If You Believe

I stepped off the bus from Ullapool at the Inverness Station. 

Checking my watch, I saw I had four hours to kill before I caught the bus to London.

With this large block of time on my hands, I set out on a mini-walking tour of the city. Stopping in at little shops, I found a few souvenirs I could take to friends back home. 

Some Nessie tea towels and soup ladles, and several Nessie magnets and coffee cups filled out most of my omiyage gift buying list.

Laden with Nessie-belia, I proceeded to walk the town. Eventually, I found myself standing before a large, brand-new Ikea store. What caught my attention wasn’t the store, however. On the top floor was a food court with windows all the way around.

I rode the elevator to the top and found a concession that served decaffeinated coffee. Cup in hand, I proceeded to a table near the windows so I could look down on the city.

Seating myself, I sipped my coffee while I surveyed the buildings that stretched off into the distance.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed two very attractive 30-something women talking. Well, not talking, really. They were using sign language.

I’d retired two years ago from working for 24 years assisting students with disabilities at the University of Hawai‘i. Although the majority of students I’d worked with had invisible disabilities, I had assisted a few deaf and hard-of-hearing ones.

These women were probably not using American Sign Language, and even if they were from the U.S., I’d not worked long enough with deaf students to learn much of the language.

The women noticed me watching them. They turned to each other and smiled while briefly signing to each other, then turned back to me, both giving little hand waves.

Smiling, I waved back to them.

One of the women gestured to me to come join them at their table.

Hesitant at first because I was afraid I’d not be able to talk with them, I was about to shake my head no, when one of the women said, “We won’t bite.”

Despite her Scot’s accent, I could tell from the way she pronounced the words, that she either had some hearing or had lost her hearing sometime after she learned to speak.

“Okay,” I said, standing and bringing my coffee and Nessie stash with me. 

The other woman smiled and mimicked clapping.

I sat and, as is often the case when I travel, the first woman said to me, “Is that a Hawaiian shirt.”

“Yes, it is.”

The second woman signed to her.

“Amelia is asking if you’re from Hawai‘i.”

Turning to Amelia because etiquette dictates that you speak to the deaf person, not her interpreter, I said, “Yes, I am. Where are you folks from.”

Amelia signed first. The other woman said, “Amelia wants to know if you surf.”

I smiled. “No,” I said to Amelia, “I don’t, unfortunately.”

“I’m Kathy, and we’re sisters,” the woman said, gesturing back and forth between them. “What’s your name?”

“Lanning,” I said, “like planning without a P.”

They both laughed. I was surprised that Amelia did. Maybe she could hear. But I didn’t want to ask that, thinking it would be discourteous to do so.

“So where are you from?” I asked them.

There were both Inverness-ies, born and bred.

“That sign language you use, I know it’s British Sign Language, right? 

Not American Sign Language.”

“That’s right,” said Kathy. “How do you know that?”

I explained to them that I’d worked in the disability services office at UH Mānoa.

Amelia signed to Kathy. Kathy said, “We both think that’s great. It’s not often we meet people who know about deaf culture.”

“Of course,” I said, “I don’t know a lot about it, but I’m aware of it. In the states, in the deaf community, they take great pride in their culture.”

Amelia signed to Kathy. “Amelia says we do here as well. It’s not that we close ourselves off, but we are a very close-knit group.”

 Amelia signed something else. “No,” said Kathy, “I don’t think he’ll put you in his suitcase when he goes home.”

All three of us laughed.

“What’s in that bag?” Kathy asked.

“Oh,” I said hauling it up on the tabletop, “it’s a bunch of Loch Ness monster stuff to take home for friends.”

Amelia clapped again and smiled. Then she signed to Kathy. “Amelia asked if you went on the boat ride to look for her.”

I explained that I had the last time I was here, the year before.

Amelia signed again. “She wants to know if you saw Nessie?”

All three of us laughed. “No, I can’t say I did.”

“That’s too bad,” said Kathy. “You came at the wrong time.”

This gave me pause. It didn’t sound as if she was kidding.

“Sorry,” I said, “what do you mean, the wrong time?”

“Well, if you came at the right time, you could see her,” said Kathy.

I gave her a skeptical smile. “You folks are kidding, right?”

Amelia shook her head ‘no’ and signed to Kathy.

“No,” said Kathy, “we’re not. If you come here at the right time, you can see her. But only locals know the date. For outsiders, it’s pure coincidence if you see her. She only appears one day a year, and if you believe in her, then you can see her too. We can tell by everything you bought that you must truly believe Nessie exists.”

I sat back and looked from one to the other. Truthfully, I hoped that Nessie was real. I didn’t say this.

Amelia was smiling and nodding. Kathy’s expression looked dead serious.

“Okay,” I said, “now I know, come on, this is a joke, right?”

Amelia signed. “Oh no,” said Kathy. “If you’re Inverness born and bred, you will see her on that one day a year. And people from outside our community will only see her on that day if they truly believe she exists.”

Deciding to play along, I asked, “So what day of the year is it?”

Amelia signed. Kathy nodded. 

“We can’t tell you,” she said.

Amelia signed. “If we did, we’d have to kill you.”

They both laughed. I was getting a little uncomfortable. All of a sudden it felt that if any joking were going on it was some inside kind. 

Back home, if you use that ‘If I told you I’d have to kill you’ line, everyone knows it’s a joke. Maybe Inverness ladies were in some CIA-type organization. They didn’t appear to be kidding at all.

“Ah, well,” I said, “that’s too bad.” I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my bus will be leaving pretty soon. Time to go.”

The two odd women stared at me. I backed away from the table, waved, and then turned toward the elevators. 

I never looked back.

When I stepped out on the street, I was shivering a bit. It wasn’t cold out. They’d scared me some.

All of a sudden, I remembered I’d left my Nessie omiyage at the table. I debated whether I should go back up and get it. Did I want to see these weird sisters again?

“Ah hell,” I said aloud. It was a lot of money, and although I still had plenty of time to shop again if I didn’t want to face them, I turned around and rode the elevator back up.

“Just go over there, grab the bag, and leave,” I muttered.

When the door popped open, I stepped out and walked toward the table. I could see my bag sitting on it, but the two deaf women were gone.

When I grabbed the bag, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

I picked it up. It was a message: ‘If you really and truly believe, you can see her on November 20th.’

This sent a tremendous shiver down my spine. If I came back, and if I believed, I could see Nessie on my birthday. How did they know that date? And what were the chances of that one special day a year being the day I was born?

Now, completely freaked out, I picked up my pace and pounded the elevator button several times. While I waited, I scanned the restaurant for the two weird sisters. Thankfully, they were nowhere to be found.