Pgs. 15-17

AUTOMATIC LETTER 10
Saturday night

Hi again,

I feel a little numb, as I begin this chat with you – it’s like drifting
through darkness. Often, these talks start out like this and then I remember
that if I’m going to help you to help Gloria, I must try to tell you the
incidents that Gloria would have trouble talking about, the happenings
that she has forgotten. When I do this, there are times when a memory
traps me. It’s like when you cross a street and a car comes around the corner
out of control; you try to jump out of the way; no chance, it’s too late. In
this way a memory can trap you.
The numbness has worn off. Suddenly, I’m very uneasy. I have to
tell you something. It’s something else you should know. The term “thecriminal” was real and personal to someone. This is not what I want to say.
I’ll start again.
What can I tell you about Gloria that would be of interest to anyone?
Nothing! I’ll be filling up some pages having to do with nothing. It was a
mistake to talk about all the other things that happened. I don’t want to
think of these incidents or touch them with a mind. If you don’t choose to
believe something you can blank it out, separate yourself from it. Even if
it is the truth, even if it came after you in the dark and held you down, you
can separate yourself from it.
Yet always there’s this great black lake of time that has to be crossed.
Even if you knew it was hopeless, what else could you do? You had to keep
swimming; you could not drown either. “The child,” I’ve talked to you
about knew this feeling of despair.
I see the Criminal. He is ten years old and he does not cry. He has
learned that lesson well. “Are you crying? I told you never to do that!” The
blow that knocks him across the room the pain inside his head – he has bitten
his tongue – the blood – he’s starting to cry. “Now, I’m going to teach
you a lesson you won’t forget. I’m going to beat you until you stop crying.
Then I’m going to teach you to tell the truth – the truth is you slipped
and fell down the stairs – do you hear me – you slipped – that’s the truth. I
didn’t throw you down –you slipped – say it after me – I slipped – say it –
say it. Don’t you dare cry! You’re a criminal – you know what they do to
criminals, they burn them with a capital letter C, then they send them
away alone – don’t ask questions – are you crying again. I’ll teach you not
to cry – come over here – you know what happens if I have to come and
get you.”
I see someone thrown down the stairs – a bottle broken in half – a
clenched fist – punching – kicks – biting – pinching. I see someone tied to a
bed – can’t breathe can’t think well – no help for it, none is available. Didn’t
matter what you said or did, either it was coming or it was not. There’s
things you should forget about or pretend it never happened. Don’t believe
what I just said. I believe instead, that whatever happens it’s not worth the
pain of keeping it a secret, you have to decide who wants to hurt you andwho wants to help and it’s important to learn this right or a lot of mistakes
will be made.
I’ve tried to relax yet my nerves are at the mercy of sounds – footsteps –
a door being slammed – waiting, staring down at his plate and knowing
that being ignored meant being in danger, it meant you were in this person’s
thoughts. “You’re going to get it, do you know why?” He never knew,
he knew that pulling himself inward, staying calm didn’t help, nothing did.
“Oh, if you would just try to be good. Why do you break the rules?”
Say nothing. It doesn’t matter what is said. “Ye, shall know the truth, and
the truth shall make you free.” Well it didn’t make the ten year old free.
He knew the truth all right but didn’t feel free, not with something tight
around the neck, don’t go too fast or too far – you just don’t do it – that’s all.
To be alive was to be in danger – all the time. And you don’t talk about
that. You just go along thinking things will get better. One day you think
this is the way things are.
Tired out – thank you for listening

The Helper

NOTE:
I am a professional therapist and battle-hardened war veteran, yet my eyes
shimmered wet as I sat reading the Helper’s letter. It was the first time, but
not the last, that I would shed tears over the child’s pain.