Wehr signs a haiku for him: dog eyes the water / how are you, friend, one question / how’s the moon down there?

“Are you trying to be cruel?” asks Dyson. “You know I could never count syllables.”

“Just to tease,” she says. “Never mind.”

You have to stop thinking of this as a handicap, he signs.

“I can’t even sign that word!” Wehr shouts. “You have to remember that I’m not good at remembering that your world is, is different–”

“How’s the moon down there?” he mocks.

She crosses her arms and turns her face to the wall. He stomps his foot.