When they got there, though, he felt her pull back a little. WRONG WHATQQ he signed. AFRAID YOU WHYQQ
She blinked. "You got that perfect."
"I did?" He chuckled. "Well, what do you know? I was guessing. Now, what are you afraid of?"
"I don't know," she said after a moment. "I guess… it's something new for me, something I've never tried before. And I know this is important to you, for whatever reason. I don't want you to be disappointed if it doesn't work."
"Sue." His hand came up and rested on her shoulder. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. It's not any fault of yours. Please don't be afraid to try it— not for me, but for you."
She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. "All right," she said at last, "I would like to see if it's possible."
He smiled, dropping his hand from her shoulder. "Okay, then. You figure out what position will work best for you, while I try to remember which key it's in. We may have to work that out a little as well, if I have to drop it down more than a straight octave."
"We can also figure out how hard you're going to have to pound it out, too. You'd better plan on full-force." She laughed. "You know, it's a good thing my left ear is better. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to talk to you while we try this, because I'd be facing the wall."
He laughed in response as he pulled out the piano bench and sat down. Sue watched him for a moment as he picked out notes here and there, amazed again that he was the one sharing this with her. Then she shook out of her thoughts and considered the piano at length, finally opening the top of it so she could figure out exactly where the hammers hit the strings.
It turned out that the best position was for her to sit on the large footstool that had come with the sofa set, with her left ear pressed against the piano. It brought her ear to the same height as the hammers. She also had her right hand on the corner of the piano, just above the keyboard. Her shoes were still off, and her feet were flat on the hardwood floor.
READYQQ he signed.
"I think so," she replied. "I've done all I can."
He chuckled. "All right then, let's see what I can do." He hit a note near the bottom of the keyboard, as hard as he could.
She jumped a little. "Do you have the resonance pedal down?"
"I do. How could you tell?"
"The vibration is stronger. But I think it's distorting what sound I can pick up. Can we try it without the resonance?"
"Of course." He tried again.
"That's better," she said. "Thank you."
"All right, we've found the right octave and the right volume," he said with a smile. "Why don't we try for range? Then I can figure out which key to put it in."
"Okay."
It took a few minutes, but eventually they came to the conclusion that she could pick up approximately a seven-note spread at the bottom of the keyboard. Myles was very still, his eyes veiled as to what he was thinking. Finally, she tapped his arm and signed WRONG WHATQQ
"Nothing," he answered. "I was just thinking, is all. Transposing in my head isn't something that comes naturally."
Something about his expression made her think he wasn't being entirely truthful, but she let it pass. He signed READYQQ again, and she nodded.
O-K. He leaned his arm on the end of the piano and faced her. "You felt the swell of the orchestra at the beginning of the piece. It begins in a minor key, and sounds very dark. Then it shifts, very subtly over the next few measures, into a major key, as if you could put music to a sunrise. As that shift reaches its peak, one lone voice rises from the crowd…"
She let her eyes drift closed, concentrating. She remembered the progression his finger had made on her hand at the concert hall, and expected notes to be missing as they drifted out of her range. But they didn't; every tap she remembered had a note here. After the first two "phrases," he touched her hand and she looked up.
"The next part goes higher," he said, "but I'm going to drop it down an octave so it's in your range."
When he stopped playing a minute later, she looked up at him with wide eyes. "It was all there," she said in wonder. "Every note."
"I know," he replied, and she could tell from his expression that his voice was soft. "I knew after we figured out your range that you'd get it all."
"It's so… melancholy, I think is the ten-dollar word you'd pull out." She smiled as she teased him. "But there's so much hope in it as well."
"Yes."
It seemed he started to say something else, but she beat him to it. "May I ask a favor?"
"Of course."
"Would you play it again for me? Only…" She trailed off, a bit unsure.
WHATQQ he signed.
"Well, the normal way that most profoundly deaf people can best feel a piano is to lay their hand on top of the player's hand. As the fingers strike the keys, the vibrations travel up through the hand, and we can feel it better than just touching the piano someplace."
Her eyes dipped just slightly. "I would like to experience it as you do, at least how it makes you feel. You don't have to pound it out so hard if I'm doing it this way, and more of the emotion comes through. I have the notes in my head now. Your description of the orchestra was perfect. This is just a way of pulling everything together for me."
He immediately shifted the piano bench down further toward her, then motioned for her to join him. She sat down at his left, and he rested his arm behind her so she had better access to the hand he was playing with.
Suddenly, she felt him stiffen a little next to her. She looked up, and saw a rather stunned expression cross his face. "What?" she asked.
"I just—" He glanced at her. "I think I figured out why I wanted so badly for you to hear this."
"Why?"
He paused for a moment, apparently trying to collect his thoughts. "Dvorak wrote his New World Symphony in 1893 in New York, while he was there to work with some young American composers. One of them, William Arms Fisher, later added lyrics to the melody I just played, based on traditional Spirituals. I was just recalling those lyrics…" He trailed off for a moment, gazing at her with an almost surprised look.
"There's something in them that made you think… of me?" Her brows raised a little.
Myles half-shrugged. "Sort of. Now, please don't take this wrong. The song is often used for funerals. But… after what you've showed me tonight, and the journey I know you've made to get where you are… it just seems to fit."
"Can you sing it and play at the same time? I don't have to watch your hand while you play, so I can read it."
He nodded, swallowing hard for a moment. "I can sing and play at the same time, yes; but I'm not sure I can sing it and look at you at the same time." When her brows went up again, he clarified. "It's an emotional song, and this evening has made it more so."
"You can just tell me the lyrics afterward, if that would be more comfortable," she smiled.
He actually considered it, she could tell. But then he shook his head. "No. I can do it." His breath came out in a small laugh. "Besides, we're keeping this little 'mission' hush-hush anyway, right?"
"I won't tell a soul," she smiled. "And Levi's already asleep, so he won't tell."
Myles glanced over their shoulders to where the Golden was sprawled under the coffee table. "I can always bribe him with more cannelloni if I need to. All right. Ready?"
Sue laughed. "Ready." She laid her hand over his on the keyboard, and he turned a little so she could read him better. His gaze rested slightly above hers; in a Deaf conversation, it would be considered rude, but she knew he was trying to hold whatever emotions this song inspired in him somewhat in check.
She felt the vibration as he hit the first note, and saw him start to sing:
Goin' home, goin' home, Been so long away,
Wandered far down the road, Goin' home to stay.
That's the place want to see, Now my work's all done,
That's the place want to be, That's where I belong.
All my cares soon be gone, Nothin' trouble me,
I just keep movin' on, Longing to be free.
All the folks I love dear, Waiting 'round the bend,
In my dreams see them there, At my journey's end.
Steady down the road keep movin',
Soon these weary eyes a-soothin',
When I look on home.
Night is past, day is come, Never 'gain to roam.
Lasting joy now begun, For I'm going home.
Without her realizing it, her fingers tightened over his slightly as he finished. "Such a beautiful song," she murmured.
He nodded silently, still staring past her. After a moment, he looked down at her and asked softly, "You've found your home here, haven't you? I get that impression. You've found your freedom, your… voice? After a long, steady journey, the end of a hard life's work, or at least this chapter of it. You've just seemed to be… contented, lately."
She thought about that for a minute. "I feel more comfortable here, if that's what you mean. Like I've finally found a… niche, I guess."
"That was what struck me tonight when I remembered the lyrics to this song. Not that the FBI is exactly heaven, but…" He chuckled again.
"But you all have given me a chance to be myself, to allow me to grow within that… safety net, I guess you could say." She saw his eyes go bleak with shame, and dared to reach up and touch his cheek. "Even you. You just took a little longer, is all. But once you did…" Now she glanced away for a moment, and when she looked at him again, her voice was shaky and a tear had trickled down her cheek. "I know I already explained, but…"
She took a breath, trying to get her emotions under control, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "It's just… to have someone show a desire to not just see my world but to experience it as well, and then for them to really follow through… it's not just talk anymore. You have no idea how much I truly appreciate being able to share all of this with you." She stretched up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
GIFT MINE, FROM YOU he signed, then wiped the tear from her face with his thumb. THANK YOU. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in return.
She couldn't have explained why she did what she did; but something in the moment rose up, and she turned her face just a little, so that his kiss landed not on her cheek, but on her lips.