The Words in My Hands, page 16
Get out of my head, Marley!
I haven’t answered his last message, but I miss hanging out at the bike shop and I’m going insane without a bike. Mum hasn’t mentioned the issue of school again and I’ve spent my days fussing over my seedlings, using Halim’s fork to dig garden beds in the middle of our street, and hauling around my sack to collect compost materials, twigs for the rocket stove, and weeds. I’m an expert on edible weeds now.
I’m so glad Taylor’s coming over today.
I’m angry with her, but more than anything, I miss her. Maybe she’ll have a brilliant idea about how to raise that insane amount of money. I pull on my jeans. I was so resentful about only getting half a recon through the day, but now there’s nothing until dinnertime and I’d do anything for a half-box.
“Mum, look.” She’s sitting by the rocket stove, sipping dandelion tea and working on her notes. I hold out my wristlet and show her the infringement notice.
She stares at me flatly. “What will you do about this?”
My stomach drops. “I don’t know,” I say in a small voice. “Do you have any ideas?”
“No, Piper, I don’t. And since you’ve declared you’re above the legal age for an education, I don’t feel obliged to educate you further on this matter.” Her voice and eyes are cold.
I don’t know how to get back in her good books. I miss her. “Can I have some tea?”
Although the dandelions taste bitter, my body keeps asking for more. There must be some nutrition in there that I need. Robbie’s book says weeds are excellent at mining nutrients from the soil. Without looking up, Mum hands me the pot of greenish water, limp leaves floating in it. It’s warm, not hot, so I tip a large mouthful down my throat.
“Any news from Bob Forsyth?” I ask, trying again.
She looks up. “Bob went to the board, but they said no to my proposal. They can’t fund it right now. Had I been there, I’m sure I could have talked them into it.”
“Can you get work with Bob?”
Mum shrugs. “He still doesn’t know. He’s yet to see a budget. He’s trying to get some deliveries back on track by train rather than truck, but there’s no big-picture plan yet.”
Taggert emerges from the house. I hand him a twig and he pokes it slowly into the rocket stove, just as I’ve taught him.
“Maybe you could offer to make a plan for deliveries?” I say to Mum. “You’re good at planning.”
“I know, but you can’t plan when you don’t know the scope.”
“Have you tried Karen Kildare? Maybe she knows? Maybe she can delegate this to you?”
“She hasn’t got back to me. I try her every day.”
Mum turns back to her folder. I’m dismissed.
“Want to go to the street?” I ask Taggert.
He nods and puts his hand in mine, even though we’re nowhere near the road. I dump my hearing aids inside, and tap on the kitchen window of the house to indicate that I have Taggert with me. Archie gives me the thumbs-up and waves me to the door, where he hands me Taggert’s bucket and spade. The blinds are drawn over the bedroom windows; Erin is still asleep. I doubt Taggert would be hanging out with me if not.
Halim’s on the street already, and when he sees me he lifts a finger and heads off slowly to fetch the fork. I survey my work: The first compost pile’s been turned twice, leaving two round, softer patches of dirt that I’ve dug over. The second pile is ready for turning. It won’t be long until I have a whole mandala of six garden beds. I have a few more weeks until my seedlings are big enough to plant out here.
What am I going to do about the fine?
I shake my head to clear it. Halim reappears and watches while I spread the compost, which now looks like dirt, back over the two beds I’ve dug. Taggert scoops compost with his plastic spade, and when he steps onto the garden bed I grab his wrist to stop him. Miming, just as Robbie did with me, I show him he must never stand on a garden bed. I hope Halim’s paying attention too. Taggert gets it right away and carefully steps around the edges.
Next thing, I push my fork into the compost and catch sight of something wriggling. A worm! Taggert’s as excited as I am. He picks it up gently, but it slithers between his fingers.
I finish digging over the third bed, spread the compost back over it, and set to work on the middle area where I’m going to make a pond, but the ground is hard and it’s heavy going. I need to eat.
An elegant woman with a sleek black bob appears, carrying a spade and walking like a dancer. Halim says something to her, but she has more manners than him and turns to greet me.
“I’m …” I miss the rest. She holds out her hand.
I shake it, and instead of nodding and saying “Piper,” I point to my ears and indicate my Ddeafness.
Unfazed, she writes her name in the air with her index finger, but I can’t make it out. I mime writing in the dirt, which she does. Connie Sato.
She opens her mouth enough to enunciate clearly without exaggerating ridiculously. “How big would you like the pond?”
Surprised, I show her with my hands. She sets to work, professionally excavating the ground to make a smooth, shallow bowl, clearly experienced at this.
“You know it’s leega to make gardis on pubbic land? Aren’t you worried about tree vandals?” It’s easy to figure out her words from the context. Illegal to make gardens on public land.
I channel Robbie and mime plants growing, and me eating their food. Then I become a security guard. I’m not sure how to show this so I stand like a soldier, salute, and mime myself shooting someone who sneaks in to steal food. It’s an exaggeration, sure, but it gets the message across.
“Security isst cheap.”
I point to myself.
Connie holds up 10 fingers and flashes them twice, then holds up 4, then 7. She’s quick at this. 24/7? she’s asking.
I use my finger to write in the dirt, because I don’t know how to mime what I want to say next. “I’ll need help.”
She crouches and writes beneath my words: “I’ll help. For food. My partner too.”
She talks to Halim, and I suspect he might be a part of the arrangement now too. Taggert crouches beside me and uses his finger to make squiggles in the dirt. He looks up at me expectantly and I give him the thumbs-up, which satisfies him.
Connie writes again: “At my last house I planted veggies on the nature strip and the council made me clear it.”
“Surely they won’t now?” I write.
She shrugs. She’s not optimistic.
I wonder how much food we’ll get, and if it can stretch to feed so many of us. Robbie and Marley have a huge garden and even they’re still hungry. But I need help, with tools as well as security.
In the dirt, I write a list of jobs that need doing, such as collecting compost materials and carrying water, getting another BioSpore barrel for water, going to St Kilda beach to get seaweed, and figuring out what to line the pond with. I indicate that we could share the jobs.
Connie reads the list carefully and volunteers for the pond lining. Then she runs her finger down the whole list and indicates she’s up for anything.
She adds, “Make a security roster.”
Taggert runs his finger down the list too, smearing the words, nodding seriously. I grin. Things are looking up.
My wristlet buzzes.
3 From: Taylor
So sorry, Pipes, something’s come up. Will message real soon to make another date.
My smile fades. I could reply … but really, what is there to say?
Aweek and a half later, I can’t stand it any longer—I go to visit Robbie. Uninvited. When she opens the gate and sees me, her eyes widen in surprise. Since she doesn’t have a wristlet, I couldn’t message ahead. I’m so glad she’s here, that I didn’t walk all this way for nothing. I admit I timed it to arrive just before lunch. The scent of her garden hits me—herbs and leaves and dirt and water and something earthy—and I inhale deeply, soaking in the magic.
Is Marley here?
For god’s sake, get out of my head! It doesn’t matter whether he’s here or not. I’m here to see Robbie.
But still I scan the garden behind her, checking for him. Robbie takes me into her arms and gives me a tight hug. She’s smiling, deep crinkles around her eyes, happy to see me. She signs something I don’t catch, but I recognize the sign for Sydney, which Marley taught me. Your fingers become the Sydney Harbor Bridge.
So Marley didn’t tell her. I shake my head. “We’re not going after all,” I fingerspell.
“Why?” Robbie’s eyebrows furrow. It has the effect of making me feel she’s deeply interested in my answer, even though I know it’s just the standard sign language technique for asking open-ended questions. She gives my arm a squeeze and throws me a quick, delighted smile.
I hesitate. I don’t want to tell Robbie what a brat I was to Mum. “There are problems with her job.” That much is true.
Robbie looks at me closely. “Are you okay?” she asks. She pokes two fingers into her neck. I frown, not understanding the sign, and she fingerspells it for me. “Disappointed?”
I use a mixture of signs, mime, drawing in the air, and fingerspelling to reply. “No. I’m glad to stay. I can keep making my garden. I’m stressed because … I ate a possum and the cops caught me. Now I have to pay a $2,000 fine in one month and I don’t know how.”
Robbie takes my arm and escorts me through the garden to the outdoor kitchen. She’s cooking already. There’s green stuff and onions in the frying pan and it smells heavenly. “Eating a possum is not a good idea,” she signs. “There are so few left.” But she doesn’t seem upset with me. Just thoughtful. “Do you have a job? Maybe they will let you have a plan to pay it off more slowly.”
I shake my head and tell her about the mortifying interview with Cesspool. “What kind of jobs can Ddeaf people do?”
She indicates for me to fetch an extra egg from the chook pen. Yes! She’s going to feed me. When I hand it to her, she cracks two eggs into the pan and signs, “It’s not easy. I studied for four years to become a pharmacist, but even though I graduated with good marks, the board wouldn’t give me a license because I’m Ddeaf. So be careful of that trap. They’ll tell you that you can do anything until it’s crunch time, and then you’ve wasted years of your life.”
“What did you do when you couldn’t get your license?”
“I fought. But no luck. I worked for a Ddeaf organization for a while. They always hire Ddeaf staff. The pay is pretty low, though, and these days you need to be fluent in sign before they’ll take you. Allstar had an inclusive policy”—I have to interrupt Robbie here for a fingerspelling repeat of inclusive—“and hired Ddeaf people to haul boxes, but there’s new management now”—and again here for a management repeat—“and the Ddeaf employees are being laid off. They ‘can’t afford’ to pay for the interpreter. If you’re lucky you can get an apprenticeship to become a tradesperson, but you need to find someone who is prepared to take you on.”
I’m glad Mum’s not here. To have my dismal career prospects laid out so starkly could possibly be the end of her. Is school “preparing me” for a career I’ll never be able to have? Maybe Mum needs to hear that. I ask Robbie if she still works for the Ddeaf organization.
She shakes her head, gesturing to the garden before us. “I can work for money to buy food, or work to grow food. Growing food is more satisfying.”
She serves the eggs and greens into two bowls. We sit with our legs over the edge of the veranda, and I try my hardest not to scoff it down. It’s exquisite—hot and fragrant and hearty in a way recon never is.
“Don’t you need money to buy stuff like water tanks and gas and solar panels?”
Robbie nods. “I get asked to consult these days, to help people design their gardens, and that brings in enough to cover the basics. Marley earns money now, too.”
“How do you communicate with your clients?”
“Pen and paper. They want to know how to make a garden like mine, so that gives them patience.”
Well, that’s hardly going to help me come up with two grand by the October 21.
On the far side of the garden, there’s a rustle of movement. Robbie and I watch. We can’t see the gate from here, but after a few moments, Marley emerges from the arbor by the pond. I freeze.
When he spots me, his face lights up. He hurries over and throws his arms around me in a long hug. “I’ve missed you,” he signs, and I catch the new sign, miss, which goes from cheek to cheek. He stands close to me, closer than you’d expect. I’m starting to see how I got the wrong idea. The scent of him settles over me, and my stomach butterflies. It’s not easy to get over this boy.
“Do you want lunch?” Robbie asks.
Marley nods, and she gathers our bowls and heads back to the rocket stove. Marley sits himself beside me, so close I can feel the heat from his body. How can he have missed me when he’s been busy with his new girlfriend? I presume that’s the reason he hasn’t asked me to come to the shop.
“So, what’s new?” I ask, testing him.
“Ryan got a bunch of broken bike bits from the rubbish tip, enough to build several more bikes—to sell, not rent. So I’ve been doing that.”
His eyes are intense, sparkly, focused on me.
I nod, silent. I don’t want to hear about bikes.
He takes a deep breath and his face reddens. “You remember Kelsey, who runs—”
“I know who Kelsey is.”
“We kind of … got together.”
So he knew. He knew how I felt about him, or he wouldn’t be so awkward now. Have I been so transparent?
My face heats, and I force a smile. “That’s great. She’s so … nice. I’m happy for you.”
There’s an uncomfortable pause, both of us nodding and trying to smile.
Finally Marley signs, “Did you hear about Sprouted Earth?”
“No. What about it?”
“The council slapped a cleanup notice on it. They have two months to return it to bare land or the council will sue them. It’s a fire hazard, apparently.”
My mouth drops open. “In times like these?”
Does the island on my street belong to the council too? Or to us, the people who live there? Will we be told to return it to bare dirt and tree stumps? I can’t afford another fine.
“We have the big corporations to thank.” Marley has to spell corporations twice, but I get it on the second go.
“What do you mean?”
“As soon as the Kildare government was elected, Organicore practically took over, all recon this and recon that. Suddenly health and safety laws for real food were impossibly strict, all the feeds saturated with food-poisoning stories.”
So people do know. I think of the graffiti I saw, of Karen Kildare’s face with the Organicore logo. I suppose it’s obvious. Somehow, though, I find myself defending her.
“Karen Kildare is progressive—she supports the recon welfare program with inexpensive housing options and so on …” I have to fingerspell most of this, but Marley supplies some of the signs, and I learn support and welfare.
“Yes, and once someone moves into an apartment without a kitchen, they lose the option to eat real food. Where’s their free choice gone? It’s just another way to get people addicted to recon.”
I frown. I never thought of it that way. I wonder if this has occurred to Mum.
“Surely now the authorities can see that it’s sensible, practical, to let people grow food, though?” I ask.
“Piper, they’re only interested in how much profit Organicore makes. Even if we’re starving, it’s still in their best financial interests to make it as difficult as possible for us to grow real food.”
I think of Karen Kildare, her worries about people’s health. I think of Organicore struggling to meet deliveries. “I don’t think Karen Kildare would be opposed to us growing food. Maybe she doesn’t know about this.” But even if she did, could she really do anything about it?
Marley looks at me oddly. “How would you know? Have you met her?”
I nod. “Mum worked with her sometimes. Before she lost her job.” He’s sitting so close that if I moved slightly, our legs would touch. Before, I’ve scooted against him, casually allowing the connection to happen. But today I keep my knees back, tight to my body.
“Kelsey’s starting a protest group. They’ll lobby the government to allow food production on public land, as part of the solution to the food crisis.”
“That must be great—a project with your new girlfriend.” I can’t believe I just said that! I sound so bitter.
But Marley just sighs. “I feel like an impostor. I’ve known the Transition Towns people for ages, but never been this intensely involved with their events. I keep worrying I’ll do something wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like the other day I saw this guy I hadn’t seen in ages, and I really like him so I gave him a hug. In the Ddeaf community, that’s fine. Deaf guys hug each other all the time. But try that in the hearing world and everyone thinks you’re gay. Which obviously doesn’t matter, but it’s not how it’s done normally. I feel like I have to watch myself the whole time, so I don’t slip up. I usually spend my time with Ddeaf people and other CODA kids.”
“What else is different about the Ddeaf community?”
“I think more in terms of what’s different about the hearing community. For example, we say it like it is. If something looks ugly, we say that—or if something doesn’t work or fit, we say exactly how. Hearing people are so convoluted—you have to work out whether it’s okay to say something bluntly or not, and if you suspect it isn’t okay, then you have to come up with a polite work-around, like saying that something is nearly perfect, it’s just great, except for this tiny little bit here which almost fits but just needs a bit of tweaking. Jesus! Why can’t we just spit it out! And that’s what I mean: being with Kelsey, I have to keep that part of my brain switched on, to make sure I say or do it right. I can’t quite relax.”
