Daisy and Morag were visiting the Colosseum, just the two of them. It was part of the project. They had skipped it when they’d all visited the Forum together; now the teams were to explore it two by two. Father Cadogan and Sister Liz had given Daisy and Morag detailed instructions the day before: they were to take a taxi directly from the convent; Daisy would pay the fare, as she could easily afford it. Sure, no problem. She’d also paid for their entrance tickets.
But they’d both had some reservations from the start. For one thing, visiting a famous monument in a foreign city had by necessity to be a vicarious experience for a blind person; there was nothing wrong with that. On top of the Eiffel tower in Paris, or on Sugarloaf Mountain in Rio, Daisy had enjoyed the views immensely, as her companions had described them to her. Morag, on the other hand, would have preferred to be with someone who knew sign language and could communicate with her and share the experience. For both of them this muted, silent outing was a bit awkward at first.
Then again, Daisy had to admire Morag: she was a resourceful girl, full of good will, and she’d instinctively found the right approach. She’d taken her by the hand and they’d walked to every corner of the huge ruins complex. Up and down worn-out staircases, through echoing tunnels and along the walkways at different levels. Your feet conveyed the dimensions of the monument to you. Sometimes Morag made them stop at a spot where you could gauge the thickness of a wall: Daisy had to open her arms wide, and even so barely managed to touch the outer surfaces left and right. And she was made to pat the top of another wall and feel the difference between the smooth outer layer of masonry and the rough filling of angular clumps and concrete on the inside. She recognized a smell like that of the cathedrals or medieval castles she’d visited at home, and her white cane produced a satisfactory range of echoing sounds. The sounds of the Colosseum were unique, as in contrast to a church or a castle, you were mostly in the open air. The sounds of the traffic, outside the thick walls, were muted.
By the entrances there were stone slabs with inscriptions; Morag made her probe the carved letters, which were perfectly legible under her fingers, even more so than those on a wax tablet. But her Latin was not good enough to make out the meaning of the words. And then there were a lot of cats roaming these ruins; the two of them delighted in stroking their soft fur, and Daisy couldn’t help cooing when they purred or meowed sweetly. Then Morag would look on and puzzle.
So, yes, just by making use of the senses you had, you could indeed get to know the famous monument, even as a blind person. After all, on top of the Eiffel tower Daisy had also been able to feel that she was high up in a fresher atmosphere, and to hear that the sounds from the city down below were very far away. And even without the possibility of talking, Morag’s companionship was real and engaging and warm. They held hands or put their arms around one another’s waist; Daisy giggled and even laughed, a lot, she couldn’t help it, and Morag nibbled her earlobes in return; they huddled and hugged for no good reason at all.
Daisy was starting to understand the meaning, the purpose of their experience. She hadn’t uttered a word since they’d left the convent that morning and she’d said “arrivederci” to the nuns. In fact, as she didn’t speak much Italian, really, she hadn’t had a true conversation since the last briefing at the Vatican Museums on the previous afternoon. So Father Cadogan had sent them off on a mission to find out how it is to be the other person. Daisy was discovering how it must feel to be deaf, unable to communicate, and to visit the greatest monument of Rome as if you were a goldfish, swimming around in a glass bowl full of water, looking out at the world around you from a different place, a place of utter silence and aloneness. And Morag must have been experiencing something of how it is to be blind, to risk bumping into a wall or tripping down a staircase at every step… and not to be able to see the Colosseum!
The tourists around them, by contrast, were chatting among themselves all the time, taking pictures with their cameras, which Daisy could hear clicking repeatedly. The visitors came from all over the world and exclaimed in many foreign languages, “Impressionnant… Wunderschön!” Verbal communication was so much part of their enjoyment!
And taking pictures, too. That at least was something Morag could have enjoyed as well, but apparently the penniless student didn’t have a camera. Then Daisy remembered that she wanted to take away a souvenir of her own: a little model of the Colosseum! Just like she had a miniature Eiffel tower and even a tiny Sugarloaf Mountain at home. “We must find a souvenir stand,” she decided. So she stopped Morag and turned her around so that they faced one another, and the deaf girl did her little woodpecker thing, “What’s up?” Daisy started to mime what she wanted. They’d left the notebook and the wax tablets at home, because they didn’t want to cheat anymore. First Daisy showed Morag her purse, taking it briefly out of her handbag, then she gestured widely, with both hands, at the Colosseum all around them, and made a motion of shrinking all that into the palm of her hand. With her forefinger she traced a circle above her flat hand, “See the miniature Colosseum?” and finally made the universal gesture of “paying”, “buying”, rubbing her forefinger against her thumb… Morag tapped her forehead twice, “Yes, I understand,” and off they went, to the exit of the ruins complex.
Soon they were standing by the stall of a souvenir vendor, and Morag had guided Daisy’s hands to the models on display. When she’d selected one, Daisy gestured to her companion, “Do you want one too? It’s on me!”
Yes, Morag was delighted to accept the offer. It was amazing how well they could communicate, as long as it concerned only such practical matters. Meanwhile it had become very hot; the Colosseum was not the ideal place to be, as the Roman summer sun started to bake the stones. Daisy proposed that they go to a local restaurant for lunch, and they went up the Esquiline, across the avenue in front of the Colosseum, to a small place with some tables on the pavement, on the shadow-side of the street. The spot was rather noisy from the traffic, which of course didn’t disturb the deaf girl in the least, and also smelled of car fumes. But the strange thing, again, was that once they were settled and having a nice meal, after they’d solved all the practical problems brilliantly, they just sat there and ate, and could no longer communicate. Small talk or a friendly chat were still out of reach for them.
The whole thing came up again later that day, at the “debriefing” that had been scheduled by Father Cadogan. Just like Daisy and Morag, the other teams had been exploring the huge amphitheatre on their own, and they reconvened in their usual lecture room at the Vatican Museums to share their experiences. Sister Liz interpreted and the Father moderated. It was actually interesting to hear what the other pairs had been up to, and how they’d experienced their visit. It sometimes sounded as if they’d explored different monuments. Daisy let Morag do most of the talking for the two of them, and listened intently to the Sister’s rendering of what she was saying in sign language. It was fascinating to hear what she was thinking, this way.
Then, when Father Cadogan asked them for examples of “spontaneous” or “improvised” communication within the teams, Daisy contributed the example of the crazy little woodpecker Morag had come up with to ask what was going on. “I find it intriguing how I immediately understood what she meant.”
Morag, sitting right next to her, tickled her earlobe with her finger, then said, by way of Sister Liz, “I find it hilarious, partner, that you call that sign ‘the crazy little woodpecker!’”
A moment later in the proceedings, Daisy volunteered her observation that as long as they were only dealing with practical matters, it was quite easy to communicate, but that a friendly chat was impossible to achieve.
“True,” Morag agreed, “very annoying, that.”
“Interesting,” Father Cadogan said, “do any other teams want to comment?”
And comment they did. They all agreed with Daisy’s remark; the consensus emerged that communication between them only went so far. Miming was not the same as signing, and even if the blind would learn sign language, how would the deaf answer them? “Maybe they should learn to write in Braille,” a young man volunteered hopefully.
“It’s not like we’re going to need sign language on a daily basis,” a blind girl answered, “or that our deaf friends will ever need Braille.”
“Yes, but what do you think of the principle of the thing?” Father Cadogan asked.
“Too much trouble,” most of them answered.
Daisy reflected smugly that if the good Father had expected they would come up with a workable solution to this intractable problem, just like that, he was wide off the mark. But in the end she did volunteer an unexpected contribution of her own again.
“For those who’re interested, I happen to know of only one example of perfect communication between the deaf and the blind, but it concerns one person who happens to be deaf and blind: Helen Keller!”
“Ah yes,” they said. Everybody had heard about Helen Keller.
“Again, that’s an excellent contribution from our oldest and wisest participant,” Father Cadogan remarked wryly, “So what you’re saying is that there exists a solution: communication between the deaf and the blind is possible after all.”
“Yes. And it turns out that it’s the blind who would have to learn sign language.”
“But how can you learn signs if you can’t see them?” someone wanted to know.
“Well, the interesting thing is that even before Anne Sullivan was hired to teach her, little Helen created a sign language of her own. As a little girl she used to spend her days playing wild games with the daughter of the family cook, Martha Washington, who was a bit older than her. And while playing with her young black friend, she spontaneously thought up about sixty different ‘words’, all of them relying only on the sense of touch. For instance, pinching a small piece of skin on the back of the hand meant ‘small’; expanding one’s fingertips in the other person’s open palm meant ‘big’. Later, when Anne Sullivan taught her sign language, Helen Keller had to raise her hands, her open fingers forming a cage, and the teacher would perform her signs between her pupil’s fingertips and communicate with her that way.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent among the collections. The Vatican Museums were a real maze, so the deaf had to escort their blind charges to the location of their choice before they could go their own way. Later the blind were escorted back to the meeting room by the employees. Sometimes they were even provided with stepladders, when the sculptures they wanted to study were too high. But eventually Daisy and Morag separated and were free to roam the museum galleries on their own, to study the collections at their leisure. That is to say that Daisy was interested in some plaster copies of antique statues, and Morag in the paintings, and that was why they didn’t stay together. They would meet again at closing time.
The uniformed museum attendants, although they were impeccably polite, were also a bit wary of the blind visitors, those groping youngsters that had been imposed on them by “that crazy priest from Ireland”. But for the older woman among them, the one that “looked like Doris Day”, they made an exception. She moved slowly from one plaster cast to another, using her white cane carefully, so that she never bumped into anything, and she made a point of always wearing surgical gloves, there was no need to be afraid of sticky fingers with her. And then she visibly enjoyed herself so much, spending hours probing the faces of Roman consuls and emperors. “Ah, the classical portraits of our ancestors,” they would tell themselves, “the pretty lady has good taste!”
Daisy lost herself completely in the sculptures. She lost track of the time and was hardly aware of the other visitors. Sometimes she did become aware of one of the attendants shuffling in and staying in the room for a while, apparently keeping an eye on her; the Italians working here all smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. She would reflect that if she were so bold as to explore their features with her fingertips as well, she would be able to compare the Romans of antiquity with those of today. But there was already enough to explore among the exhibits without pestering the employees too.
One advantage of the plaster copies was that their pedestals were modest and that the sculptures, therefore, were within easy reach. No need for a stepladder. The educational service had prepared a list in Braille of all the exhibits in these rooms, so at some stage Daisy knew that she was probing the portrait of a young Nero. It was astonishing: the infamous emperor as an innocent boy, smooth-faced, with big, drooping eyes, an endearing little nose and an impish chin… Was this impression genuine? Had this portrait really been made when Nero was still young, or had it been ordered after the fact by the adult ruler to refurbish his image?
“Do you know who he looks like?” a young man’s voice asked, right next to her, making Daisy jump out of her skin.
“Erm… No?”
Why could people never understand that you shouldn’t sneak up to an obviously blind person like that?
“He looks just like Paul McCartney… you know?”
“Who’s that?”
“You don’t know about Paul, as in ‘John-Paul-Georges-and-Ringo’? The Beatles! The Fab Four!”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re a group; a band; pop singers! Haven’t you heard about Beatlemania?”
“Well… are they on the radio?”
“Of course they are!”
“On the BBC?”
“Yes, of course, the BBC too! If you listen to the Light Program; Saturday Club; Pop go the Beatles?”
“All right… So what were we saying?”
“That young Nero looks exactly like Paul McCartney… it’s uncanny!”
“I see; I’ll take your word for it. I’ll check this out at the first opportunity. ‘The Beatles’, you said?”
But the young man had already moved on. How had he even known that she spoke English? Was it that obvious that she was British?
Finally the bell rang, and the attendants started roaming the rooms, announcing in Italian that it was time to leave, and they corralled all the visitors towards the exits. Daisy was reunited with Morag and they set off for the convent up the Janiculum hill. Again they just enjoyed one another’s company, holding hands, but were incapable of conversing about what they’d been up to in the afternoon. Morag was clearly in a playful mood, as she kept rushing them, running along the pavements, pulling her older companion’s arm.
Then, after dinner, they settled down on their beds as they always did, and tried to read. But Daisy kept putting down her Braille edition of French sonnets, and even her tiny model of the Colosseum couldn’t engage her for long. This plastic thingy was a bit of a disappointment, sad to say. She kept thinking back to the discussion after lunch. Fancy finding something relevant to say, based on dear Helen Keller’s life story; she had become so old hat nowadays! She was an elderly lady now, in her eighties, and she had retired from public life. But still, wasn’t it something, that a deaf and blind woman had set such an example to the rest of the world?
And then there was this disturbing portrait of a young Nero, and his likeness to Paul McCartney, whoever that may be.
Suddenly Morag, who must have noticed these musings, landed on the mattress next to her and tapped her forehead with her finger, “What’s up?”
How can I tell you, Daisy thought, where do I even start to explain what I’m feeling? Her notebook was in the drawer of the nightstand, right next to her, but instead of writing something down, she decided she would like to use a typewriter. Surely the nuns had one in the office of the convent secretariat? So she raised her hand: “Look here, watch this,” and then she mimed typing on a machine with ten wriggling fingers and pushing the return chariot back from time to time at the end of the line.
“Yes, I understand” her companion signalled by tapping on her forehead, “follow me,” she conveyed by pulling Daisy off the bed. Together they slipped into the silent corridor outside their room. Then Morag led the way down the stairs and into a musty-smelling office on the ground floor. There she settled her roommate into an upholstered chair in front of a desk and pushed the typewriter towards her. Daisy immediately started probing it with her fingers, and while Morag inserted a sheet of paper and turned the drum further with a ratcheting sound, Daisy settled her fingertips in the correct position. And finally, after a short pause to gather her thoughts, she started typing. Morag quickly went over to close the door, and coming back, looked on in fascination. It was quite impressive: even on a clunky old Olivetti, the blind masseuse had enough strength in her fingers to keep up a rapid-fire rat-tat of ‘blind typing’.
When she’d finished her letter, Daisy pulled it from the drum with a flourish and handed it over to her deaf friend. Morag held it up, started reading, and was taken aback: “Dear ?orag”. Then she looked over at the typewriter, and understood at once: it had an Italian keyboard, QZERTY, so not only were the letters W and Z switched around, but where the ‘m’ should have been, there was a comma, and the capital M, when typed, came out as an interrogation mark. Looking at the jumbled message, the deaf girl was shaken by silent giggles of merriment, but she didn’t want to give away the game. With a little bit of good will you could read the text anyway, so she just carried on, regardless:
Dear ?orag;
There are a fez things I zanted to tell you after our visit to the Colosseu, (thank you for being such a zonderful guide) but I didn’t zant to say the, in front of the others at our daily debriefing; because this is just betzeen you and ,e:
I still find you a very ,ysterious creature; as I have no visual contact zith you; and no verbal co,,unication is possible either: But I love you very ,uch; for you are alzays kind and friendly to ,e; and incredibly patient: I zant you to knoz hoz ,uch I love you:
Father Cadogan zas right zhen he predicted that I zould change ,y opinion of deaf people: I no longer think you have it any easier than ,e; rather the opposite: I ,ust ad,it I alzays believed being deaf zas only a light i,pair,ent; not that I ever gave it any serious thought; obviously:
By tea,ing us up; I guess the good Father is forcing us to realiwe hoz it is to be the other person: This ,orning at the Colosseu, I have finally experienced your lack of co,,unication possibilities; your sense of isolation ,aybe; and you ,ust have felt ,y helplessness; ,y sense of stu,bling in the dark so,eti,es:::
Anyzay; it is nice to be going through this experience zith you; ,y dear ?orag; I couldn’t have zished for a better tea,,ate:
Love; Daisy