The Year Nikos Didn't Speak

Nikos came to my class in September having not spoken since May. I was told this by his mother at the door on the first morning, in the way that mothers sometimes hand you information they've been carrying alone for months. I thanked her and said we'd take it a day at a time, which is what you say when you don't know yet what you'll do.

He was not a troubled child in the way people sometimes imagine a silent child to be. He participated. He answered questions by writing on a piece of paper I left on his desk for that purpose. He played at break time. He simply didn't speak, and after the first week the other children had largely stopped expecting him to, which was either their cruelty or their adaptability and I decided it was the second.

In March, on a Tuesday, I was reading to the class and lost my place. I said where were we, to no one in particular, and Nikos said page forty-two. Just that. The class went very quiet. He looked slightly surprised himself, as if the sound had come from somewhere else.

I found his page and kept reading. That seemed like the right thing.

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