Cry Silent Tears: The heartbreaking survival story of a small mute boy who overcame unbearable suffering and found his voice again. Joe Peters

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СКАЧАТЬ the door or anywhere near me. She wanted to keep prying eyes away from what was really happening inside her home, inside the kingdom that she ruled with a rod of iron. If they came knocking she would order them off her property with a stream of threats and obscenities.

      ‘Fuck off out of it,’ she screamed into their faces, ‘or I’m calling the police. Go on, fuck off out of it!’

      She’d always hated them all, particularly Aunt Melissa, and now Dad was gone she felt she didn’t have to put up with any of them sticking their noses into her business any more, telling her how to bring up her children. I was her son and as far as she was concerned it was nothing to do with them how I was getting on. I was more than just her son; I was her sole property now that Dad had gone, to do with as she pleased.

      Within a few days of me arriving, I was told that I was only ever allowed to wear my underpants because I didn’t ‘deserve’ to have any clothes. If I refused to obey any of her orders I would be violently punished, so I quickly learned always to do as she told me.

      I was only allowed to use the bathroom when she said I could so I soon became unkempt and dirty, in contrast to the immaculate cleanliness of the rest of the house. Then because I was so dirty I wasn’t allowed to use any of Mum’s crockery in case I spread my germs and diseases to the others.

      ‘You’ve inherited the “dirty disease” from your filthy fucking father,’ Mum told me. ‘I don’t want you infecting the rest of us.’

      When you’re little you believe whatever your mother tells you, so I assumed it must all be true, that I must be inferior to the others in some way. The fact that I was the family dog became a standing joke and later they bought me a metal dog’s bowl for my Christmas present, laughing happily at their own wit as they gave it to me. It was as though I was there to entertain them. They were constantly thinking up new ways to amuse themselves, like offering me my meal in the bowl and then throwing the food at me anyway, or spitting on it before making me eat it up, saliva and all. They called me ‘Smelly Woof’ when they were pretending I was their pet, and I knew I did smell, mostly of my own wee, which would escape me involuntarily when fear overcame me and I lost control of my bladder. If I had been allowed a bath occasionally maybe I wouldn’t have stunk the house up and made them all so disgusted with me.

      As the days went past a mixture of shock, fear and grief was taking control of my head and sometimes it wouldn’t let the words come out of my mouth. There were so many things I wanted to say but when I tried to talk the muscles in my throat would seem to freeze, refusing to obey me, making me stammer and stutter as I attempted to force the words out. It felt as though someone was trying to strangle me into silence. All I could think about was my dad. I was constantly seeing the pictures of him burning and Mum’s words going round and round 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 to swallow 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 a thing. It was certainly a place where Mum could relax and unwind and not worry if there was some blood spilled on the carpet. There were always curtains drawn across the windows, with nets pulled tight behind them for extra protection against prying eyes. Even if she opened the windows to let in some air she still wouldn’t part the curtains, not wanting anyone from the outside world to be able to glimpse into her private fiefdom and witness what she was getting up to. When she felt like some entertainment she would sit down in that room with a cup of tea, pushing the older boys on and on like gladiators in Ancient Rome, until one of them drew blood.

      ‘Go on,’ she’d jeer at them, ‘punch him! Fucking kill him!’

      If they tried to refuse they would get a beating from her, which would be far worse than anything they could do to each other. It didn’t matter if they were really hurt, she would insist they continued to fight until blood had been spilled, beating them with a garden cane if they tried to stop. She couldn’t allow any disobedience, couldn’t show a single moment of weakness or kindness in case it undermined the terror that she relied on in order to reign supreme over us all. Once one of them was bleeding she would allow him to come out СКАЧАТЬ