Remembering happier days appears to be a special privilege of the deaf!
CHAPTER XVII
“The Terror That Flieth by Night”
The Terror that Flieth by Night—’Gene Wilson in the Dark Silence—How He Fought off Insanity—Childhood Fears—The Cat in the Garret—The Blind and the Deaf at the Dark Railroad Station—A Georgia Experience.
The sense of utter helplessness and the heart chill which envelop a deaf person suddenly plunged into darkness are indescribable. For example, of course, I know perfectly well that the darkness does not of itself carry evil or extra danger; I have come through it repeatedly without harm, yet in spite of all that I can think or do I invariably experience an instant of paralyzing fear. Persons who have never known perfect hearing do not feel the full terror, I think, but there is tragedy in the sudden withdrawal of light for those who have gradually, perhaps imperceptibly, come to substitute eyes for ears. They may recover their mental poise after a moment of mental struggle but for a brief space, before they can adjust the mind, they will come close to insanity. I can assure you that at such a time the moments are hours.
I know of at least one deaf man, a farmer, who will vouch for the truth of my statements, though you with good ears may contend that it is fantastic to be so affected. ’Gene Wilson had come to depend on his wife and children as interpreters in his communications with others. Many a deaf person has lost the habit of listening, of paying close attention, through his perfect confidence in the family interpreter. In any case, many men of middle-age are inclined to shirk the responsibility of effort if they can find some one willing to assume it. The deaf man loses his will to hear if not his actual hearing, the man of middle years thus is inviting old age; both by effort could extend the “years of grace.” ’Gene Wilson had sent a car load of potatoes to the city and had followed to sell them, with his wife and little girl. During the crowded noon hour he attempted to cross Broadway at Forty-second Street. A policeman stood on guard to direct the traffic, but ’Gene did not understand the signals. He tried to run across just as a big car started uptown—of course the policeman shouted, but ’Gene could not hear him. The driver could not stop in time and the deaf man was smashed to the ground, where he lay stunned and bleeding. There was the usual call for an ambulance, and ’Gene was hurried to a hospital. The deaf do not cry out when injured or frightened; probably they lose the habit of this form of expression since they do not hear others use it. Instead there comes a whirling, a roaring of the head and a sort of mild paralysis of the brain, but when this clears away it leaves the mind most acute and active. ’Gene Wilson lay in this half-dazed condition, conscious only of a fearful pounding at his brain. The doctors questioned him, but he did not hear. They finally put him down as idiotic or at least half-insane. Several deaf friends have told me how this label was attached to them when they met with accidents while among strangers. One can scarcely blame hurried, over-worked hospital doctors and nurses for paying scant attention to such cases, and the afflicted must suffer.
So they bandaged poor ’Gene’s head in such a way that his eyes were covered. What difference could seeing make to a half-wit? How were those doctors to know how much more the blessed sunshine meant to this deaf man than it could possibly mean to them? And then ’Gene’s mind suddenly cleared. His head was racked by pain and the roaring still sounded in his ears, but he remembered back to the moment before the accident—and now he found himself suddenly helpless, in the darkness. He forgot the usual caution of the deaf and shouted! The nurses came running and tried to make him understand, but a new terror possessed him. He tore at the bandages which covered his eyes, but strong hands held him back; he fought with all his power, lying there in the darkness and the silence, but how were the nurses to understand that he was only fighting for the sunshine? None of their explanations pacified him, so they strapped his arms securely to the bed and held him a prisoner. Who knows what their report might have been?
’Gene Wilson tells me that a full thousand years of torment were crowded for him in the next half-hour. He thinks that Dante missed one act in his description of life in the infernal regions! ’Gene says that frightful shapes stepped out of the shadows and seemed to lead him along a lonely road, up close to a great house with transparent sides through which he could look upon the grotesque shapes which dwelt therein. Part of his mind seemed to know that it was the home of insanity. Faces peered at him through the windows; some stared in a stupor of melancholy, others showed grinning deviltry or hateful sneering, and all were waiting to welcome him! And all around poor ’Gene were kindly souls eager to help him and to draw him away from the awful place, but he could not make them understand that he was not insane—only deaf.
“You may believe it or not,” says ’Gene, going on with his story, “but as I stood there struggling to get rid of those shapes at my sides my mind searched for a strong, sane picture which should counteract the spell of the evil ones. Suddenly there came to me the Twenty-third Psalm, which as a boy I had committed to memory. It had been lying forgotten at the back of my mind, but at that awful moment it returned complete and distinct. I lay there quietly, repeating the words over and over.