Me and Mr. Bell (5 page)

Chapter 8

H
elen Keller's hand pressed lightly against my mouth. Her fingers read my words when I spoke, and then something very amazing happened. All of a sudden I understood what intelligence was. It was like jumping into the lake for the first time and feeling what water felt like when it swallowed you up. Intelligence was a kind of hunger. Helen Keller's touch was soft and gentle, but her determination to know was really hungry and powerful. I felt it. And I knew now that that's what intelligence was – the hunger that the mind has to know things. And this was why she could listen without ears and see without eyes, because her hunger to know was so strong. And I knew that she could do anything she wanted to, because she was so determined. This was the power of intelligence. And she had
a lot
of it. This was the most important lesson I ever learned. In a few seconds of Helen Keller's touch, I learned more than I had learned in all my time at school.

I didn't know what to say, so I told her my name and my age and where I lived. “What else?” she said. “Tell me more.” So I told her that I had a problem learning how to read and write. I didn't mind saying it in front of all of these people, because talking with Helen Keller was so special, and I just kind of knew she would understand. She did. “
I
before
e
except after
c
. I like to use rhymes like that to help me remember how to spell. You can make up your own rhymes, too, to help you remember.”

“
I
before
e
?”

“Yes. The spelling of words with
i
and
e
in them. The
i
always comes first unless there is a
c
in front of it. For example, the word
chief
has an
i
and an
e
, and the
i
comes first because that's the rule. It's the same for the word
thief
. But in the word
receive
, the
e
comes first because it has a
c
in front of it. Do you understand?”

I was trying really hard, but it was too much and too fast for me. “I think maybe I'll have to practise it.”

“Of course! Practice makes perfect! Learning something the first time is like meeting somebody just once. Practising is like becoming good friends. It is a world of difference.”

She said
world
as if she were riding on a merry-go-round. “Tell me a word you are struggling to spell.”

“Eight.”

“Oh, yes. The
g
and the
h
, right?”

“Right.”

“Do you like challenges?”

“Challenges?”

“Yes. Do you like to beat your friends in a race?”

“Yes. When I can.”

“Well, I challenge you to come up with a rhyme for
g
and
h
. I'll give you a hint:
g
always comes before
h
, just as it does in the alphabet.”

“
G
always
comes before
h
?”

“Yes, it does. I can't wait to hear your rhyme.”

When Helen Keller pulled her hand away from my mouth, the sight and sound of our talk disappeared. Without her touch, there was nothing there. It was as if she had gone into another world. She squeezed my shoulder, turned around and walked across the porch. Her hand reached out for the wall at just the right time. She walked close to the steps without falling and reached down and touched the shoulder of Mr. Bell's father as she went inside. I found it hard to believe that she would really be interested in whatever rhyme I could make, but she sounded like she was.

A maid handed me a glass of lemonade. Another maid gave me a cookie from a plate. I sat on the top step and ate the cookie and sipped the lemonade and smiled at Mr. Bell who was smiling at me but listening to his father. Bees were buzzing close to the steps and small birds were flying in and out of the porch while people chatted and laughed in the warm afternoon sun. I never felt so special in all my life, just being here with these wonderful, friendly people.

While I watched a bee buzz close to my lemonade, I thought of how
bee
rhymed with
g
. If I could find a word to rhyme with
h,
maybe I could make a rhyme. Well I tried, but I couldn't find a single word to rhyme with
h
. But I did think that honey started with
h
, because that's how it sounded. Helen Keller said that
g
always came before
h
, as it does in the alphabet. Well bees came before honey because they made honey, so … “as bees come before honey,
g
comes before
h
.” I knew it didn't rhyme, but I thought it was pretty good anyway. Now I couldn't wait to share it with Helen Keller.

When she came out of the house, I stood up, put my glass on the railing and waited for her to come over. Watching her was really interesting. When she pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch, she did everything in the opposite order she had done it on the way in. But this time, when she reached down to touch the shoulder of Mr. Bell's father, he was leaning to the other side, picking through some newspapers. Instead of squeezing his shoulder, her fingers squeezed at air, then touched the chair. She frowned for a second, then she smiled again. I looked to see if anyone noticed, but no one did. She crossed the porch to where I was, but when she reached for the railing, just as she had before, her hand bumped the glass I put down there and it fell into the grass without a sound. I wasn't even sure she knew she had done it, and no one else saw it. In her other hand, she gripped a piece of paper. She seemed a little excited. “Eddie?” She reached out with her hand. I stepped closer. Her fingers touched my forehead, then quickly found my mouth. I answered. “Yes, Miss Keller?”

“I wrote down some words with
g
and
h
so you can practise spelling them.”

She passed me the sheet of paper. I took it and stared at it. The words were written with big letters that looked like they were made by someone learning to write letters for the first time. But they were neat and tidy and much better than I could make them.

“There is freight, weight, night, flight, plough, bough, right, fight, ought, fought, mighty, flighty, tight, sight. That's fourteen. If you learn all of these, I am certain you will never forget the order of
g
and
h
.”

I looked up at her. Did she really expect me to learn all of these? She was smiling and looking back at me, but not
exactly
at me. Her eyes were blue and looked perfect. I didn't know then that they were made of glass. “Thank you,” I said. “I promise to learn them.”

“Wait! I wanted them to rhyme, so you can say them in rhythm, like you're marching. But I need one more.” She reached out for the paper, and I passed it to her. She bent down, pressed the paper against her thigh, took the pencil and slowly wrote one more word. It was messier than the others. But … I couldn't believe it … she wrote it with her left hand! Then she started swinging her arms and raising her knees as if she were marching. “Freight, weight, night, flight, plough, bough, right, fight, ought, fought, mighty, flighty, tight, sight and tough!”

Everyone on the porch was clapping, but Helen Keller couldn't see or hear it. “And do you have a rhyme for me yet, young man?”

“I have one, but….” I stopped. Unless her hand was on my mouth, she wouldn't even know I was speaking. Instantly, it appeared. “I made one, but it doesn't rhyme.”

“And?”

“As bees come before honey,
g
comes before
h
.”

She burst into a smile. “It's perfect! Alec! Alec! Come listen to Eddie's rhyme.”

Mr. and Mrs. Bell came over, stood beside Helen Keller and held her hands. “What is happening?” said Mrs. Bell.

Mr. Bell opened Mrs. Bell's hand and tapped with his fingers as if he were tapping on a table. “Go ahead, my boy,” he said. “We are listening.”

I said my rhyme again.

“Splendid!” said Mr. Bell. “You have got a good teacher.” He smiled and tapped in Mrs. Bell's hand again. I couldn't help staring, I was so curious, and he must have seen it on my face. He winked at me. “Yes, dear Mrs. Bell does not hear either, but she can read your lips from across the porch.” Mrs. Bell looked sharply into my eyes and smiled at me. She really looked like a queen.

After a while, Mr. Bell announced that he, Casey Baldwin and Douglas McCurdy had pressing duties in the laboratory, but urged everyone else to continue enjoying themselves on the porch. I took that as a sign that I should leave. I went to Helen Keller and touched her hand. She raised it to my mouth, and I thanked her for teaching me, and I promised again to learn her rhyme. She held my face with both hands, reached down and gently kissed me on the forehead. If one photograph was worth a thousand words, then one touch from Helen Keller was worth a thousand photographs.

Chapter 9

M
r. Bell, Mr. Baldwin, Mr. McCurdy and I walked together down the lane toward the laboratory. Mr. Baldwin and Mr. McCurdy were a lot younger than Mr. Bell, and I could tell they wanted to go faster, but they walked at Mr. Bell's pace. Mr. Bell smoked his pipe as we went, and he seemed to be in deep thought. For a few moments, nobody said anything. Then Mr. McCurdy spoke.

“I made a model of it,” he said.

“You did?” said Mr. Bell. He raised his eyebrows.

“I'll fly it for you, Doug,” said Mr. Baldwin.

“Not likely,” said Mr. McCurdy. He was grinning. “I'll be flying that aeroplane myself.”

“And the wings?” said Mr. Bell.

“Thin and flat. It's the only way to get the lift we need.” He sounded like he was apologizing.

Mr. Bell shook his head. I had the feeling they had talked about this a lot before. “Too dangerous, boys. Sure, you might get into the air, but you've got to stay there. And don't forget, you've got to come down.” Mr. Bell raised his eyebrows a little higher and smiled.

“Let me show you the model,” said Mr. McCurdy.

“Yes, yes, let's have a look,” said Mr. Bell. Now he sounded almost as excited as them.

At the doorway to the laboratory, we stopped. Mr. Bell let the two younger men go in, then looked down at me and took the pipe from his mouth. I was waiting for him to say goodbye. It was time for me to go home, though I didn't want to. But that's not what he said.

“Come in, Eddie! Come in and see what these ambitious young men are up to.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Bell.” I stepped into the laboratory. I was so glad. I was dying to see the model, too.

The laboratory was just a large shed with windows on one side and tables and benches in the middle. There were tools everywhere and wood and metal against the walls and in the corners. There were wheels, pipes, rolls of canvas, wire, glass bottles, rubber hoses and all kinds of objects and shapes that would be kind of hard to describe. On one end of a long table was the model flying machine. It was about two and a half feet long, made of wood and had rubber wheels. Its wings were even longer and were made of canvas. Mr. Casey and Mr. McCurdy were standing around it, talking excitedly. They had a lot of energy.

Mr. Bell cleaned his pipe before he came over to look closely at the model. Mr. McCurdy waited patiently for him, but I could tell he was anxious for him to see it. Mr. Bell bent down and tapped his pipe into a metal can. He took a small wire and cleaned the stem, then filled the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it. No matter what he was doing, even cleaning his pipe, he was always thinking. You could see it on his face. Watching him light his pipe reminded me of Mr. McLeary trying to light his, just before he dropped it down the well.

Mr. Bell was taller and twice as wide as the young men. He couldn't stand close to the table like they did because his belly was too big. They leaned over the table when they wanted to touch something on the model. He just stood back and listened carefully as Mr. McCurdy explained why the flying machine needed such thin wings. It was the only way it could turn easily in the air, and it was easier to build. And they could make a whole bunch of them, he said excitedly, just like Henry Ford's automobiles or Thomas Edison's phonograph. When he said Thomas Edison, Mr. Bell frowned. “Or the telephone,” Mr. McCurdy continued.

Mr. Bell raised just one eyebrow. He stared hard at the model but didn't say anything yet.

“It's similar to what the Wright brothers have on their plane,” said Mr. McCurdy.

Mr. Bell took the pipe from his mouth. “Yes, but we haven't seen it fly.” Then he looked at Mr. Baldwin. “What do you think, Casey?”

Mr. Baldwin shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. I'd love to see it built full size. It's pretty slick.”

Then Mr. Bell looked at me. “And what do you think, Eddie?”

I was so surprised that he asked me. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to agree with Mr. Bell, but Mr. McCurdy looked so hopeful that I wanted to agree with him, too. “I don't know, either. I guess I think that if I were up in the air in a machine, I'd like to know that I could come back down safely. But I think it looks pretty slick, too.”

Mr. Bell had a big smile on his face. “Looks like it's two against two, Dougie.”

Mr. McCurdy sighed. He reached over, picked up the model and brought it closer to Mr. Bell. With one hand he made the movement of the wind flowing toward the flying machine. “The air comes like this. It strikes the wings here, and the lift is quick and easy, like this.” He raised the model up. “Then, when you want to turn, you just bank, like this, and around you come.”

Now Mr. Bell looked more serious. “The tetrahedral cell, Dougie. That's the way to make the wings strong, yet keep them light.”

Mr. McCurdy sighed again. This time, I got the feeling he was biting his tongue.

“The cell is too busy a design for flight, Sir,” said Mr. Baldwin. “It's got terrific strength for any application on land, and endless possibilities, but it's cumbersome in the air, I think.”

Mr. McCurdy nodded his head to agree. I was surprised to hear them disagree with Mr. Bell. I didn't think that anyone would. Mr. Bell raised his eyebrows again and looked at me, but I couldn't say anything because I didn't know what a tetrahedral cell was. So I shrugged.

“Looks like I'm outvoted,” said Mr. Bell. He kept staring at the model.

“Let me build it,” said Mr. McCurdy, “then you'll see.”

Mr. Bell nodded. “Yes, yes, build it, of course. Let's see what it looks like.”

Now Mr. McCurdy was smiling.

“You build it, Doug, and I'll fly it,” said Mr. Baldwin.

Mr. McCurdy made a face just like one of my friends would. It was friendly, but it meant no. Mr. Bell moved to the other side of the laboratory, and I followed him. He started to flip through some of his notepads, looking for something. It was getting dark outside the windows. It was time for me to go home. Mr. Bell tilted his head toward Mr. McCurdy, who was still standing beside the model with Mr. Baldwin. “Dougie first came here when he was a boy, Eddie, just like you. Look at him now. He's an inventor in his own right.” Mr. Bell stared at me beneath his bushy white eyebrows.

“Tell me, Eddie. Have you decided which has been more useful to you, your successes or your failures?”

I was surprised that he remembered to ask me that. “Yes, Sir.”

“And which would that be?” He squinted until his eyes were almost shut. I could tell that he really wanted to know. But how could I explain that I didn't really have any successes yet? The most successful I ever felt was standing here right now, in this room, with him and Casey Baldwin and Douglas McCurdy. But I wasn't going to say that.

“My failures.”

“And why is that?”

“Because they make me work harder. And working harder makes me feel stronger.” That was true.

Mr. Bell nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed.” From the look on his face I figured he was going to say something serious.

“I must warn you about exceptions, Eddie.”

“Exceptions?”

“To the rule. For every rule, we have exceptions. It's the darndest thing, but it seems to be part of nature, too. Take the rule that Helen just shared with you:
i
before
e
except after
c
.”

I didn't realize he had been listening the whole time. “Yes, Sir?”

“It's a good rule,” he said. “It works most of the time. But how do you spell
eight
?”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. I wanted to spell it right. “
E
-
i
-
g
-
h
-
t
.”

“Right you are! And so, which comes first,
i
or
e
?”

“
E
, Sir.”

He took a puff from his pipe. The smoke made a cloud in front of his face. He squinted and looked through it at me to see if I understood. I nodded my head.

“The good thing about exceptions,” he said, “is that they keep us on our guard. They keep us sharp. And that is surely a good thing.” Then he winked. “Good day to you, dear lad.” He slapped me on the back, turned and went back to the other men.

“Good day, Mr. Bell.”

“Good day, Eddie,” said Mr. Baldwin and Mr. McCurdy. They raised their heads, waved and dropped them again. They were anxious to keep discussing the model. I would be, too, if I were them. I wondered how long it would take Mr. McCurdy to build the real flying machine.

“Good day,” I said, and went out the door. I closed it carefully. As I walked away, I could hear Mr. McCurdy's voice as he continued trying to convince Mr. Bell of the flat wings. I went to the end of the path, around the little cove and back across the beach. It was really dark now. I was late for supper.