Joe Peters by Cry Silent Tears Read Free Book Online Page B

in my head. I tried to say, ‘I want to see my dad’, even though I knew the words would earn me another beating, but as I struggled to find them my tongue would stumble. Wally was the first to notice that I was stuttering.
    ‘I’m worried about Joe,’ he said to Mum.
    ‘What’s fucking wrong with him now?’ she wanted to know.
    ‘He’s not talking.’
    ‘It’s probably a throat infection,’ she said. ‘He’s fine.’
    Over the following week the stutter became worse and worse. By the end of it my brain had completely lost control of my voice and I fell totally silent, unable to form even single words like ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘help’. Mum thought at first that it was just me messing about and being difficult but eventually she had to admit that Wally might have a point and agreed to take me to see the doctor. Sitting in the surgery she related my story to him, giving it all the necessary drama and pathos to make it clear that she was really the one who was suffering the most, having lost her husband and been left with six children to bring up.
    ‘The poor boy was there to witness it,’ she told him, her voice catching on the tears she was pretending toswallow back. ‘He saw his lovely father going up in flames in front of his eyes, just a few weeks ago. The two of them were so close, it’s hit him hard.’
    The doctor examined me and listened to everything she had to say and then explained what he thought had happened.
    ‘I believe Joe has been struck mute from the shock of what he’s witnessed,’ he said gently.
    He was obviously as concerned about upsetting her as he was about whatever was wrong with me.
    ‘William was such a good husband and father,’ she started up again. ‘This is a tragedy for the whole family, but especially for Joe. And now my little boy has been struck dumb as well. How long will it be before he can talk again and get back to his normal self?’
    ‘It could just be a short-term condition,’ the doctor said doubtfully, obviously not having a clue. ‘Or it could be a long-term problem. We’ll just have to see how things develop.’
    By the time we left the surgery the penny had dropped in Mum’s head that I actually had become mute, and it wasn’t just an act. She was partly annoyed with me for causing her yet more inconvenience and for trying to draw more attention to myself, but I suspect there was a part of her brain that was already beginning to see the possibilities, even at that stage. If I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t tell any tales.
    It would be four and a half years before I was able to speak properly again and by striking me mute my brain had finally delivered me completely into Mum’s power. I was totally helpless. Now that I couldn’t speak, my frustration grew even greater, exploding out into uncontrollable physical tantrums and I started hitting furniture, throwing things and kicking doors in my silent rages. I didn’t realize it, but the worse I behaved the more I was playing into Mum’s hands, proving just what a difficult child I was and what a wonderful woman she was to be bringing me up on her own, especially when she had so many other children to care for at the same time.
       
    Mum actually seemed to enjoy violence, relishing watching it almost as much as she relished doling it out herself. She used to rig up a sort of boxing ring in the second lounge at the house and make my three oldest brothers fight each other, with her as their coach and cheerleader as well as their audience. The room was not as smart as the rest of her home since she displayed all her best furniture in the other lounge. It was a part of the house that no one from outside the family would ever be invited into. It contained just an old fire and a tatty settee and chair. It would have been a comfortable ‘family room’ if we had been the kind of happy family to have such athing. It was certainly a place where Mum could relax and unwind and not worry if there was