"Susan," I said loudly. "Susan! Play 'Sheik of Araby.' " Susan continued playing "Wells Fargo Wagon" from The Music Man.

"I don't think she knows 'Sheik of Araby,' " I told Gina.

"Goody. Let's play it and see if she can memorize it." "All right," I replied, even though Mrs. Felder had never said whether it was okay to touch the stereo. I took the record from Gina, put it on the turntable, and practically shouted, "Listen, Susan! Here's 'Sheik of Araby.' It's a new song." As soon as the music came on, Susan stopped playing. She sat quietly at the piano, her head cocked, as if she were concentrating very hard. In the middle of the song, the old record began to skip. It skipped six times before I could rescue it. A few moments later the song ended.

"Okay, Susan, play 'Sheik of Araby,' " said Gina bossily.

Hesitantly, Susan began to play - and then to sing. The first part of the recording had been only music, with a lot of different instruments. Not only did Susan translate the piece to music for the piano, but she came in right on cue with the words.

"How does she do that?" asked Gina.

I'd asked myself the question about a million times, but I hadn't found any answers.

Susan played on until near the end of the song when suddenly Gina and I heard her sing, "All the stars that shine above with light, will light, will light, will light, will light, will light, will light our way to love . . ." Susan had played and sung the skips as if they were part of the actual song. So she really did just memorize what she heard. The music and the words didn't have any meaning for her. I felt achingly sad all of a sudden.

But not Gina. Gina began to laugh. "She played the skips!" she hooted. "I don't believe it. She played the skips! Boy, this was really worth it." "Worth what?" I asked suspiciously.

Gina looked alarmed.

"Worth what?" I repeated, as Susan began "Sheik of Araby" again.