The Weight of Silence
Sunlight drifted across the wall until subsumed in shadow. It had moved. They had not. The eldest, Richard, was especially proud of Laura, who was only five and could have been forgiven if— . Well, no. Not forgiven. But understood.
That morning, as their youngest sister sat gazing at an untouchable sack of apples, Nora signed to Richard the dreadful thing that they both must contemplate. “It’s to keep everyone safe,” she said.
Richard glanced at the gentle little girl’s braids, laced with purple ribbon. The delicate brown fingers resting on the floor. He could practically hear her tiny heart pumping, overlain with the silvery laugh of yesterday. What was this “everyone” that didn’t include one? He pursed his lips. “She can do it.”
“Be it on you.” The old-fashioned phrase, a direct quote from Mother, did not seem out of place on Nora, who at sixteen already had grey strands in her black hair. He looked away, then stole another glance. She sat erect, grey eyes fixed on the window, but he could tell that he had disappointed her.
He wondered if he had condemned them all. Father’s voice came to mind: “Love can be a fatal weakness, Rich.” Well, so what? So he was weak. But he wouldn’t sacrifice Laura just to prove himself strong. He was charged with protecting the whole family: Nora, John, Margaret, Blanche, and Laura — all of them, not just some.
Now the room began to darken, causing Blanche and Laura to clasp hands. They longed to huddle together, or to press up against Nora, whose calm, large eyes reminded one of a mother owl, but they could not take the risk. Blanche smiled when she felt Laura’s fingertips tap-tap-tapping the start of a word game on her palm. The smile faded quickly. She replied, “We can’t.” The small fingers fell limp. It was unavoidable, for such games tended to accelerate, especially during times of tension and stillness, and Laura might laugh. At nine, Blanche was old enough to foresee such problems.
Then she thought, Laura is a liability. Whence came the thought? Certainly not from her. Someone had put that thought into her head, some devil-devil-demon with a basalt heart, quoth Mother. Remember how, the first time Laura heard it, she asked if “ba-salt” was a seasoning used by sheep! Blanche almost laughed at the memory— an deadly impulse that sent a chill down her back. Her mind stilled. She dutifully held Laura’s hand, no longer needing the comfort herself, and, like Nora, watched the window that brimmed with dark blue clouds glowing in the last gasp of sun.
Margaret’s throat burned with thirst. That was bad enough, but she also felt a nigh-unbearable pressure in her bowels. Urination was less problematic: they had cushioned containers for that, though they drank a bare minimum to reduce the frequency. Defecation, however, was simply forbidden. “What if you can’t help it?” each child had asked. Every time, Mother replied, “Help it.” If asked to elaborate, she would say, “The will is stronger than the form.”
Margaret repeated this to herself now. The will is stronger than the form. The will is stronger than the form. She dug her fingernails into her palm. How many hours to go? This was the longest it had ever been, and the first time without Mother. If it only lasted till next sunrise, she thought she could manage. After that, her will might lose the battle. But what about Laura? If Margaret, age twelve, was struggling, how could a girl of five possibly last the night? And what was to be done?
I saw you, John thought, glowering at the dim forms of Richard and Nora. I saw what you said. He’d always suspected something broken in his sibling, and here was his confirmation, exposed by the most dire circumstance of their lives. Undeniable fact one: there was no end in sight. It could last another hour, or days longer. Undeniable fact two: five is five.
Weak, weak, weak, he thought, waiting for Richard to look away, or to get close to Nora, so that he could warn her that Richard’s command must be overturned. Damn the rules of seniority. This was life or death.
Then it occurred to him that he could send a message through the others, who were closer. But could they be trusted? What if they sided with Richard? Someone might even start a fight, and that would be the end of them all. Stillness was the name of the game. Indeed, if he did not act, nothing would happen — until something did.
He would have to be subtle. Blanche went through Laura. It was a tricky situation, no doubt, but their lives depended on him now that Richard had failed. Think, think! All at once, he knew. He took up Blanche’s hand. “Pass it on,” he tapped, “John to Nora: You are right.”
Blanche shot him a look of confusion, but he trusted that she had passed it on. It had become difficult to see very far. His siblings were mere forms now, signing impossible. Yet he leaned forward to watch down the line, guessing at the pace through Blanche, Laura, Margaret…at last, he saw Nora’s head turn. She nodded. Permission. Richard had not noticed, of course. Soft-headed.
He felt Blanche take his hand once more. “Laura?” she asked. He thrilled with self-satisfaction and pride in his sister.
“Hold her legs,” he replied.
“Understood.”
John rose quietly, moving smoothly behind Laura, who could not comprehend what would happen. Blanche must have said something to her, because she stuck out her legs like an obedient little doll. Easy.
John grasped the wrists in one hand. Blanche wrapped herself around the legs. He cradled the neck in the crook of his arm. Outlined in the dark, Richard was rising, but Nora, too, Margaret, too, in a threat of commotion that barred him like iron. The small body jerked. Hold her, hold her. No, Blanche, don’t back down. Good girl. Strong. And there now. Safe.
Silence weighs thirty-seven pounds.
