Sudden Stories about Powers of Speech

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Rising High Tones

'Empty your pockets. That's right. I'm going to handcuff you but you're not under arrest, just detained. Ok?'

'If you say so.'

'Go over there and sit down with the others. We’ll get to you. Ok?'

'Well no, not really. You have pulled me off the bus and handcuffed me and I don't know why so I'm not ok. Not really.'

'Don't give me that. I could shoot you now and no one would give a damn. Like I said, we'll get to you.' Then he turned away and said, mostly to himself, 'Ok.'

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Religion in a Day

Breakfast is at seven, when my son comes downstairs, yawning, diamond-faced and dishevelled. I make sure he eats and gets ready for school. As I stir the eggs, I am again stabbed by fear. Following his mother disappearance, I constantly worry about him being out in the world alone. The feeling turns within me, giving me notions that - perhaps - a woman might have. I must ensure no harm comes to him, and I do my best, but the neighbours mutter and judge, smugly entertained by this very public metamorphosis of a man.

Confined to the house, this child is my only human connection to the outside world, with its sunny days and passing cars. I often sleep in the afternoon but am careful to be up and active when he returns from school. That day he burst in to show me the 'new hand signal.' As usual, I was careful to be interested, but not too interested.

'That sign', my son said knowingly, 'it means you're in.'

'In what?'

But he doesn't say. Is he talking about gangs? Is he trying to tell me, in some secret way, that he is being bullied?

'Who showed you the hand signal?' I asked casually.

'The white boys'.

'Oh'.

I should not have said that, and he glanced at me with disdain. 'Dad!' he exclaimed. 'They're not racists you know!'

'Okay. I am trying to keep up.'

'It's a good piracy'.

I had no idea what that meant, so later, I searched online and was at once swamped by references to something called 'The Fearless,' with memes and blogs and precisely that hand signal. I made tea but did not drink it. Nor did I take my usual afternoon nap.

The news was full of footage of huge crowds gathering in city centres across the world. There were protest marches, climbers on statues, honking lines of cars and angry faces. I even heard shouting outside, and when I pulled back the curtain to look, there were people running. Then the phone rang.

My friend, who lives on the coast, told me that cars were burning on his street and crowds were banging on the doors of houses. One man had been torn up, just for carrying a plastic bag, another for buying too much food. 'It's best', my friend added, 'to show no signs of money. Scuff up your lawn. Hide the Beemer. It's a religion!'

Next, a neighbour called. The supermarket had closed, but food was being given out in the parking lot. I told him what my son had said, but then the line cut off and the lights went out.

'We're just going to stop,' my boy told me. We ate dinner by candlelight, and he wriggled with pleasure on his chair. 'I worship nature, Dad.'

'Well, that's a good thing.'

'No,' he said, his voice slowing. He regarded me with older eyes. 'It's going to be hard. That's what they say. No more unequalness. None. No expensive cars. No coal or oil. No plastic.' Then he raised his fork to the sky and said, 'Long live the spirits of the trees!'

'Eat your dinner, why don't you.'

'Sure, Dad'. He smiled gave me the hand signal. 'To the Fairness!'

'You mean the Fearless?

'No, Dad! Don't you know anything?'

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Introduction to Relating (with Others)

In this 21st Century, the need to use words accurately is crucial. All too often we fail to communicate and the meaning slips away like sand, or we fall back to our own concerns, must loudly state our own opinion or instinctively respond according to our own personal resentments. Here we demonstrate the importance of turn-taking in communication. Once, even babies could do this - and before they could talk! - but it is more difficult for us today as we are more deeply polluted and confused. Consider the following seemingly ordinary conversation involving employees of Ecoland plc:

That morning Anna returned to work with a smile, as she had not had a drink for a month. In the lobby she met 'dapper' Darren from Marketing who talked loudly about his commute and stank while she waited. When the pressure inside him eased, he asked: 'Are you back for good?'

Their eyes met briefly.

'I stayed in a house,' said Anna. 'It had lots of green. And a veranda.'

'I did see the video,' snapped Darren. 'I know all about the place.'

'I do as well. I mean, I do now. There's a general notion which I have seen,' Anna continued, 'and a strict regimen of ...'

Darren started talking again, right across her, though this time Anna kept going, so for a while they were talking over and at each other with no idea and less interest in what each was trying to say. As neither made much sense anyway - reflecting the usual mental health issues - this did not unduly concern them; nor indeed should it, as relating with others remains a challenge for us all.

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In Hiding

Marco grew up with a lot of other kids. He was a quiet boy, and one day, while engaged in a game of hide and seek with the other children, found the perfect hiding place: behind the grandfather clock in the central hall. He listened as they searched for him, and then Rikki shouted that the game was over. But Marco stayed behind the clock. The minutes passed, then an hour, and even though his legs were sore and the workers in the hall were alarmed, he just stood silently, spying on their chatter about his disappearance. Marco hid there so long he got hungry, so long that he heard the police arrive and then leave again, so long that he began to wonder how he would explain his absence. It was growing dark when his friend Sarah emerged into the hall calling his name. The doors swept open and then flapped shut behind her. She was weeping. So when she turned around to fumble for the light switch, Marco stepped deftly out from behind the clock and took three long strides into the centre of the hall. The light flicked on and Sarah cried out. 'Where have you been?!' Then she ran towards him.

'I couldn't find anyone,' he said as she hugged him, 'so I went in the woods but got lost.'

The children were delighted to see him safe, the grownups too, but later they gathered round and told him off. Marcus repeated his story about getting lost, but was told in the clearest terms that if it happened again, he would have to leave. One worker snapped that no one believed a word Marcus said but another leaned in close and spoke with kindness. 'Do it with words,' he advised. 'That's the best way to tell others what's going on.'

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Heart Pain

At the age of eight, Ibrahim had never met his farther, but suddenly he comes to visit. The worker says, 'this is your father' and 'how about that?' That first time, Ibrahim would not play and while the adults talked, he sulked politely. In his second visit, the father read him a story and in the third, took him for a ride. That night Ibrahim cried, writhing in his bed and alarming the other kids. He was sobbing uncontrollably, too proud to admit he missed his father.

The kids shouted and at last a worker burst in and grabbed him.

'What's wrong?'

'It's my heart.'

'Your heart? Oh my God! Chest pain.'

Ibrahim nodded, wincing and clutching himself while the other kids leaned out from their beds.

'I'll get someone. I will. I'll call an ambulance. I'll get someone.'

But their fear was like a cold shower and Ibrahim's 'pain' subsided. For a moment he just lay there gasping. Then he whispered, 'It's ok. Honest. My father left today, that's all.'

The worker let out a great breath and bent down towards the floor. 'Thank God. So you're ok. You had me terrified there for a moment.'

It was many years before Ibrahim saw his father again.

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