Language was the hardest for him. Her vocabulary loss was like the burning of a bridge between them, the severing of a final line of hope. It was sometime after her second birthday receded that Sol tucked her in and, pausing in the doorway, said, “ ’Later, alligator.” “Huh?” “See you later, alligator.” Rachel giggled. “You say—‘In a while, crocodile,’ ” said Sol. He told her what an alligator and crocodile were. “In a while, ’acadile,” giggled Rachel. In the morning she had forgotten.
