Expressionless Published in No Pun Intended

Bad words weren't really his thing. He could frown and pout, stamp his feet and walk out. Too polite, said sorry when someone else bumped into him, spoke in a hush. Then he discovered curse words, angry words, swear words. Bad language flowed from him - in Spanish. He took to it naturally, no alter boy substitutions for his like. No frig. No ostras (oysters) for ostia (host). Words made him strong and passionate. Nasal tones curled out of him like smoke, tones that sounded like the very breath of the devil. The girl came then and with an energy special to them, answered back.

The baby was born as they began experimenting in French and delved into Irish. Seriously bad things were wished upon one another.Time to use his own language. He could not. Think of it as a translation. He just could not. And all the other words in all the other languages did not work anymore. In the end, he had to make up words that meant something only to him.

His daughter walked. Then she could talk. She didn’t copy his made-up words but found herself at the age of two and a half being called names by her six-year-old cousin. She had almost put out his eye by accident, of course, and received curses like ‘snot-slime’.

Bright little wide eyes amongst gentle little curls looked at the boy awhile. She started a few times, venom raising, but stopped." You are...you are...."

"Oh no", the man said. "She is like me. "She will not be able to do it."

"You are...you are.."., determined now," you are...a baby wipe".

The boy’s face melted in disgust.

"Good one", says her father.’


Copyright Sandra Bunting