Mom had always told me that life is life and that I should live it at
it=s fullness, even if I couldn=t talk. Dad had told me once that I was
cursed and that I could only speak the truth.
The only way we could communicate was by writing. I had learned to write when I was five because Mom said that I should. She taught me herself because none of the governesses thought they could teach a boy who couldn=t talk.
Mom taught me just fine. She would sit right next to me, balancing herself on the balls of her feet so that she could see my letters and words from on my desk. She would congratulate me when I got something right.
A Good job, Simon!@ she=d say and it=d make me work harder. But when I got it right, she would say, A Nice try, Simon, Try again!@
Mom always said that nothing is a failure if you try.
Dad got along with my sister, Torlin, better then he got along with me. Once, I wrote that to Mom and she said, A That=s nonsense, Simon. You Dad loves you and Torlin the same amount.@
But I didn=t believe her.
Torlin never spoke around me. At first, I thought because she couldn=t. But then I over heard her talking to Dad and I knew that wasn=t true. So then, I thought that she hated me and never wanted to talk to me. But then Mom told me that Torlin was cursed too. If I didn=t talk to her first, she couldn=t talk to me.
Torlin wrote to me that she wanted to talk with me, but she couldn=t. She couldn=t even open her mouth if I didn=t.
But, since I wasn=t completely mute, she wasn=t completely mute to me.
If Mom said, A What is your name?@ I=d have to say ASimon@. And if Torlin was around she would say, A Tory@.
I had a nickname, Si, but I could never say my nickname because it wasn=t the truth. Torlin could say Torlin, Tory, Tora, Linny, all kinds of things. But I could only say Simon.
Once, we were looking out Mom=s bedroom window and we saw snow.
A What do you see?@ Mom asked me.
A Snow.@ I said, A And Trees and a frozen lake.@
But Tory said, A I see the world being blanketed with.@ she stopped her sentence abruptly.
That=s when we found out that if we said seven words, Tory could only say seven words. I was eleven then and Torlin was twelve.
Over the years, we got used to our curses. Tory and I normally walked around like mutes, but occasionally we could talk. We both loved to listen to Mom tell us about when she was cursed. We adored the tales about Hattie and Olive and about the real Simon and about the Torlin Kerru. But our favorite story was when Mom broke the curse.
I always dreamed of someday breaking my curse of silence.
The only way we could communicate was by writing. I had learned to write when I was five because Mom said that I should. She taught me herself because none of the governesses thought they could teach a boy who couldn=t talk.
Mom taught me just fine. She would sit right next to me, balancing herself on the balls of her feet so that she could see my letters and words from on my desk. She would congratulate me when I got something right.
A Good job, Simon!@ she=d say and it=d make me work harder. But when I got it right, she would say, A Nice try, Simon, Try again!@
Mom always said that nothing is a failure if you try.
Dad got along with my sister, Torlin, better then he got along with me. Once, I wrote that to Mom and she said, A That=s nonsense, Simon. You Dad loves you and Torlin the same amount.@
But I didn=t believe her.
Torlin never spoke around me. At first, I thought because she couldn=t. But then I over heard her talking to Dad and I knew that wasn=t true. So then, I thought that she hated me and never wanted to talk to me. But then Mom told me that Torlin was cursed too. If I didn=t talk to her first, she couldn=t talk to me.
Torlin wrote to me that she wanted to talk with me, but she couldn=t. She couldn=t even open her mouth if I didn=t.
But, since I wasn=t completely mute, she wasn=t completely mute to me.
If Mom said, A What is your name?@ I=d have to say ASimon@. And if Torlin was around she would say, A Tory@.
I had a nickname, Si, but I could never say my nickname because it wasn=t the truth. Torlin could say Torlin, Tory, Tora, Linny, all kinds of things. But I could only say Simon.
Once, we were looking out Mom=s bedroom window and we saw snow.
A What do you see?@ Mom asked me.
A Snow.@ I said, A And Trees and a frozen lake.@
But Tory said, A I see the world being blanketed with.@ she stopped her sentence abruptly.
That=s when we found out that if we said seven words, Tory could only say seven words. I was eleven then and Torlin was twelve.
Over the years, we got used to our curses. Tory and I normally walked around like mutes, but occasionally we could talk. We both loved to listen to Mom tell us about when she was cursed. We adored the tales about Hattie and Olive and about the real Simon and about the Torlin Kerru. But our favorite story was when Mom broke the curse.
I always dreamed of someday breaking my curse of silence.