Some Whisper, Some Shout

The summer after my first year in college, I got a call from my grandmother asking if I would go with her to spend a few days in Scituate with my Aunt Maddie.  Uncle Jim was having surgery for his gall bladder, she explained, and he didn't like leaving Maddie alone.  Scituate, being a lovely and well-to-do seaside town and it being summer, I immediately said yes even though I didn't know Maddie and Jim well.

They lived in a sweet little bungalow - white picket fence, roses in the yard and a pair of Siamese cats - with a spectacular view of the harbor, where it seemed to me that every sailboat on the South Shore was docked. The lighthouse was in walking distance and everything reminded me of Nova Scotia so I felt right at home.

Aunt Maddie - petite, silver haired and bright eyed, a tidy little woman with delicate features - was about my grandmother's age, I imagined.  They were longtime friends, Eastern Star sisters and proud members of the First Baptist Church of Cambridge until Jim and Maddie had retired to the South Shore.  Maddie welcomed us with open arms, hugs all around and a lunch of cold fried chicken, freshly made potato salad and iced coffee. The little house smelled of vanilla and spices, Maddie laughed often, and the two cats - well bred and well behaved - watched over it all.  With not much to do except keep this elf-like little lady company and explore the village, it was going to be a fine few days I thought.

After we'd finished lunch and been shown our room, Maddie took us to her workshop, a cluttered back room off the kitchen where she worked on her various craft projects and refinished furniture.  Compared to the rest of the house, this was something of a disaster, a jumble of sawdust and paint and tools in no clear order.  There wasn't the slightest hint of neatness here and it reeked of turpentine and old rags.  In the very center of the room, a white gingerbread-ish vanity table sat on spread out newspapers.  It was drawer-less and its built in mirror was cracked with age and abuse.

Can't see it, can you?  Maddie asked cheerfully, What she'll be when I finish her, I mean.

No, m'am,  I told her honestly enough, I sure can't.

I didn't think so, she said with a kindly smile, You can't know what any of them will be til they tell you and not everybody hears when they speak.

I must have looked bewildered because she laughed, a fairy dust kind of sound, light and airy.

Didn't you know that everything has a voice, child? she asked, Some whisper and some shout but......

Madelyn.....I heard my grandmother say warningly and when I turned I saw that she was frowning.

Ah, well, Aunt Maddie said and gave me a wink, Your nana doesn't believe, I'm afraid, never has.  But all things, living or not, have a voice, sweetie.  I just give them names and a way to be heard.  If we don't talk to each other, how would we ever learn anything?

This was such a gentle and generous thought and made so much sense that for a moment I forgot we were talking about furniture and dismissed the idea that my Aunt Maddie might be just the slightest bit off her rocker.  Sheltered, I thought, perhaps a little fanciful, maybe even a tiny bit out of touch with reality but surely not nuts.  She reminded me of the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland, I realized - at least before she had turned into a sheep - an eccentric but simple soul with a kind heart.  So what if she talked to furniture, I decided, we all have our little quirks.  And so what if she thought the furniture talked back, I reasoned, it was harmless.

On our second night - after a fine supper of clams, fresh cold slaw and hand cut french fries - we played a spirited game of hearts and listened to Mozart.  I fell asleep with one of the cats tucked comfortably under my chin and the other curled up behind my knees and the next thing I knew the ship's clock on the mantle was striking twelve.  I sleepily thought again of Nova Scotia where our own ship's clock had kept such perfect time because my grandmother wound it every single morning without fail and then the cats stirred, stretched and hopped down to go in search of whatever cats go in search of in the middle of the night. I was still making up my mind about how badly I needed to pee when I heard a sort of low hum and a soft, fairy dust kind of laugh coming from beyond the kitchen.  There was enough light coming through the kitchen window that I could see the cats, sitting side by side just in front of the partially open workshop door and for a frivolous second or two, I had the notion that they were.......well, listening.  Then, so unexpectedly that it made me jump, the one on the left gave a sudden, sharp meow and I heard Aunt Maddie's voice.

Door's open, Simon, she called, Don't just sit there like a bump on a log.  Bring Jimmy John.

Both cats casually strolled toward the door, elegantly sidestepped around it and disappeared. 

Once I was sure I wasn't dreaming - it wasn't much of a battle, curiosity looked discretion square in the eye and easily won - I slipped out of my sneakers and padded across the room to the kitchen.  The hum was louder now and the voices were becoming more clear. 

I think so too, I heard Maddie say brightly, You''ll be more at home in the antique store and  I'm sure you'll get a place in the window.  There was a pause, followed by a meow, and then a tinkly  little laugh.  

Indeed she will, Simon, Aunt Maddie said, I think she'll fetch a very pretty price.  From the right people, of course.

I took a deep breath and slowly, ever so slowly, pushed on the door.

Maddie, in overalls and a red flannel shirt, was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the white vanity table.  Her silver hair was flecked with sawdust and tied back in a braid and her glasses were filmy with dust. She was meticulously polishing a brass drawer handle and when she looked up at me, she smiled.

Simon told me you were awake, sweetie, she said, Come on in.

I heard voices, Aunt Maddie, I said hesitantly, Who are you talking to?

Why, to the cats, of course, and Alberta, here, she nodded at the white vanity table, We've been discussing her future.  She lowered her voice and gave me a conspiratorial wink.  Between you and me and the fence post, she's had some self-esteem issues.  Comes from being neglected, you know, but we've been working on it.  She comes from England, you see, stiff upper lip and all that.  I don't mind telling you, breaking through that famous British reserve took some doing.

I glanced at the vanity table, half expecting it to nod in agreement, then abruptly remembered it was a vanity table.

This isn't just quirky, I recall thinking, this is a train wreck. She's completely taken leave of her senses.  Mad as a hatter.

Aunt Maddie saw it on my face and sighed.

Tell me, she said, Do you have a cat or dog at home?

I nodded.

Do you talk to them?

I nodded again.

Do you pretend they answer?

Well, yes..... I admitted a little unwillingly, but it's pretend.

Of course, she said reasonably, a great many conversations are.  But if you think about it, pretending is just another way of wishing.  If you give an animal a voice, you make the wish come true. Once I knew how Simon and Jimmy John would sound, I could hear them plain as day.  It was only logical that if they had their own voices, then so did everything else.

I wanted to argue this but didn't know how so I settled for asking what Simon and Jimmy John sounded like.

Aunt Maddie fluttered one hand and laughed.

Simon is soft spoken and quite courteous for a Siamese, she said airily, But I'm afraid Jimmy John is something of a Back Bay waterfront thug.  They're not related, of course. 

It was past midnight and I was having a nonsensical conversation with a mad woman only it didn't feel that way.  It felt rational, sane, and as normal as apple pie and ice cream.  It felt profound and more than a little inspiring.

So what do cats and furniture talk about, Aunt Maddie, I asked as we sat in the kitchen and drank lemonade with sugar cookies in the yellow light of the streetlamp.

Oh, the usual small talk, mostly, she shrugged, what's for dinner, how did you sleep, did you see the sparrow outside the window this morning, their families and their dreams, that kind of thing. Religion and politics are strictly off limits and they're not much for current events so we try to keep it simple.

I laughed out loud and gave her a fierce hug.  She looked a little surprised but hugged me right back, this sweet, generous, patient, free-spirited and open-hearted little woman that I was so glad to have in my life.

She taught me about the things you don't see or hear in life and the undercurrents that swirl all around us even when we don't know it.  She confirmed a theory I was just beginning to see clearly, that no matter whether we shout or whisper, we all deserve for someone to listen.