If I Shall Speak

By Donna J. Burr

In the beginning of young Nettie's life, her lone escape from brutality was in deep silence, until a stranger knocked on the front door of her vile family's house. With that knock a thread was pulled and an unraveling began. That stranger and Nettie were led to an unpredictable, mysterious string of events that wove a different future for Nettie and those she encountered. Were there forces at play directing events, and could Nettie find the strength to survive, if she even wanted to?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donna J. Burr
• Release date: Nov 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223829959

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Her fifth birthday, another non-celebration, was the first day that Nettie Ahriman spoke. Once she started verbalizing, and, somehow, she knew all the words, she was whipped back into silence, quickly learning to lock words inside. It was safer that way.

By birthday six, she should have been in school, out of her parent’s hair. She dared whispered words only to her mangy stuffed bear, a garbagy, odorous little scrap that appeared unexpectedly one day, tossed on her stained sleeping pallet. If she was heard uttering any sound, even to the bear, Nettie’s father ferociously applied his leather belt to her body. However, it was her head and Dumbo ears, as her parents flippantly named them, that suffered the brunt of battering. By six, Nettie could no longer hear, nor did she want to. She tried to be invisible in her soundless world, tried to bury all sensation deep in her mind, becoming . . . nothing. All that smacking around hurt, even in her nightmarish dreams. Nettie was grateful for any random day that her parents did ignore her, as they wallowed in their cherished addictions. Not that she relished the never-ending aloneness, it was just safer that way.

October and well into the school year, a civil servant with the school district inadvertently, perhaps in the daily tedium and search for entertainment, stumbled across Nettie’s birth record and was intrigued by the child’s unusual surname. The civil servant, an amateur etymologist, with further research found that Nettie was not enrolled in school, as required. Consequently, an investigation was ordered.

On a particularly frigid morning, the patches of Kentucky bluegrass veiled by frost, a school official visited the Ahriman home. He climbed the three cement steps, knocked on the paint-pocked door, waited a few beats, then thumped more forcefully, flecks of the paint falling on his shoe. He took a deep breath, quickly checked his immaculate uniform and came to the correct military attention that he had never forgotten from his years as a police officer. A slight built man, he nevertheless had presence and could use it to his advantage. Moments passed before the door opened. Mr. Ahriman? the officer inquired.

Yeah? What’da ya want? Unshaven, sweaty and grungy, Mr. Ahriman leaned heavily against the doorjamb, his bloodshot eyes unfocused on the imposing gray uniform standing in front of him.

The officer reflexively stepped back. A cloud reeking of alcohol and body odor oozed from Ahriman. Controlling his gag-reflex, the officer coughed out, I’m . . . here to see Nettie Ahriman, sir . . . if you please. I am Officer Salvatore, attendance officer, from the city school district. He raised his ID credentials, fully extended his arm close to the man’s face, all the while breathing through clenched teeth.

She doan talk, the father mumbled, his voice slurred. Doan get wha’s wrong wid ‘er. She cain’t hear wort a damn neider, wha’ good’s school, he muttered again, hanging on the doorframe, immobile. When the resolute officer refused to leave, the man said, Shit . . . crap, yeah . . . ‘k, a’ready. He staggered off, returning minutes later with the girl in tow.

Her dirty, matted hair appeared to be a dark blond, but might have been lighter, if clean. Her pallid skin was mottled with yellow-green bruises under layers of grime.

Hello Nettie, the officer crouched low to her level. He smiled and waved a hello with his hand, I’m Officer Salvatore, from the school. How are you today?

Nettie’s blank eyes stared straight ahead. She winced silently, trembling, as her father tightened his vise-grip on her wrist.

She cain’t hear none, I tole ya. Doan know her problem. Been like this, the father sneered.

Salvatore was trained to recognize abuse when he saw it; anyone could have concluded the same. The fear behind the child’s vacant stare was palpable. "Looks like she had . . . uh, maybe a little fall playing or something here? You know you can take her to Garland University Hospital’s free clinic. They can fix her up. He waited for the man’s response, received nothing but a glare, then quickly reassessed the situation. Forcing a smile, he said, But, if you and the missus are busy, I could take her there, no problem, I’ve got nothing else on my schedule." Not true, that my schedule’s not packed, but this is severe. He excused himself for the lie, well aware of the regulations: contact child protective services; they will investigate, eventually. What’ll happen if she’s left behind in this house? Whether the abuser was Ahriman, the wife, whose abrasive voice shouted obscenities from somewhere in the house, or both, the child needed immediate help. He prayed that her father would hand her over.

Ahriman stared through his fog for a moment. Oh yeah? You wan ‘er, you take ‘er. We’re busy. He violently shoved the girl at the startled officer who nearly fell backwards off the cement stoop.

Quickly regaining balance, Officer Salvatore stepped forward and gently lifted the unresisting child into his arms. Frail and limp, her head lolled on his chest. She glanced up once, uncomprehending, then hid behind her closed eyes. I’ll take good care of Nettie, don’t you worry; and we’ll be in touch, he said in forced politeness, as he carried her to his car. We’ll be in touch all right, he thought.

Under his breath, the father grumbled, useless brat, then slammed the door behind the officer.

Salvatore wrapped his emergency car-blanket around the unresponsive girl, immediately driving to Garland University Hospital where the triage nurse hastily admitted her. While an emergency room nurse took vitals and assessed Nettie’s injuries, the officer phoned child-protective services. When he was met with strident criticism for not following proper procedure, Salvatore practically lost control. Raising his voice into the phone, he growled harshly, What do you mean, I should have called you first? Are you out of your  mind!?

He suddenly realized how loud he was when the triage nurse jumped up, grabbed his arm, hissing, Outside with the phone calls, officer!

Embarrassed, but not sorry for his emotional fervor, Salvatore calmed himself enough to deal with the agent on the phone. Look . . .I’m staying here until that girl is taken care of. You’d better get somebody over here right away; and you sure as heck better check on her parents before you even think of releasing little Nettie to them. This is an emergency, damn it! Salvatore closed his phone, pulled out a handkerchief, mopped his face, and then stuffed the damp hanky back in his pocket. He took a deep breath, muttering to himself, "oh, la miseria di tutto". His Italian mother used the sorrowful expression on many occasions, including when he, as a child, behaved badly. But, as an adult, known to be a mild-mannered, even-tempered, good Catholic man, he surprised himself. Swearing in particular was totally out of character.

Salvatore went back to check on Nettie. So, how’s she doing? Is she going to be okay?

The emergency room doctor had come in moments before. Officer Salvatore, the doctor said, reading Salvatore’s name badge, her vitals are pretty good, considering the way she looks, first glance. You’re not the parent, are you?

Hang, no, Salvatore said. I was just doing a truancy check, and this is what I found, indicating Nettie with a nod, her bleary eyes open and darting fearfully between the men. He gave her to me. Okay, I know, it was just verbal, but he told me to take her. So, here we are.

I understand, officer. And you’ve contacted child protective, I presume?

Salvatore nodded. Yes, and I hope they’re sending somebody, right now.

Right, the doctor continued, massaging his temples, but, for now, we will stabilize her and treat the girl’s obvious wounds; at least, until social services get here.

Fine! Salvatore agreed. But, I’m still staying; and her name is Nettie Ahriman, by the way. Not, ‘the girl’!

The weary doctor left and was on to the next emergency. Almost immediately, a nurse’s aide came in with towels and a small basin of warm water.

Sorry sir, you’ll have to step out while I clean her up a bit. The woman leaned in closer to see Nettie. Oh, poor thing; doesn’t look too good.

Salvatore closed the curtain around Nettie’s bed and the nurse. I’ll be right back, okay? Gotta call my wife.

It might be a while, so take your time, she said.

Salvatore’s wife, Lena, was not surprised by her husband’s interest in the child’s welfare. Rocco, I know you care about all the kids, even the chronically truant. But do you really have to stay at the hospital with her?

"Yes, Lena, I do. Her parents practically threw her, actually, the father literally threw her at me. If you saw the condition little Nettie’s in. Oh, mio Dio! There’s nobody here for her, except a bunch of busy nurses," his voice cracked.

Rocco honey, calm yourself. I’m sure it’ll be okay once a social worker gets there. Then, you can come home. I’ll keep dinner warm for you; my lasagna can keep. Don’t worry.

He smiled. His Lena would keep dinner warm eternally, if need be. She loved feeding him, feeding anybody, and believed that a hearty meal cured many ills. In this way, Lena was like his own mother who was an old-world Italian wife. Despite the fact that Lena’s family emigrated from Austria-Hungary in the early 1920’s, and had no known Italian heritage, she relished her traditional role in Rocco’s life. She always joked that she was a thoroughly American, mongrel. Some mongrel, he would think, whenever he stroked her flawless, porcelain skin, or  ran his fingers through her lustrous hair.

His Lena. When they first met at a mutual friend’s party, she had just received a Bachelor of Science degree in college. Rocco never quite understood what this intelligent, statuesque, auburn-hair girl saw in him. His dark brown eyes could gaze directly in Lena’s green eyes at five-foot eight, but he considered himself too short and too thin despite the fact that his lean physique was perfect for the marathons he loved to run. His prematurely balding head he kept shaved to the point where most people had no clue to his hair color; he referred to it as ‘dirty brown’ because of premature graying. As a second-generation Italian with only police academy training under his belt he never thought that any girl would be interested in a ‘sort of average’ guy.

A year after they began dating, and when Lena accepted his marriage proposal, he quit second-guessing himself. He left the police force, for what he believed would be a safer career for a married man, the pay and regular hours also better as a truancy officer.

Early in their marriage, Lena had a well-paying, research laboratory job, something she had loved doing, until she was involved in an automobile accident. Her spine was severely injured, but more tragically, it was the loss of their unborn child, one month before its birth, and the loss of all chances for future pregnancies that threw the couple into perpetual grief. This grief they strove to overcome, Rocco through his job, and Lena through her regular, and random, contacts with other children.

Salvatore ended his call to Lena and returned to Nettie. Through the closed curtain he said, How’s it going in there, nurse?

I’m done as much as I can be, for now, she answered, slipping out between the curtains. She looked him in the eye. Officer, that child needs more than a sponging off. And, her hair? I can’t do anything with all the matting; it’ll need to be shorn pretty close to get rid of the knots. It’s pitiful, she whispered, I wouldn’t treat a stray animal like she’s been. She shook her head as she carried away the pan of filthy water and wet towels.

Rocco squeezed a lone chair in close to the little girl’s bed and sat down. He quickly scanned the small space. Man, I hate the ugly green on hospital walls, he thought; he had seen far too many hospitals as a truant officer, and even more during his earlier police career. He looked at the little girl. Nettie’s eyes were closed again. Sensor wires snaked out from the neck of her hospital gown, monitoring her vitals and beeping regularly over her head. Outside the curtain, and nearby, sudden screams from a crying baby pierced Salvatore’s ear. Nettie never flinched. He did not want to disturb her but could not resist touching her cool hand. You’re so tiny, he whispered under his breath, so helpless, he nearly wept, staring at the pure white sheet hiding her frail body. God damn them, that did this to you! He lowered his head in a rush of guilt. I’m sorry for the blasphemy, forgive me Lord. But, please help her.

Hours passed. Nettie slept. Salvatore prayed silently. He began to doze, leaning against the wall next to him.

The curtain screeched open, startling Salvatore. What . .  what? he recoiled, almost falling off the chair.

Officer, I’m Mrs. Wilson, Child Protective Services. I spoke with the nurse out there; she brought me up to speed, on . . . Nettie Ahriman, she said, reading from a form on her clipboard. The father is, Rolf Ahriman, mother, Shirley; at that street address, they’re in the system, unfortunately, or, fortunately, as the case may be, she glanced up at Salvatore. Okay. So, we have some background. What we know is, both the adults have been in and out of A.A., and drug rehab, over the last eight or ten years. No independent income listed. Uh, let’s see, she flipped over a page, on assistance, more often than not. I don’t know how their child slipped through the cracks. Her birth certificate indicates that her name is Jeannette Ahriman. She shook her head. There are way too many abused kids like her out there.

Okay, but what can you do for this one? She can’t go back there; it’s too dangerous! Look at her, he gestured toward the tiny, sleeping form.

Well, we have to do an official investigation, for sure. In the meantime, I think the doctor left instructions for the girl to be retained for tests, for possible treatment, whatever is necessary. Those parents aren’t taking her anywhere, anytime, soon.

Right, Salvatore said. That Ahriman guy didn’t sound like he wanted anything to do with her; he just said, ‘take her, she’s yours’. He stared straight at the social worker who had raised her eyebrows. So . . . I took her."

Listen, Officer, she said sympathetically, as soon as I can get the investigation going, I will. It’s tough; we have a huge backlog of cases.

He nodded. I understand, Mrs. Wilson; I do know how the system works, or doesn’t, he smirked, handing the woman his business card. Can you please give me a call ASAP? When you all figure things out?

After she left, he sat next to Nettie. Her face twitched, grimaced, her eyes flickering under tightly closed lids. He wondered how deep her pain was, and, how hideous her dreams. Little one, you’re not going to slip through the chasms of the system anymore, he silently promised.

Nettie remained hospitalized for several days of diagnostic tests and observation. Salvatore alone visited her every day at the end of his shift, staying until closing.

How is the little girl doing now, Rocco? Days had gone by since Lena first asked. Not a complainer, she felt guilty when she said, I don’t mind keeping the food warm for you, but it is getting a little lonely, having dinner by myself every night. She had learned, long ago, how dedicated he was to his job. She would try to be more patient, because her job now, she firmly believed, was to support her husband, and make their home a peaceful refuge.

Better, she’s doing better, thankfully, he peered upward, crossing himself. She’s pretty battered up, but no bones broken. Except that her ears, her hearing; it’s gone, the doctors think. Not much anyone can do for her. Lord, I’d like to . . .oh, forget it. I can’t go killing her parents; I wouldn’t kill anyone. You know?

Lena held Rocco’s hands across the round, oak kitchen table. Of course, you wouldn’t. You are a gentle, kind man.

I did get a call from that Mrs. Wilson, the social worker. They actually had the situation investigated, and guess what? He smiled. Nettie is being removed from that home, permanently. It’s amazing, but with all the evidence against those parents, I’m not surprised. And, miracle of miracles, it got through the court; mostly, that’s because Nettie’s parents signed away their parental rights. Said they were glad to be rid of her . . .what a couple of disgusting examples of human beings. A frown suddenly furrowed his brow. Mrs. Wilson said that Nettie’ll be placed in foster care; I don’t like that, at all, he mumbled. As truant officer, he regularly dealt with foster parents. Many were good. Some were appallingly bad.

For a few moments, they were silent, deep in thought. The yeasty scent of bread baking in the oven filled the air. The only sound was a creak in the chair when Rocco shifted in his seat.

Lena seemed to read her husband’s mind. Rocco? You want her here, don’t you?

He nodded, sheepishly. Yes, I really would, at least till she’s all better, and a good home is found. Would you mind? He watched his wife’s expression, guessing what was going through her mind. He marveled that through it all, her face was still as lovely as the day they married, thirty years ago. It’s a lot, I’m asking, I know it; more work for you, and dealing with a child, something we never got to do, together. I mean, I deal with kids in my job, but living with them . . . at our age? I wouldn’t want it to be too much for you.

Their own child’s loss had been impossible to forget and seemed to underlie all of their interactions with any child they dealt with. Lena keenly felt Rocco’s longing; her own yearning was never concealed from him. She smiled her understanding. Honey, it’s not like I’m a queen, being waited on hand and foot. I can cope with my back issues, and I know when to rest if I’m running out of steam. I deal with neighborhood kids all the time, and my Sunday school class, and our cousin’s kids occasionally. One little girl is not going to cramp my style, she chuckled. Besides, it would be temporary, right? Until the right home is found for her . . .and, maybe it’s time I meet this child that you’re so concerned about?

The next afternoon, Rocco brought his wife to the hospital. The nurse told them that the girl had had a bad night, apparently suffering nightmares, and had only just fallen asleep. He and Lena stood mutely by Nettie’s bedside, staring at her delicate form and listening to her shallow breathing. After several moments Rocco heard a quiet intake of breath and subdued gasp from Lena. Tears ran down her face. He drew her into his arms as she buried her face in his shoulder; he understood what she was feeling. They left Nettie to her much needed sleep and went home, prepared to petition for foster parenting.

While the couple waited for their petition to go through, Rocco brought Lena to  spend time with Nettie in the pediatric wing, and each day Nettie’s smiles broadened, clearly delighted by their visits. Rocco was pleased that this wing was more cheerful, with brightly painted murals of animals and cartoon characters on the walls. They were with Nettie after the final medical test, a formal hearing evaluation.

The