Page 20 - WTP Vol. V #2

OI n Voice
six months. The condition itself can’t be fixed. I opt for the exercises, at least for now. I don’t need my voice to project or have normal clarity, since I’ve retired from teaching.
Only mammals have a larynx, which controls air pressure to the vocal cords, and hence volume— a dog’s bark, cat’s meow, cow’s moo, horse’s whinny, a whale’s moan. Instead of a larynx, birds have a bony structure called a syrinx at the bottom of the windpipe. It is surrounded by an air sac, filled from both lungs, and allows them to warble, trill, chirp, cluck, squawk, cry, and shriek. Parrots and parakeets, thanks to their thick tongues, curved beaks, long windpipes, special- ized sets of neck muscles, and keen hearing, manage to imitate the complex sounds of human speech: “Polly wants a cracker!” In snakes, air fills an organ called the glottis, then when forced out, causes parts within the glottis to rattle, which produces the hissing sound.
’d never seen or imagined vocal cords. Heard
about them, of course—the voice box, the larynx. The word “cords” suggests string instru- ments, where a finger pluck or felt hammer causes vibrations at different frequencies, high notes, middle, and low. But here I’m about to
have a medical procedure where the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, having first anesthetized my throat, so there will be no gag reflex, slides down a tiny camera on a wire. The relaxing spray stings at first, but not badly, and tastes tart like pineap- ple. There is a video console on a cart next to my examination chair. She asks me to lean forward, my mouth wide, and works the camera down in- side me. She tells me to swallow; to say AAAAA, to say EEEEE. I do my best, although the wire in my throat feels in the way, and hard.
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***
In the replay of my exam, I see a glistening pink cavern, reminiscent of my colonoscopy video. I don’t see any cords, so much as lumps of muscle. As the muscles clench and relax, they are attached to thin membranes, like wings, and the membrane edges have a thick, whitish fold. As the folds part they reveal a dark opening. The Doctor points
***
and touches the screen. The thickened folds, like
lips, are the so-called cords. Air, pushed out by
my lungs and diaphragm, causes them to vibrate.
My problem, she explains, one common at my
age, is that my cords can’t close all the way. I see
that. The rims have bowed outwards. Humming
in different tones causes the membranes to open
and close, like curtains. For my EEEEE sound, the
curtains should close, but a remaining gap lets
air escape. Hence my wavering and breathiness.
Voice exercises will help, the doctor says, especial- *** ly as I learn to work with vibrations in the mouth
and lips. Another remedy would be Teflon injec-
I listen to my daughter’s voice, which I taped thirty years ago, and play back now for her daughters, aged thirteen and seven. Ruth had
tions, which puff up the vocal muscles and force 11 the cords to meet; but this lasts only for three to
What is it about voices? We recognize those of intimate others in the dark, or on the phone, whether near or far away. The first spoken syl- lable, its timbre, is as familiar as the speaker. “Hey, it’s me,” we say. Friend, family, lover, no one needs to say their names. Sometimes when I have a bad cold, though, my voice drops a register, causing friends to ask is that me? “That doesn’t sound like you,” they say. Electronic instruments can recognize voice prints, which, like finger- prints, are unique. Given a known voice sample, the squiggly graph on the audio file can identify me, or out of the babble of cell phone surveil- lance, Pablo Escobar.
DeWitt henry