EXPLODING IN SILENCE
EXPLODING IN SILENCE 
I was there for several months. This time went by in a similar
manner as that of my time at the Walkers. I wasn't completely in a daze, yet
I was still trapped in my own world. I was chastised by the other children,
laughed at for my lack of hair, and poked at for my silence. Somehow, I just
took it, I didn't fight back, I didn't cry out. I didn't cry at all actually.
It was like all my tears were already shed, and as the months went by, I found
myself deeper and deeper in my silent world. Somehow, I felt that was the only
way I could survive. If I said anything about the men, they would find me and
kill me too. At the same time, I was still scared and sad by what had happened.
The trauma of it all kept me locked inside my own living nightmare. The time
I spent at this orphanage was during the hot months of the summer, when the
inside of the buildings were too stuffy to keep children inside. We mostly we
allowed to play in the yard. Some of the older children worked on people's farms
during the day, helping plough and plant the harvest for the fall. Because of
this, there were no classes, which was sort of nice since thinking was the last
thing I was capable of at that time. It also meant though, that it was more
time for the other boys to pick on me.
Just as the hotter days were ending, towards the end of July, I was in the corner
of the play yard when some of the bigger boys approached. They were so used
to my just sitting there, taking whatever abuse they doled out, that they pushed
me even further than before. I don't really know who said it, or what the others
were doing, but suddenly I heard what I had feared the most, "It's your
fault your family is dead. You should be too... or should I say, you will be
soon!" Suddenly I snapped. I wheeled on them, making a horrid face and
growling and making all sorts of strange sounds while I clawed at the boy like
an animal, but I didn't yell. No real vocal sound came out of my mouth. The
headmistress of the orphanage saw this, and ran to intervene. What I think sealed
my fate at the orphanage was when she separated us. The other boys were surprised
and upset by my reaction, they didn't expect it and were almost afraid of what
I did. I, on the other hand, immediately crept back into my dark, silent world
and acted like nothing had happened. This deeply disturbed the headmistress,
as she saw a child with no conscience or remorse.
A few weeks after this event, a fire broke out when someone left the lantern
on in the barn and a horse knocked it down. While everyone was able to grab
what they could carry as they ran out of the dormitories, suddenly an entire
orphanage of children were without a home, again. The older boys with farm jobs
went to those or other farms as hired hands, and the youngest children were
placed in homes with families all around the region. The rest of the children
were sent to other orphanages in the area... all except the dummy. No one knew
what to do with me, when other orphanages found out about my outburst, they
all assumed I was either crazy or a true dummy. The only place that would take
me was the kind of place that didn't turn anyone away. The headmistress had
a cousin who was a nun in a mission school near St. Joseph. The school was originally
set up to "civilise" the Indians, but with time became a home for
children nobody else wanted. Most of these children there were normal children
and just didn't look like they were going to be adopted, so instead they were
sent to the mission school to be educated before being turned out into the world.
About a quarter of the school was made up by Indians, but they mainly kept to
themselves, learning about the white man's world and pretending to be converting
to the white man's ways and religion, but when they were in their dormitory
or away from the eyes of the nuns, they continued in their native ways.
When I first arrived here, they asked me all sorts of questions about my schooling,
family history, etc. Because I didn't answer any of the questions, all they
had to go on with regards to me was what the Reverend Mother was told in a letter
by her cousin. "So, you are Isaac McSwain, age seven, goes by Ike, and
from Springfield, Missouri. I see you came to both my cousin and to me by very
tragic circumstances." She shook her head sympathetically, "Ah child,
no one, but especially the young, should be witness to such." She looked
at the letter. "You haven't said anything for almost three months. You've
had two years of schooling, so at least you should be able to read and write,
yes?" She paused as if expecting a response, realised I was not going to,
and continued, "Well, we'll put you in Sister Mary's class with the other
children your age and see how you do. Now, Sister Josephine will show you to
the boys' dormitory where you can wash up for lunch. Dismissed." With a
wave of her hand, another nun led me out of the office.
The next several weeks were rather uneventful to say the least. My reading skills
were impossible to determine by Sister Mary, as I wasn't exactly reading out
loud in class, and when we were given time to write, I often wouldn't get past
the first two words before drifting off in space. Because of this, all Sister
Mary thought I could write was my name, "I", and "The."
The children there quickly found me as an easy target to harass, and like the
previous orphanage, I took it with an emotionally blank face, but it didn't
take long before I lashed out again as I had done before. Suddenly, everyone
believed I was an animal, and afraid to touch me for fear of losing their hair
and tongue. Sister Mary gave up on me, seeing me as an unruly dummy who would
be unteachable. Since they had to "teach" me, she made me come to
class but then let me do what I liked in the back of the room. I began to go
to class less and less, and when I did go, I would stare out the window or draw.
Weeks turned into months, and soon a year had gone by. I was still the designated
punching bag with the boys and the focus of all play yard chanting and bullying.
I moved onto the next class with everyone else my age because the nuns thought
being amongst children my age would be better, even though I hadn't learned
anything new. The nuns saw me as a true dummy, completely unteachable, but tried
to do whatever to keep me from "attacking" them. I thought that was
funny, since I never dreamt of attacking them-- I only acted out that way because
I quickly learned it was the perfect defence with the other boys.
Over the next several years, I still didn't learn anything, had only slightly
improved my reading on my own, and lashed out in anger and frustration more
and more, even to the nuns. It was the worst feeling of loneliness I ever knew.
Here I was, a twelve year old with no way of expressing my feelings, no way
of even asking for something as simple as passing a bowl of food to me from
further down the table. I could read at the same level as maybe an eight or
nine year old, and write like a seven year old. I had no friends and was the
one person all the other kids taunted and beat up. Everyone was afraid to get
too close to me for fear of losing their hair and tongue. I would sometimes
go to classes, but for the most part, I found solitude in one of three places:
up a tree in the corner of the school yard, in a dark corner of the dormitory
where my bed and few belongings were, or in the barn, hidden in the back stall
where few ever went except to feed the donkey there. It was in that stall where
I had hidden away a few books, slowly working my way through them, guessing
the meanings of the words I didn't know, which ended up being a lot of them.
Strangely enough, as lonely as I was in my silent world, I also felt most at
ease by myself. As much as I longed for companionship, I had too many fears
of such companions. Aside from not knowing how I would talk with them, over
the years I had convinced myself (with the "helpful" taunting from
the others) that I was cursed, and anything I got close to met with a tragic
fate. My parents and sister were murdered, the old orphanage had burned down,
and over the years I would catch fireflies, caterpillars and such and keep them
in a jar in the barb, but in a day or so, hey always died. In all my time, only
the donkey in that back stall was still alive. But there was another reason
too. I was getting used to being alone in my silent world. When people keep
away for so long, both sides, them and me, just start to naturally stay away.
But despite all this, my one true wish was for a real friend who like me for
me, seeing past the silence and bandana my ma had made for me all those years
ago.
Just after my 13th birthday, my wish slowly started to come true, and my life
began a new path. I was up in my tree in the yard when several of the nuns sat
down under it, seeking it's shady comfort from the summer sun. They didn't look
up, so did not know I was there.
"Have you seen the new boy yet? It took the Reverend Mother almost an hour
to convince the child to take the surname Cross at school."
"Oh yes, and did you see? He's a half breed. Lord knows how hard he'll
have it. Despite all our efforts, we never will completely convert and civilise
the other Indian children. They will surely ostracise him, and he'll find even
less sympathy from the rest of the school. If anything, he'll get as much, if
not more, torment than that Ike!"
"Well, maybe it'll be easier to deal with that Ike then! I swear that child
is a beast!"
"But did you hear? The Reverend Mother is debating whether or not to keep
Ike here. He isn't learning anything and acts out in that crazy way of his.
There is an asylum for children in St. Louis she's looking into that has experience
with crazed dummies like Ike."
"Oh, I hope she doesn't. He really is a sweet child when his guard isn't
up. If you could see him with the donkey when he thinks he is alone, you'd think
that child has been showered with love his whole life!"
"Well I hope she does send him there, donkey or no. You've seen how he
acts out, Josephine."
"Yes, but I think its because its the only way he has to get across anything
that's going through his head--"
"You mean if anything goes through his head!"
"Now, now, imagine never being able to express or verbalise your emotions
and thoughts. It's just-- oh no! Look over there!"
The nuns ran over to another corner of the yard where a circle had formed around
four older boys pushing and beating on the new boy. From my tree, I could see
over the heads. It was odd, usually I was the one in the middle of those circles,
it was strange to see it from outside. The new boy was indeed a half breed,
but you could tell he had lots of pride. He was fighting back with his all and
refused to show how much I knew he was hurting. The nuns broke it up and began
escorting the boy towards the infirmary to clean him up. As they passed by me,
the boy looked up at me, his eyes filled with cautious curiosity at the sight
of me.
After he left, I thought about what was said before. An asylum? Sudden dread
filled me. Maybe I would finally be punished for all the pain and death I've
caused. I quickly decided I would try not to lash out too much, go to class
and actually try to learn in hopes of staying here, which had to be better than
an asylum if Sister Josephine worried about sending me there.
That night, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't
get back to sleep. I snuck out of the dormitory and went to the barn. I tried
to read a chapter of Oliver Twist and then started heading back to bed. I like
Dodger, I wish I could be as brave and daring as him. I bet he never gets beaten
up, I thought as I headed back. My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of
the light on in the infirmary. Maybe it was the new boy. I started sneaking
that way, not sure why he intrigued me so much. Maybe it was because I knew
how lonely he was probably feeling.
When I got to the door, I slowly cracked it, peeking in. I could see him sleeping
in one of the beds. I slowly crept closer, seeing the bruises on him, his arm
in a sling. Too many times I found myself like this, so I knew how he felt.
I was staring at the charm hanging from his ear when his swollen, discoloured
eyes opened and saw me next to him. I jumped back, we stared at each other for
a second or two, and sensing a bit of fear in his eyes, I ran from the room
all the way back to my bed. Even he's afraid of me.
It was another month or so before another encounter between us occurred. Up
to that point, I had heard his name was Buck Cross, although the Indian children
called him Running Buck. He was half Kiowa and was one of the most stubborn
Indians the nuns had ever tried to convert. This stubborn streak and loyalty
towards his Kiowa blood was all that kept him from being beaten up by the other
Indian children, although they didn't like him because of his white half. I'd
see him at meals, sitting in a corner alone, just like I would be as I watched
him. I had also started to make an effort to be good during this time, going
to class everyday and paying attention, much to Sister Margaret's surprise.
When she gave a spelling test to the class, I even tried it, handing in a sloppy
paper. I knew most of the words were wrong and my handwriting was that of a
seven year old rather than a boy of 13, but I didn't care. Seeing the shock
on Sister Margaret's face at the few I got right, and the surprise of my handing
something in at all was satisfaction enough. Surely the Reverend Mother will
hear about this and let me stay here. I lashed out and scared children less
and less, but this was where I was having the most difficulty. When I made strange
growling noises, drooled, made a weird face, and went after the boys, they all
stayed away for a while. But when I tried not to react and just take their abuse
in my emotionally passive way, they thought they had me and would continue until
I finally reverted back to my attack. The nuns saw both sides of me when they
saw the boys attack me. I could only hope they understood why I did those things.
I had no other way.
I was going towards the dining room when I came around a corner and saw the
usual group of bullies once again using Buck, who had become their second punching
bag after me, as the latest victim of abuse. We made eye contact for a second,
and for the first time in over six years I felt like I actually said something.
His eyes looked at me with a pleading and need no one's needed from me in my
life. I looked back and could tell he saw my sympathies, shared pain, understanding,
and loneliness. I immediately took up my "act" and went snarling towards
the bullies, tearing at them with a blind fury. They ran off laughing, but not
before a final kick at Buck's stomach and one good swing at my face. I stopped
and, panting, went to wipe blood and sweat from my face and nose. With the angry,
half-crazed look still in my eyes, blood running down my face and on my hand
and sleeve, I looked down at Buck who was slowly getting up. He seemed to be
in a mix of emotions. Part of his eyes said thank you, but the other half of
him was just as scared of getting near me as the others. He started to say thank
you, but then just half-nodded and ran off down the hall.
Over the next few months, we had other brief encounters like that one, all the
time one of us leaving before the other could say something. It wasn't until
we were 14, nearly a year later, that we stuck around for that first awkward
sentence. Once a month or so, the older kids get to go into St. Jo to help get
supplies for the school. I was never sure if Buck went on these, but I always
hid up my tree or in my stall till after they left for town. It was probably
at these times when Sister Josephine has seen me with the donkey. It seemed
to be the only time when I let my guard down slightly. While I still stayed
away from the other kids who didn't go into town, I was not always looking for
that fist flying through the air, since all the owners of those fists were gone
getting supplies. For whatever reason, I hadn't realised that day was a town
day and was walking across the school yard towards the dormitory when I heard
that distant call, "Ike! Ike McSwain get in here!" I froze in my tracks.
Could it be? It was muffled and didn't sound like her, but it did. I always
felt I was trapped between my silent world of memories and the one I was living
in, and somehow, this voice was somewhere in between as well. A hand rested
on my shoulder, and I wheeled around quickly, shaking the hand off at the same
time, a look of total caution and terror on my face, not sure if I was trapped
in the nightmare of that fateful day so long ago or about to face another beating.
I found standing in front of me, neither. Instead, I saw the face of a startled
Sister Josephine. "Ike, calm down, I'm sorry to startle you." I shook
my head and looked down. "Ike, the boys are going into town for supplies,
you need to get on the wagon to help, please." I was about to shake my
head and back away in some attempt to protest, when I saw Buck being made to
get in the wagon as well. I don't know why that made the difference, but I then
found myself being led by Sister Josephine to a wagon, but not the one Buck
was in. Well, at least I'm not the only one being made to go. I sat down in
the wagon and tried to ignore the other children in the wagon with me as they
tried to sit as far away from me as possible. I focused on the moving landscape
the whole way to town rather than hear the snickering and whispering going on
around me as the kids exchanged rumours about what I was, what had happened
to me, and what would happen to them if they were unlucky. The feeling of loneliness
and isolation once again settled in.
We reached town and helped the sisters get the supplies needed loaded on the
wagons. They then told us we had an hour to spend in town before the wagons
went back to the school. Kids ran off in all directions, each seeing how much
money they could have when combining. Because I wasn't planning on going to
town, I didn't have any money, which meant I really had nothing to do for an
hour. I could have thought of a thousand things to do other than wander around
the streets, being stared at, talked about, and pointed at. I got enough of
that from the kids at school, I didn't think I could bear strangers doing it
to me too. I tried to find a quiet side street or alley near the wagons where
I could sit and wait the hour out instead. I thought I found an empty alley
and started down it to sit down when I heard the all too familiar sound of painful
grunts and fists hitting flesh. After walking a bit further in and adjusting
to the shady light, I saw several of the town's boys and young men beating up
Buck. "You damned half breeds just don't learn too well, do ya boy?"
One man said as he dealt a heavy blow to Buck's stomach, causing him to double
over, feet off the ground, before his body landed with a thud. Another man went
to kick Buck, "That damned school takes in all you scum, don't they? Someone
should teach them how pointless their jobs are. Ain't none of us ever gonna
hire any of yous!"
I don't know why this time was different from the others, but I suddenly felt
the urge to help defend Buck and the school. While I hated it as much as the
next person, they were the only place that took us and the only place we had
to go. The nuns could have put me in an asylum last year like I heard them say,
and while my schooling still wasn't much better than a year ago, they hadn't
sent me away yet. Besides, I thought, why shouldn't I help out a friend? Friend...strange,
we never talked and yet I did somehow see Buck as a friend. I think in hindsight,
the better way to see him was as a common ally in the battle against them. He
was someone, and probably the only one, who I could relate to, who remotely
understood what I was going through, and who, while he did run from me like
the others, has yet to actually hurt me. For whatever reason, the next thing
I knew I was throwing myself into the middle of the fight, my growling, face
twisting act up and ready. "Would you look at that! It's another one of
them mission school kids. Man don't he look funny!" Buck slowly stood up
and looked over at me with complete shock on his face. "Well fine then,
why don't we teach both these young outcasts how to get back to the dirty streets
they came from and belong in!" And with that, the six or seven men closed
in on two fourteen year olds.
The odds were bad enough for either of us to not trust the other, but somehow
we both knew we could rely on each other. As for the fight, lets just say we
got in a few good shots each, but both of us were going to be spending our fair
share of time in the infirmary. The fight was broken up by the marshal, who
sent everyone home before turning to us.
"Sometimes I think you lot aren't worth the trouble." He helped us
to our feet and looked us over, "Especially some of you," he said
as he eyed Buck. He helped us back to the wagon where Sister Margaret rushed
over to us. "I swear you two are going to be the death of us!" She
thanked the marshal and gathered enough of the children that had returned to
the wagon early so she could take us back to the school.
