“What else?” I shook Peter.
He said that across Park Street throngs of protesters held signs, chanting against the war. “And the sidewalks are crammed with the usual reporters, gawking at the whole scene. There’s O’Rourke, and Danson …”
“The ones who came to my house?”
“The very same. O’Rourke’s a real troublemaker. Let’s steer clear.”
Peter led me across the street; I was set to talk in five minutes, but someone pulled my sleeve.
“Great,” Peter said. “The boys from the Globe have caught up with us. They want to ask you some questions before you go onstage. Danson is first. Watch out for him—he’s a joker.”
“Fire away.”
“All right. He asks if you can tell the color of his coat?”
“It’s blue.”
“Wrong. He says it’s black.”
“Well if he knew, then why did he ask me?”
I felt laughter in waves. But then the air turned heavier.
“O’Rourke’s asking your take on the war.”
“Tell him President Wilson is as blind as I am.”
Then Peter leaned forward, his hands tense. “O’Rourke’s a real crank. He says you have no right to speak here, no right to speak out against the war.”
“What he means is how can I, blind and deaf Helen Keller, have any thoughts worth hearing about something I can’t see. That’s his point, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“Let me finish his sentence then—I’ve heard it only about a hundred times before. He’s saying, ‘Has Miss Helen Keller experienced war? Has she seen the battlefields, heard the soldiers’ cries?’ He wants me to stay away from topics of national interest and stick to the sole topic allowed me: blindness. Am I right?”
“Right as always, my pet.”
America’s leading newspaper editors said over and over that because I was deaf and blind I could have no real knowledge of politics and the world. When I wrote about anything besides blindness or deafness they said, “Why, Miss Keller, thank you for your lovely article on the state of our economy. But we don’t want to hear your opinions on labor, jobs, or peace. Better minds than yours are working on those subjects. But please, won’t you enlighten us on what it’s like to live in the dark?”
Do they think that just because I can’t see or hear I don’t have a brain? I am trained to think, and unlike most editors I know, I can do so in five languages. I read papers daily in German, English, Italian, and French. I’ve read both Marx and Engels in German Braille. I dare any of them to surpass that.
I felt O’Rourke’s footsteps on the sidewalk.
“Peter,” I said, “ask Mr. O’Rourke if he has read Le Monde lately? I certainly have. Would he like me to update him on firsthand reports from the front?”
“He says he doesn’t speak French.”
“Oh, then maybe the report from yesterday’s Der Spiegel?”
“No, not German either.”
“A shame. Tell him it’s easier for me to learn about the world because I can read all night in the dark.”
O’Rourke’s footsteps were behind us when suddenly Peter moved away and I stood alone, unanchored, with the crowds of people bumping and jostling past me. When he returned he took my arm. “The coast is clear. That O’Rourke kept buzzing around. I told him to get lost.”
“You’re my hero.”
“But do you know what O’Rourke said next?”
“No.”
“He said that I’m the one who’s lost.”
“He’s just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“He’s chasing you for a story while you’re heading onto the stage with me.”
“Right. I’m next to the beautiful Helen Keller while he’s filing stories people stuff in windows all winter to keep out the chill.”
The cheers of the crowd were so strong, I felt them in the air as we approached the stage area. “Jesus, Helen, they’re stamping their feet. The crowd is all riled up, and I’ve got to get through this mess. Let’s take a minute.” We stepped off the path and moved behind a grove of trees. “Helen, my dear, if I get you through this I believe I deserve a raise.”
“A raise? How about this.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
“Well, that’s one kind of raise. But I meant the cash kind. Do you realize what I need to do before we leave here today?”
“I have the feeling I’m about to find out …”
I felt him tick his fingers together. “I’ll strong-arm my way through your adoring crowds, then call out your words from the stage. When it’s all over I’ll get you out of here safely.”
“Your work never ends.”
He plunged through the crowd, me by his side, and we began to climb the stairs to the stage. “Watch your step. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
But neither of us would come out of this unscathed. I had violated my word to Annie, lied to Mother, and Peter had become something of a joke among some of the reporters. But I was at his mercy. If he had regrets, I couldn’t bear to hear them. So I turned and smiled at him. “Lead on,” I said, and he lifted me, in one fell swoop, over the last step and onto the wooden stage.
As I spelled my words to Peter he called them out to the crowd. “Rumors have begun to spread about this war,” I said. A wave of applause rippling, moving the air. “Rumors that this war is just, that it is necessary, or called for, for us to intervene in the lives of other people when they have the right, the need, to stand on their own two feet.”
“Helen,” Peter spelled rapidly. “You’re departing from our speech. The one we wrote together in Wrentham.” But I went on pressing my words into his palm.
“These countries were our friends, and we respected their independence,” I said. I stood still while Peter repeated the words, then I went on: “Then the imperialists came in, demanding they bow down. It is their right to determine their own futures, their right to make decisions on their own.” I felt Peter’s arms as he began to rouse the crowd. “It is our absolute need to let them determine their own futures, whether we like their futures or not.”
“You tell them, Helen.”
The audience burst into rousing applause.
On stage I am the center of the universe. Wherever I am—Boston Common, Carnegie Hall, or under the burning sun of Colorado’s Rockies where dust swirls and wind whips my face—on stage I am in control. Yes, I still need a guiding hand’s help to cross a strange room, to comb my hair, to put on the right clothes, to leave the stage gracefully. Yes, I need Peter or Annie to translate my words, to make them ring out to the crowd, but it is the one place where I am surer of myself than any other. It’s the place where I have a voice, and with any luck it would soon be Peter’s most important place, too. Beside me.
Applause flowed over us and Peter held my hand tight. The thrum of floorboards told me the crowd was inching closer. “Let’s get a move on, missy. We’d better make a run for it, or they’ll keep us here all day.”
“Yes, boss.” A jolt of happiness running through me.
“Hold on.” I felt him wrap his arms around me, leading me down the back steps to avoid the crowd. But they surged forward so forcibly that even with Peter protecting me, when we pushed our way through them behind the stage, they tore at my dress. Peter tried to push people back, but the crowd was too much for one man. I felt the press of people around me, and I felt myself about to fall. Finally, two strong hands on my shoulders and I was pushed free of the crowd.
“You’re my hero,” I exhaled.
“They’re your heroes,” Peter said.
“Who?”
“The policemen lined up outside. They got the crowd under control; they’re keeping this rowdy bunch of Keller worshipers at bay. Not me. I could use a cup of coffee,” Peter said. “There’s a café right across the street.” He hustled me into the café, where we sat across from each other.
“Peter. Let’s get married, today, here.”
&n
bsp; “What? You want to take your sacred vows in a coffee shop?” He laughed.
“No. At Boston City Hall. We’ll be there for our license and—”
“The license takes two weeks. It can’t move any faster than that. As soon as it comes to your house in the mail, believe me, Helen, we’ll marry.”
But I had the distinct sense that if it didn’t happen now, something would prevent it. “It has to be today,” I repeated. “Can’t you …” I fumbled in my purse, found my leather wallet. “Here.”
“Why, Miss Keller, are you trying to buy me?”
I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. I always kept one tucked into my wallet for emergencies.
“Or are you asking me to bribe a public official?”
“I’m asking you to … make things happen.”
“I’m shocked at the things you know.”
“No, you’re not.” I slid my hand into his pocket. “Peter, today, if you can.”
“A Socialist I am, a lawbreaker I’m not. Sorry, Helen. We’ll wait two weeks, then we’ll tie the knot.”
Was Peter stalling? No. I was the one who needed to move fast. Because Peter couldn’t foresee what life would really be like with me. Caring for me every day might begin to seem like a burden. How I wished, for one moment, to be a regular person, less of a responsibility, “normal.”
And at that point Peter did not really know the toll I would take on him. The longer we delayed, the more likely he would realize. I could not take that chance.
I wanted him to marry me before he found out.
Peter led me through the coffee shop door.