Answer this—if there were an operation to restore your sight, would you do it?”

  “It’s a moot question, because there isn’t any,” I said.

  “But what if there were? The medical profession is always trying to come up with new ways to ‘cure’ us. Why, I read just the other day about a microchip that can be inserted in the brain and hooked up to a camera small enough to fit onto a pair of glasses. Would you undergo a procedure like that just to be quote-unquote normal again?”

  “If you’re asking whether I’d do something that would make me look like a crew member on the Borg ship, the answer is no. But if someone offered me a safe, noninvasive way to see again, I wouldn’t turn them down just to keep up my club membership.”

  “I knew it!” Regina cried triumphantly.

  “You think there’s something wrong with that?”

  “Yes. You’re just buying into the whole idea of disability as pathology. The majority wants to stamp us out so they won’t have to be disturbed by our wheelchairs and crutches and canes. Prenatal testing, euthanasia—they’re just another form of genocide. But disability doesn’t have to be looked upon as a diseased state.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Our blind members often remark on how they would never want to become ‘sighties.’ Once you come to see it that way—as a different but deeply satisfying experience—you’ll never want to go back.”

  Words failed me.

  “Will you think about it?” Regina said. “I could send you some material. In Braille, of course.”

  “No thanks. It would be a waste of postage.”

  “But it’s free—all our mailings to blind members are. It’s the law.”

  “Sure,” I said, giving up. “Could we talk about Shannon Sparrow for a bit?”

  “Why not? I expect Alice told you I hated her.”

  “She put it more diplomatically, but I gathered you didn’t get along. May I ask why?”

  Regina paused. Then she surprised me by reaching out and grasping my right knee with her claw-like fingers. “You’re strong, aren’t you, for your size? How old are you?”