It was falling off the swing that did it, said the doctors. It was falling on her head from such a great height. So, unfortunately Caitlin would never be able to hear again although it was a mystery why she’d stopped talking. Anyway, the doctors could recommend a good place to learn lip reading and sign language.
Caitlin couldn’t sleep during her three days in hospital because of all the static. On the fourth night it cleared a little and through it she heard the cries of the dying and the reassuring murmurs of the gatherers who’d come to take them away.
At home she lay awake listening to the scratching of mice in the walls, the soft-footed prowl of wild cats, spiders spinning their webs, the passage of a leaf from the tree to the earth, the heart-beat of a newly hatched lark.
At the school for the deaf the teachers told Caitlin’s parents that she couldn’t seem to grasp the basics of sign language. But they would persevere. It was important for her quality of life.
In her garden Caitlin liked lying on the grass watching tiny creatures going about their business. She loved listening to their songs and when she learnt the music she joined in. They told her she had the sweetest voice they’d ever heard.
The only option now was institutional care, the doctors said. Her quality of life was suffering. Until it could be arranged they must confine her to her room. Bolt the doors. Fasten the windows.
Caitlin woke to owl hoots and moon song and saw the gatherers waiting in the garden. She asked them how she could leave. They reached through the window and took her hands in theirs and showed her how locks and bolts were no obstacle.