by Todd Borg
“Do you think her metaphor refers to the hard drive?” Street said. “Or the memory?”
Henrietta looked embarrassed. “I don’t know bits from bytes or whatever they’re called. That’s all a mystery to me. So I called our computer teacher again, and then he called someone he knows who teaches at UC Berkeley.” Henrietta was beaming.
“A computer career awaits?” Street said.
“More than that. Much more. Turns out the professor in Berkeley knew Silence’s father and knew he was working on some new storage technique. Or he knew in the general sense, anyway. He also knew that Silence’s father had talked to a lawyer who specializes in start-up high-tech businesses.” Henrietta bounced a little on her toes.
Henrietta continued, “Marlette told me about her neighbor Emerson Baylor who was in the investment group with Dr. Power. I went and met with him. Mr. Baylor was devastated about what Power had done. He wanted to help in any way he could.
“I made some calls to check on him and everyone repeated what Marlette said, that Emerson is the real thing, a smart businessman who is ethical and who cares deeply about Silence. So I put him in touch with this professor in Berkeley and the lawyer who had worked with Silence’s father, the one who specializes in high-tech business startups.
“We all had a meeting. Marlette and Silence and I drove down to the Bay Area and met with the professor and the lawyer and Emerson Baylor and two other venture capitalists from Baylor’s group.
“We discussed how Silence’s father never actually told anyone but Silence the specifics of his secret. He only referred to it as a new storage paradigm.” Henrietta bounced some more. “Silence is the only one who knows what this is. But the Berkeley professor explained to everyone how any kind of digital storage innovation could totally change the capacity of computers. He also explained that he had gotten just enough hints from Silence’s father to believe it was real. The only question in his mind was whether Silence actually knew enough to fully explain it and fill in the technical details. Now, here’s where it gets exciting!” Henrietta’s eyes glowed.
“Silence pulled out her pencil and did a quick little drawing on a piece of paper. It had some computer symbols and some diagrams and some other stuff that made no sense to me. But you should have seen the professor. He stared at it like a kid seeing an elephant for the first time. He has these long fingers and even longer fingernails. He pointed to part of the drawing and spoke to Silence. He said, ‘This concept here. You know how it would work?’ And Silence did that funny thing where she bends her head down and turns to the side. But everyone could see her reach out and give his arm a little push. So the professor put that long skinny finger of his on another part of her diagram and asked her something about algorithms. And she pushed again. Anyway, this went on a couple more times and she did another drawing and suddenly the professor stopped. He turned to all of us. His face was flushed. I still remember his exact words. He said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am convinced this young woman has information that could transform the computer business.’”
Henrietta did a little pirouette in the sand after she said it. “Can you believe it? Then the lawyer and the investors talked about how a basic business plan could work and they signed something called an Agreement-in-Principle.
“Of course, there are uncountable details to work out, and Marlette has asked me to help find some additional financial and legal experts to look after Silence’s interests. But the end result looks like a new company will be formed to market and license the technology. And Silence will own a big piece of the stock!”
“A computer career and a lot of money, too,” I said.
“Yes! Can you stand it?”
Just then, Marlette and Silence appeared across the beach where the path came from the parking lot. Marlette’s grin was visible at a distance. So, too, was Silence’s frown.
“I probably don’t need to mention it,” Henrietta said in a low voice, “but remember that Silence is not, shall we say, fluent in social situations.”
“I’m just happy she came,” Street said. “She’s been through hell. Anyone would have trouble facing the world after that.”
“Owen!” Marlette called out as they got within speaking distance. The warrior’s countenance was submerged beneath a huge smile. “What can I say?” She dropped Silence’s hand, trotted the last few steps and gave me a hug as if to stop my breathing.
Marlette released me, and I turned to her daughter.
“Hello, Silence.”
She looked down to my left. Her face showed worry and fear. One hand was clasped over the other wrist, holding it in a white-knuckle grip. Despite her long shirt sleeves, I could see the tightness in her arm muscles and the tension that radiated throughout her body.
Although Silence looked much better than when we found her on the canyon edge a week and a half before, she was very thin and her skin had the reddish color that comes from abrasions. It was probably left over from many nights of thrashing on the rough wool blankets that had been her only bedclothes in captivity.
I considered whether to hold out my hand to shake hers, but decided that would make her even more uncomfortable. Instead I spoke in my most casual voice. “I’m so glad you could come, Silence. You remember Street Casey. And of course you’ve met Tillie.”
Silence stared at the beach and dug her heel into the sand.
I said, “We’ve got corn on the grill, drinks in the cooler, chips in the basket and burgers on the way.”
Silence looked down the beach in both directions. Her frown turned to a scowl.
I said, “Silence, I know Spot will be glad to see you. He’s off playing tag with a seagull. Let me call him.” I turned and stepped a distance away so I wouldn’t hurt anyone’s ears, put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and did the loud whistle that Spot associates with treats. “That might bring him.”
We all turned and watched as a speck down the beach grew into charging dog. I stepped in front of Silence to ease any anxiety she might have about whether he would come to a complete stop or charge through like a runaway horse.
He made a quick stop, and sand flew, although most of it hit me and not the others. “Good boy,” I said. “Sit, and I’ll open the chips.”
It’s amazing what a dog will do for a potato chip. He sat down, eyes focused on every movement I made, ears quivering. I pulled out the bag, aware of Silence as I did so. She stood off to the side, watching Spot directly as she never did any human.
I took out a big chip and balanced it on Spot’s nose. He went cross-eyed as he tried to focus on it. Twin streams of saliva flowed from his jowls. I waited a long, long ten seconds until I finally said, “Okay!”
It is like a bear trap snapping shut. You can’t actually follow the motion. One moment, the chip balanced on Spot’s nose. The next moment, there was a loud snapping sound and a string of saliva flying through the air and the chip was gone.
Then Spot saw Silence. He walked over to her, gentle as an old man. She stood rigid, hands and arms stiff at her side. Spot stuck his nose under her right hand and pushed it up. Silence took a step back, fearful, but willing herself to stay calm. Spot nudged her hand again, then again more forcefully. When she still wouldn’t pet him, he opened his mouth and lightly nibbled on her fingers.
Finally, she relented, reached out and gave him a tentative pet. He held motionless and half-shut his eyes as if he’d never felt anything so delicious. Silence pet him more vigorously. Spot shifted around to her side and took a step forward. She followed, still petting. He started walking slowly and she stayed with him. In a few moments he was trotting and then running. Silence ran after him.
Spot loped around, ran at Silence and dodged at the last moment. Soon they were both charging around. As they circled and played, Silence’s grin was unmistakable.
I turned to look at Marlette. Her grin was unmistakable, too.
Later, after we’d all eaten burgers and corn and Silence was more relaxed, I turned t
o her.
“Street and I brought something for you,” I said.
Silence didn’t react.
Street held out a paper bag, a big grin on her face.
Silence hesitated, then took the bag and pulled out the leather sketchbook and the set of pencils in the metal box. She paid particular attention to the metal box, opening the lid and running her hands over the pencils, ten of them arranged in order of hardness.
I gestured at Silence in that universal “come-along” motion. “Silence, I want to ask you a question. Will you please come down the beach a bit?” As I turned and began to walk away I saw a look of doubt on Marlette’s face. She was shaking her head as if to say it would never work.
I slowly walked down the sand about five yards. Turning a little, I saw that Silence had stepped a small distance away from the group. Spot charged toward me and flew on past. “Just down here,” I called out to her, pointing down the beach in front of me. I turned away and walked another twenty yards until I was well out of earshot of the others. Without glancing back I sat down on the beach. Spot came running by again. “Spot, come here,” I said, pointing at the sand next to me. He flew by me at high speed, taunting me, sand flying off his feet and into the air. “Spot, come!” I called out again, aware that he was my secret to attracting kids and adults as well. He looped around, did another quick-stop, and reluctantly lay down in the sand next to me.
I waited without turning my head.
After a minute, I heard a soft rustle of paper. I turned to see Silence standing there, holding the paper bag in front of her with both hands. The sun made her hair glow and lit the sharp angles of her face as it would a chiseled sienna-colored arrowhead. She appeared to be staring across the lake.
“Come sit next to Spot.” I gave him a light smack on his back. He rolled away from me, onto his side, moaning a little. He dropped his head to the sand, jowls flopping loose, and straightened his legs, pushing hard against me, his nails digging into my thigh.
After a time, Silence sat down on the other side of Spot. She carefully set the paper bag on the sand and reached out with both arms. Her hands touched Spot, roamed his back and shoulders and then reached around his neck. She leaned forward until she could wriggle her arms under his neck, prying his head a few inches off the sand and gave him a hug that would strangle a smaller dog.
Spot moaned again and began wagging, his tail making sand fly.
Slowly, Silence released him and picked up the bag. She pulled out the sketchbook and pencils. Moving with the care and precision of a surgeon, she flipped open the cover of the sketchbook and set it on her lap. Then, she opened the metal case and selected a pencil.
With her left hand, Silence made a few test strokes on the corner of the paper. She put the pencil back and selected a softer one, then began sketching. With astonishing speed, she blocked in the basics of a scene and then filled in details until it became a clear, almost photographic, picture. Suddenly, she stopped drawing and handed the sketchbook across Spot’s prostrate form. She didn’t look at me, but kept her eyes turned toward my feet.
I took the sketchbook from her.
It was a picture of Street and me, standing on the beach, holding out the paper bag to Silence. Silence stood before us, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her head was slightly bowed in a gesture of gratitude.
I handed the book back, letting it rest for a moment on Spot’s back. “You’re very welcome,” I said.
Silence turned to the next page and began another drawing. In less than a minute, she handed me the sketchbook. Again, she stared at my feet. As I took the book and studied the drawing, she pet Spot, apparently ignoring me.
The drawing showed the room in the house where she’d been held prisoner. It was similar to the letter drawing she’d sent, but this time, in the background, looking small and frail, was a picture of her sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands tied together, looking terrified.
I said, “Few people ever have to face the situation you were in. But the important thing about fear is how a person responds.” I slowly set the sketchbook on top of Spot’s chest. “You sent out those letters when the men weren’t looking. Those letters made it so we eventually found you.”
Silence picked the book up off of Spot, flipped to the next page, and then set it back down on Spot. She began another drawing, this time using Spot’s body as a desk. He wagged his tail twice.
This drawing was much more elaborate, but still took only a few minutes. When she was done she handed the sketchbook over.
The drawing showed a classroom with a dozen students at desks. One wall was covered with shelves of books. The students looked to the side or down to the floor. None of them seemed to pay attention. One had his head down on the desk. Another was digging a pen into his desktop as if to drill a hole. One was in the rear corner, spinning in a blur. They all exhibited some aspect of autism disorder. In front of the classroom stood Silence, holding a book in her right hand and drawing a picture on the blackboard with her left hand.
Still looking at the drawing, I said, “Silence, I think you will succeed at nearly anything you try. And yes, you would be a very good teacher.” I handed the sketchbook back. “In fact, there is one thing I’d like you to teach me.”
She took the book from me and turned a little toward me, still not looking at my face, but not at my feet, either. Her face had a strange questioning look. Probably no one had ever asked her to teach them anything.
“I saw your mother’s videos. She wanted me to get to know something of you and Charlie. I watched the DVD a few times and each time I got to the part where you were spinning, I thought, I want to do that. I want to feel what that’s like. It looks fun. But here’s what happens.”
I got to my feet. Spot jumped up, too, ready for something more exciting than playing easel to an artist.
I started to turn. “I’m okay when I go slow. But when I speed up, I lose my balance. Like this.” I turned around a few times. Then I sped up, but the world tipped and I began to fall. I hit the sand, sprawling onto my side. Spot leaped on top of me, and, as I pushed him off, I saw Silence laughing. Not a laugh like the rest of us make, but a laugh nonetheless.
I stood up and said, “What am I doing wrong? How do I keep from losing my balance?”
Silence came over to me. She didn’t look at me, but she reached out and grabbed my right knee and made an up-and-down motion with her hands. Then she stepped away and turned in the sand, making an exaggerated stepping motion with her right foot. Each time she came around, she pushed off with her right foot, stepping in the same place. As she sped up a little, her foot began to hit the sand as if slapping it, and I realized that concentrating on hitting the ground with my foot, once every rotation, was the key.
Silence stopped and stood still, facing the lake and the mountains looming above the distant shore. She stood leaning slightly, arms bent like a sprinter about to take off, ready to demonstrate again.
I stood next to her. Silence rotated, putting her right foot down and pushing off. I tried it with her, matching her timing. We moved very slowly at first. After I got a rhythm and sense of movement, Silence sped up a little. I sped up as well. In a minute I was going at a good rate and I hadn’t fallen over. In fact, the balance came to me, and the motion made sense.
Spot bounded around us, wagging and barking. In the distance, Marlette and Henrietta and Street and Diamond and Tillie were all in a row, staring at us.
I focused on the beats of our motion, our right feet punching the sand as Silence and I turned faster and faster and then faster still until the world went away a little and there was only the rush of cool fall wind and the blurred sound of distant laughter and the million streaking sparkles of sunlight on the water as we spun like crazed tops. And each time I came around, I saw a quick snapshot of Silence, head bowed, hair flung out like a horse’s tail on the final turn, and on her face, hidden from the world, facing the sand, was the grin, giddy and lip-stretching, br
oad and deep and mischievous. Private and silent.
About The Author
Todd Borg lives with his wife in Lake Tahoe where they write and paint.
To contact Todd or learn about the other Owen McKenna novels, please visit toddborg.com.
Titles by Todd Borg:
TAHOE DEATHFALL
TAHOE BLOWUP
TAHOE ICE GRAVE
TAHOE KILLSHOT
TAHOE SILENCE
TAHOE AVALANCHE
TAHOE NIGHT
TAHOE HEAT
TAHOE HIJACK (August 2011)
This book is for Kit
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This novel is about a girl with an unusual variation of autism. While I’ve written about autism as accurately as I could, nothing about autism or about any child with autism should be inferred from this story. Nevertheless, I’ve tried to show the trials and triumphs that people with autism, and the people who care for them, experience.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Pam Bloedoorn for explaining how the Special Education system works. For those areas of the educational system that I got correct, the credit belongs with her. Any mistakes are all mine.
Thanks to Liz Johnston for great editing. Without her help, this book would be scattershot with mistakes and glitches.
Thanks also to Eric Berglund for editing. He knows English like Strunk and White, and he helped fix many problems.
