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7. Benny
- Gallaudet University Press
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7 Benny And this is the blessing, wherewith Moses the man of God blessed the children of Israel before his death. . . . Of Benjamin he said: The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by Him; He covereth him all the day, and He dwelleth between his shoulders. —Deuteronomy : No one called him Benjamin. He was Ben, or sometimes Benny. The hearing called him Benny. I called him Daddy Ben. He signed his name Benjamin. And when they called him “Benny the dummy,” my ire rose. Dummies do not make joy. And my father made joy. He massaged his chest, his right hand over his heart, smiling, “Come now, we go to enjoy ourselves.” When my face was downcast, he said,“Smile louder.” I laughed and answered, “You know that smiles don’t have sound.” “Call Momma,” he said. “I will put out the lights and we will have theater show. I will make the show.” The lights were out and it signaled my mother’s entrance into our living room. She moved as she always did, as though she were listening to courtly music, effortlessly, to a quiet inner beat. The World of My Parents “Call Momma!” he insisted. “She is coming, I can hear her.” “I forgot, you are a hearing person.” He cupped his hands over his ears, making me laugh with his exaggerated gesturing. He lit a candle and the glow flickered against the back wall. “Now, all ready!” he shouted in voice. “We go to the zoo.” He splayed his fingers, arched his elbow and created deer bolting across the sky. He turned to watch us as we sat wide-eyed with the wonder of his magic hands. The shadow of his hands galloped across the horizon and horses moved in an arc up to the ceiling and disappeared. We saw roosters fight, and long-necked giraffes nibbling from treetops. We cheered when we saw the elephant’s lumbering trunk slurp imaginary water from his hand. He was wonderful. He blew out the candle and demanded lights. When the lights were up he said, “Now tell me what animal is this.” Our smiles were loud, vocal. We waited in anticipation for his gorilla act. He crouched down, low, lower, and danced around the room, glaring at us in mock rage, picking insects from his fur, snapping them between his fingers, and then, placated, he sat and calmly peeled a banana, eating it slowly. My mother said, “Enough fooling around, now we take the children to the real zoo tomorrow.” Not to be upstaged, Ben insisted on taking us out for a walk. My mother protested, the hour was late. He ignored her protests and said, “Come, Ruth, we will go to find the animals in the street.” I put on my coat, my father his jacket and cap, and we went into the lamplit street. I stood at the door waiting for him; he collected the evening garbage in a large brown paper bag and held [3.137.175.224] Project MUSE (2024-04-17 22:12 GMT) it to his chest. As we walked down the stairs he said, “Don’t tell Momma, I save leftover foods for the dogs, cats and pigeons.” When we got to the alley where the dented metal cans stood, the cats scavenging for scraps scurried away. He grabbed a lid and banged it against a can, creating a loud noise. He sucked his lips together in a welcoming gesture and the cats gathered around, the stray dogs came, and he stood among them, hand-feeding them from our evening meal. The dogs nuzzled against him; the cats arched their backs, ready for attack, fearful of the dogs; yet they all remained. He quieted the cats, throwing scraps to them far from the dogs around his legs. He had no fear of the animals, nor they of him. He gave me a piece of grizzled liver and said, “Now watch me, how I feed a dog, then you do the same.” The liver felt oily in my hand, it smelled of browned onion, but I held it. A large tawny dog with floppy ears came up to my hand and I backed away. “Do not be afraid, the dog wants the food, do not move, just open hand and put it under his nose. He will come, he will never bite you. He will be your friend.” The dog licked the liver out of my hand, then...