The piece listed on the program, just before Miss Glennie returned for the finale, was the Largo movement from Antonin Dvorak's New World Symphony. Myles leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes as he always did in anticipation of that first melancholy clarinet solo. But after a moment, waiting to hear the click of the conductor's baton on the stand, his eyes suddenly flew open as he realized he would not be hearing it tonight. It struck him that Sue might not even realize there was a woodwind solo in it.
Very quickly, he wrote Have you ever been able to pick up the clarinet solo at the beginning of this piece?
She held the pad and light down by her leg, so as not to disturb the man sitting next to them. After reading, she shook her head slightly. NO, she signed, then wrote, Woodwinds don't make any vibration.
Have you ever seen it, in lights or something similar? When she shook her head again, he continued. Maybe I can help you "hear" it… if you want?
She eyed him. How are you going to do that, when you can't hear it yourself?
Just trust me— If you can deal with me holding your hand for the first few minutes of the piece.
Now she laughed. Just don't tell Lucy – I'll never hear the end of it. All right, Myles, you're on. Astound me.
He put the notepad away, then took her right hand and held it palm-up in his. He gestured toward the stage, where the conductor was raising his baton and setting the tempo for the orchestra. Bows slid, the baton waved, and he felt the slow swell of the orchestra beginning. Counting time in his head, he placed the tip of his right index finger at the base of her hand, just below her thumb.
She stiffened as he began to tap lightly against her palm, what she assumed was the soloist's part. After a second, she realized that if he moved to tap closer to the stage, he meant that the note was higher than the one before; if he tapped more toward them, the note went lower. He was obviously very familiar with the piece, because there was no hesitation in his movements.
Sue played the piano; it wasn't difficult, after a bit, to figure out approximately where the notes would sit on the keyboard, or the timing of each note. While it wasn't perfect, it was something, and she was amazed that he'd thought of it.
After a few minutes, the solo part ended, because he stopped tapping. She glanced over and saw that he was watching her. SONG… HAPPYQQ SADQQ, she signed.
SAD, he replied. HAPPY. SAME-SAME. Then he reverted to his notepad. Think… lonely, but hopeful at the same time? It's like…walking into a beautiful valley, green with spring, after leaving everything you've ever known. Dreams out of despair.
Her eyes widened as she read, then she looked up at him. YOU, she signed. P-O-E-T.
He smiled at the compliment, but raised a finger to his lips. SHHH. NOT TELL.
The brass instruments picked up part of the melody just then, and he pointed at the stage. YOU F-E-E-LQQ. When she nodded, he pointed to her hand and signed SAME-SAME LITTLE.
The piece apparently ended, because people around them were applauding. Sue raised her open "5" hands in front of her and shook them. After a moment he figured out what she was doing— a deaf actor or musician onstage would pick the hand movement up much more easily than standard applause. He wrote her a note to confirm his theory, and when she nodded, he followed her example.
When the applause died down, she tapped his shoulder to get his attention. THANK YOU. BEAUTIFUL GIFT.
WELCOME. His genuine smile warmed her heart. SAME-SAME THANK YOU.