Read Online Translator by Nina Schuyler - Free Book Online Page B

Unless there is a minor miracle, she won’t be out of here in two days to teach her classes. She thinks about having him call David, but decides against it. When she can speak again, she’ll contact him.
    Late afternoon, the speech pathologist arrives. She’s a lardy woman who takes huge sips of air, as if she’s just run up a flight of stairs. “Oh, you’ve got the best room in the house,” she says, pulling up a chair beside Hanne’s bed, and now Hanne can see the dark mustache above her upper lip. She says she’s going to get Hanne’s “old brain clicking again.” “Isn’t that a good idea?” she says, patting Hanne’s arm.
    Hanne nods. Her natural inclination is to be a good student.
    Tomas steps out to get a late lunch so the two of them can get to work. They’ll go through a series of little exercises, says the woman. She’ll say a phrase and Hanne will finish it. “We’ll play a little game together. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
    â€œThe early bird—”
    Hanne opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
    The woman waits.
    â€œâ€”gets the worm.” The woman shifts in her chair. “Short but—”
    Even if she could move her tongue to move, she’s not sure she could utter these clichés. Dead words beating their lifeless wings.
    â€œSweet. A bird in the hand—is worth two in the bush.”
    The woman scoots her large behind on the chair. “A friend in need—”
    Hanne closes her eyes and breathes deeply.
    â€œâ€”is a friend indeed. Rob Peter—and pay Paul. Beggars—can’t be choosers.”
    She’s just trying to do her job, Hanne tells herself. She picks up her pen and paper: “I’m sorry.”
    The woman sighs and goes on. As the clichés pile up, she no longer waits for Hanne to respond.
    â€œAll right. Enough. We’ll try again tomorrow.” Her tone is cheery, upbeat, but her eyes suggest otherwise.
    Anne arrives with the girls, bringing purple lilacs that send forth a lovely scent that fills her palatial room. Hanne nods, hoping they see her appreciation, her gratitude for their visit. She tries to smile, but feels only one side of her mouth twist upward.
    Sasha looks at her wide-eyed. “Mom! What’s wrong with Grandma?”
    Hanne is reminded of the fairy tale: And what big eyes you have. What a big nose, big ears. Anne, glowing with youthful health, says in her cool, collected voice, “Grandma had an accident. We discussed this on the plane.” A cut on her forehead, her nose broken, a jostle and bump on her brain.
    Sasha tentatively comes over and strokes Hanne’s arm, while Irene, happy to be out of the hold of her mother’s arms, explores the room, pulling on the cord of the shades, raising them as high as they can go. A bright light fills the room, clinging to Hanne’s white sheets. For a moment, Hanne can’t see. Anne comes over beside Sasha, casting a great shadow, slicing the bed in half. With a hand on her daughter’s head, Anne explains what happens to the brain when it hits the hard shell of the skull. She uses all the correct terminology—everything has a specific name, a name fashioned from Latin roots—even drawing a diagram on the sheet, with her finger, of the frontal lobe. Like a science experiment, thinks Hanne.
    When the brain lesson is over, Sasha looks at Hanne. “Hi, Grandma.” Her voice is shy, barely audible.
    â€œGrandma can’t speak,” says Anne. “You can talk to her, though.”
    She turns to her mother. “What do I say?”
    Anything, thinks Hanne. Anything at all. I’d listen to you until the end of time.
    The shades slam down, darkening the room.
    â€œTell her about the science museum we went to yesterday.”
    Of course, thinks Hanne, more science. Irene runs out the door, and Anne dashes after her. As Sasha strokes the dark hairs of