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“Tell me your name. That’s what I want to hear.”
“Tell me … yer name …”
“No. What is your name?”
“Nooo … what esss yer name …”
“Sylvia, you’re doing wonderfully well today. But do try to think about the reasoning behind what I tell you. Everyone and everything must have a name, or else we wouldn’t know what to call one another, or how to know a chair from a lamp. Take me, for instance. My name is Audrina.”
“Mah … name … esss … Aud … dreen … na.”
“Yes, my name is Audrina. But your name is Sylvia.”
“Yesss … mah … name …”
I picked up the hand mirror the First Audrina had on her small dressing table, held it before Sylvia and pointed. “See, in the mirror, that is Sylvia.” Then I held the mirror so my face was reflected, and again I let her look so she could see what I was trying to impart. “That is Audrina in the mirror.” At the same time I pointed to myself. “Audrina.” I pointed to myself, then put the mirror so she could
see her own face. “That is Sylvia. You are Sylvia.”
Some flickering small light lit up her lovely aqua eyes. They widened and focused on the mirror. She grabbed for it and stared at her reflection, holding it so close her nose was mashed against the glass. “Syl … vee … ah. Syl … vee … ah.” Over and over again she said it, laughing, jumping up and dancing awkwardly around the playroom. Hugging the mirror hard against her small chest, she glowed with happiness. Finally, after many repetitions, she said it right. “My name is Sylvia.” I ran to hug her, to kiss her, to reward her with the cookies I’d hidden in a drawer.
I turned with the cookies to see that all happiness had fled from Sylvia’s eyes. Sylvia was frozen. Her eyes unfocused, her lips gaped and the spittle ran. Once more she went mute.
Vera stood in the doorway.
She wore the expression of an angel, so pious as she looked us both over. Lambs for the slaughtering, I thought irrelevantly.
“Go away, Vera,” I ordered coldly, hurrying to protect Sylvia. “I’ve told you before not to come up here when I’m teaching Sylvia.”
“Fool!” she snapped, striding into the playroom and sitting down in the rocking chair. “You can’t teach an idiot anything. She’s just repeating what she hears you say, like a parrot. Go help Billie in the kitchen. I’m so damned sick of preparing meals and cleaning house. My God, it seems nobody does anything in this house but eat, sleep and work. When do you have fun?”
“When the work is finished, Vera,” I answered angrily. I caught hold of Sylvia’s hand and started for the door. “Rock in the chair, Vera. I’m sure nothing I’ve seen there would make you scream—for you’ve known it all, the whole can of worms.”
Screaming like a demon straight from the pits of hell, my small sister ran to hurl herself at Vera. She tore into her, scratching, kicking, and as Vera tried to ward her off, Sylvia clamped her teeth down on Vera’s arm.
Violently Vera slammed Sylvia to the floor. “You screwy little idiot! Get out of here! I’ve just as much right in this room as you have!”
I ran to save Sylvia from more harm as Vera raised her foot to kick, aiming for Sylvia’s pretty face. But before I could reach her, Sylvia rolled out of harm’s way. In so doing her shoe caught behind Vera’s foot and threw her off balance. Vera crashed to the floor like a felled tree. Then came the howls of pain.
Even before I knelt to check, I could tell from the grotesque position of her left leg that Vera had again broken it. Damnation! The last thing we needed was an invalid to wait on.
Fretting and fuming, I paced the Roman Revival room as Arden and Papa came home carrying Vera with another cast on her broken leg. Her black eyes met mine, challenging me as one of her arms encircled Arden’s neck. The other was around Papa. They supported her on the cradle they made with their arms.
“Audrina,” said Arden, “run for pillows to stack behind Vera’s back. She’ll need others to raise her leg above her heart level. She’s got to wear that thing seven to eight weeks.”
Slowly I gathered several pillows from other sofas and stuffed them behind Vera’s back. Arden tenderly lifted her heavy casted leg and put four more pillows under it. Her red toenails wiggled like little warning flags as he tended to her.
“How did Vera fall, anyway?” asked Billie that night as I helped her prepare dinner.
“An accident. I heard Vera tell you that Sylvia deliberately hooked her foot behind her ankle, but I was there and it was an accident.”
“It was not an accident!” screamed Vera from the other room. “The brat did it deliberately!”
“Audrina, I hope that’s not true.” Billie threw Sylvia an uneasy glance. Once again Sylvia was riding on the little red cart, speeding down the slick waxed floor of the back hall.
“You know, Billie, both you and Arden find it very hard to believe anything I say about Vera. I don’t mean to be overly critical, but it was the first real breakthrough for Sylvia. I saw her eyes light up with understanding … and then Vera had to show up at the door.”
I heard Sylvia singing as she raced up and down the back hall on that red cart. “Just a playroom … safe in my home … only a playroom …”
