THE CLIFF OF HOPE 

By Tessa Harvey

    Pushing aside his bedclothes, Izak padded to the window and peered out round the curtains. The rain was coming down hard forming puddles on the tattered front lawn.
    He dressed hastily, had a quick wash and decided on toast for breakfast. Their parents were still out to the world. Last night they had again argued bitterly. Izak knew they had been drinking and would hopefully sleep longer.
    Roused by the enticing smell of toast, Chris soon joined his brother. He carried over the jam, honey and peanut butter from the pantry cupboard.
    Three years ago, Chris had been singing softly, clacking a magnetic jigsaw puzzle into place. His dad had told him to shut up twice. His mum was saying it was his dad's fault they had lost their baby girl. It was in her tummy and nearly ready to be born, but dad had knocked her over. Now the man turned and roared at Chris "Shut up. I don't want to hear another sound from you. EVER."
    And there hadn't been another word, despite entreaties, threats, and even the word "sorry" dragged from their father.
    Izak, to help his brother, had taught him to read. It had not been easy with no spoken communication, but both boys had tried hard and Chris could now read. Even so he still got some students referring to him as "the dummy."
    At school, his brother's teacher had stopped to talk to Izak. She was a very pretty Asian lady. "Did you teach Chris to read?" She looked at Izak and smiled at the small tousle-haired boy. He fidgeted, looking down at his scuffed shoes, embarrassingly aware his uniform was not very clean. He mumbled "yes."
"Well, you did a great job!" She smiled, encouragingly. "Did you know your little brother has started to hum?" "Hum?" the boy queried. "Oh yes," Mrs. Martin answered. "And a boy who hums can probably talk. You could help him again."

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