CHAPTER 19
Two months later there was something like a sensation in the local Art world. A near-life-size picture of a beautiful girl had caused it. The picture hung on exhibition in a public gallery in San Francisco, and daily, during the exhibit, crowds gathered in front of that picture. The artist’s subject, a maiden draped in a Greek gown, barefoot, stood in a latticed bower plucking a cluster of jasmine. On a brass plate attached to the lower end of the gold frame was engraved this verse:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.*
It was the picture of Marion, and bore the signature of Jonathan Edsum. The brass plate was my doing. The picture took first price, and went to the highest bidder for $2250. The check was signed by Amos Carrel!
Edsum and I kept out of the whole commercial dealings—we had a third party to attend to that, and were not surprised, nor disappointed when we learned the name of the lucky bidder; indeed, we were two highly satisfied men.
One night Edsum called on me. I was no longer living in the hut. The rent soared far beyond my purse, so I had to smother myself again in a cheap room in the city.
As Edsum was a wonder with the brush so was he not a wonder in the use of language—like many a deaf-mute, he suffered for the lack of words and their proper arrangement in sentences. But he was not half so bad as most mutes—he was too brainy for that: his powers went to color. So this day he came to me to help him out in a talk he expected to have, and with whom should it be but Mr. Carrel—Amos Carrel!
“ So he found you, did he? ” I laughed.
“ Yes, Dobbs, that fellow who played the business part in our deal, says he insists on seeing me. Dobbs says he won’t believe I’m a deaf-mute. Listen to this: A famous English newspaper man came to my studio one day. He swept his eyes over my canvases, and turning to me, wrote: ‘ How can you paint when you can’t hear? ’ What do you think of that? I wrote in reply, then tore it up before he saw it. I said, ‘ How can you write when you haven’t any sense?’ ” I’m putting his talk in plain English. He was signing graphically. Signed when the words wouldn’t come, signed with his wonderful powers of pantomime, and all his artistry coming out in those motions. “ And you’re going to accompany me to Mr. Carrel’s Mickey, and help me through. I suppose we’ll have to explain how we managed to get the poses without his knowing it. I hate it all. He won’t know what to say to me, and I won’t know what to say to him. It’s always that way. They look at me, I look at them. They smile, I smile, I write a few words, they read, agree with a smile and a gesture, take my pencil, write a line or two, point to things, nod, smile, and then show a strong desire to get away. But come along, old boy, we’re going through with it, anyway. ”
“ Now? ” I had listened with amusement. “ Well, we’ll go; but remember, Carrel won’t use a pad, he can lumber along on his fingers. ”
“ Yes, now. ” He was dressed for the call, I was not, and I fancied Amos wasn’t particularly anxious to see me. I protested but Edsum was determined. We had carried off that painting scheme without a hitch and with wonderful success. Marion had slipped away eight times for the posing without being noticed! Edsum stayed with me day and night, and with the unfailing mirror messages which we were always on the watch for, Marion would apprise us of the time to meet her. She would watch for a chance to slip away when her father was busy in his office, or had left the house for the day.
“ Why don’t you get Dobbs, not me? ” I couldn’t quite muster up the courage to go, even after I had agreed to.
“ Dobbs wants me to go right in without a hearing person and convince the old gentleman. Come, get into your clothes, quick, and come along. ”
I got into my clothes “ quick ” and went along. We took the streetcar far out into the country—to familiar scenes. Then began the long walk over shaded roads, to the Carrel estate. We passed through the great gateway and reached the porch. Quong answered our ring, and I never before saw a human being so utterly dumbfounded as he was when he beheld me; but when he saw me talk on my fingers to Edsum he was the picture of dismay, shaking his head with the most vehement expression.
“ Your master has summoned Mr. Edsum, this gentleman at my side. You go and tell Mr. Carrel that Mr. Dunmore has brought Mr. Edsum, the artist. ” Edsum drew forth his card case and gave his card to the Chinaman.
Quong took the card, but shut the door in our faces! We stood, a very much offended pair, hesitant and speechless. For a full minute we stood thus, eyeing each other with a comical expression, neither daring to tell the other that he feared this was to be the end. Then lights flared up inside, the great door again swung open, and we were admitted—by a very obsequious Chinaman.
Edsum’s eyes bulged as he beheld, with an artist’s trained eye, the rare and beautiful all about us. Quong tried to relieve him of his great coat and beaver hat, but the artist paid no heed, stepping about with coat and hat and cane, taking in critically the paintings and the marbles. At last he turned to me, “ I don’t want to go to heaven; I want to stay here! ” I laughed and told Quong what he had said; and I think Quong agreed with Edsum—so far as the white man’s heaven was concerned. The Chinaman felt relieved when Edsum finally placed his apparel in his care, the Oriental politely bowing himself out.
Then the artist began, “ That is wonderful—wonderful! ” he was pointing to a rare canvas. “ The whole composition is splendid, the subject, the grouping, the colors— ” he drew closer, his fingers carrying his thoughts to me; “ the lines, the balance, the color—what colors! ” he stepped back, still studying the picture, then again drew close, to read the signature. It was a foreign name, the canvas having been picked up in Spain. “ It’s art—where did Carrel learn to buy pictures? ”
I couldn’t answer that, and as Mr. Carrel himself just then made his appearance, I was saved the embarrassment of further questioning.
The old gentleman paused, struck by the commanding figure of the artist. Then his eyes turned to me. I winced. Carrel offered Edsum his hand, shaking it warmly, then offered it to me. There was a slight gleam of surprise in his eye, but he was not a bit cold or unfriendly, and the way he patted my shoulder put me at ease.
“ I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Edsum. If you can understand my clumsy fingerspelling, I wish to talk with you. ” Carrel beckoned us to follow him, and we were led to the den where he and I had been closeted on my first visit. Then suddenly recalling himself, he turned about and led us to another room, which was dark. Carrel switched on a strong light. Our eyes blinked. The walls were dark, and on the far wall hung the only thing in the room—the great picture of Marion.
Edsum and I exchanged looks and knowing glances. Carrel watched us. The artist looked at the canvas critically, from one viewpoint, and then from another. He shook his head. Something was unsatisfactory.
“ Tell him, ” he turned to me, quite forgetful of the fact that Carrel could understand the alphabet, if not the signs, “ explain to him that the light is too strong, and that the walls should be a dark, dull green; there must be no reflection. This black, shiny wall spoils the picture. ” I had noticed something wrong about the canvas, or the appearance of the picture, and here was the fault. I repeated Edsum’s criticism, orally, to Mr. Carrel, who listened attentively. He seemed quite pleased to learn that some change would improve the picture. Then he turned to Edsum, and pointing to the great frame, asked, “ Did you paint that? ”
“ Yes, that is my work. ” He was direct, unhesitating, as becomes a master. Evidently the directness of the reply greatly impressed Carrel. He nodded pleasantly, saying, “ It is very fine—I am greatly pleased; Marion has told me all about it. I think you two were very clever fellows—yet a little bold. ” He caught us each by the hand and shook them warmly, adding, “ I am very much elated over it, your cleverness in outwitting me, and the wonderful picture. Now please come to the reception hall. ”
We left the room as Carrel switched off the light. He led us into the great hall with all its wonderful furnishings. There we were seated, close together, to facilitate conversation. Carrel had pressed a button on entering, and when the Chinaman responded it was to return with wine and cigars. Carrel and Edsum were soon puffing, but I felt safer, this time, in declining, contenting myself with one glass of wine.
“ Mr. Edsum, ” began Carrel, “ your work has not only greatly pleased and impressed me, it has also done something else of far greater moment, and its coming on the heels of my acquaintance with this young man—your friend, here, has changed my mind from its wonted course. Frankly, I have never had any faith in the deaf—certainly not in deaf-mutes. Maybe I am an exception, and have been too radical. I have kept Marion away from the deaf in consequence; I have hated their sign language and their awful grimaces while talking. I called them fools, and I let my bitterness over Marion’s condition grow, and I swore that Marion should not grow up to use your signs. I have been spending a fortune on her private tutoring, and guarding her in a thousand ways. This youth, Michael Dunmore probably has saved Marion from an awful fate, and he is the only deaf person I have ever put an hour of my time with. I confess he has greatly impressed me—I see I have been unreasonable and too severe. ” His pause gave me an opportunity to explain.
“ Mr. Carrel, my case is nothing unusual, as Edsum’s surely is. I can show you scores, hundreds, of deaf people better and smarter than I. You have been prejudiced, I fear, and it has influenced your course in the raising of Marion. ”
“ My father was a eugenist—he dreamed of perfection in man, he was almost a god in his own physical make-up—it has run in the family and it runs in me; our dream of perpetuating our physical quality has been blasted in Marion. My God! The child is both the joy and the tragedy of my life! ” His hands clinched and his tightly drawn fist shook under emotion.
I recalled what Marion had told me about her father being a man of sorrow.
“ How a tragedy? ” I asked, very much surprised and interested.
“ That I cannot tell you—at the present. ” His eyes dwelt upon me steadily, yet kindly, and I read in their failing lustre the shade of sorrow of which he had spoken, for the eyes are the reflex of the soul.
Our conversation continued late into the night. The more Edsum and I told Carrel about our deaf world the more interested he grew. I told him about our clubs, our fraternal orders, our newspapers and magazines, our college; I told him about my friends back East following their trades and marrying and raising children; in fact, doing about everything their hearing brothers were doing. I wound up with a good natured thrust, “ But you are not the only one in ignorance of my kind—it’s the general understanding; yet it seems to me that you are the greatest doubter of them all, you, who have only recently paid out of your own pocket over two thousand dollars for the work of a deaf-mute, who is in your own house right now! ” Carrel was not offended; I rather think he enjoyed it.
He rose from his chair and excused himself for a moment. When he returned he brought Marion.
“ Marion, here are your friends. ” His face grew livelier. Marion stepped, first to Edsum, then to me, offering her hands, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted, revealing her beautiful teeth.
“ Daddy is as proud as a lord over that picture, Mr. Edsum. ” She turned to me, “ He has been a very different daddy since he learned that a deaf man did it, Mickey, ” her face grew radiant as she spelled.
Edsum bowed acknowledgement. I laughed over it, noting that Marion used my nickname for the first time. She turned and entreated, “ Daddy, aren’t you going to let Mickey call, now? ”
We reseated ourselves, and Carrel broke out, “ Michael, what, oh, what, can I do for Marion—what can I do to atone for having kept her tied down and hidden away from the world as I have done? ”
“ Let her have her freedom—let her live naturally, ” I replied, quickly, and Edsum gave an urgent nod of approval on my telling him what I had said.
“ I will do that—anything. ” He turned to Marion. “ Marion, your freedom begins tomorrow, at sunrise! ” Marion leaped to her feet. Carrel raised his open hand to check her. “ No, not until sunrise. If I gave it to you now I fear we should all be squeezed to death. Now, you must forgive your poor, old, misguided Daddy. ”
The girl flew into the arms of the trembling old man, tears of joy bursting over her flushed face. Carrel’s eyes moistened as he drew Marion in a trembling embrace, while she covered his face with kisses.
Then she broke away, and in a wild delight flew to us and kissed us both! She stepped back, flushed, her hands clasped in air, her face turning from me to Edsum, from him to Carrel. I looked upon her as one might look upon a rare gem which some foolish old miser had hidden away for half a century, but now brought to the light to charm and dazzle an admiring world.
And the next morning at sunrise, Marion was free!