sardine -- 11/14 -- be quiet

Once upon a time, in another life, for a short time I was a femme au foyer. It was a life in waiting. It was a life of being quiet. It was a life of being criticized for staying in dependency.... Tais-toi, I am working. Tais-toi, I am writing. Tais-toi, I am being.

My children scream tais-toi at each other when they fight. I shout it at our dog when she barks. I bellow it while driving when my children start rocking the car in their fighting over Gameboy. Is it more polite to tell a person to be quiet in French than to say shut up in English? I, a failed housewife, suppress free speech.

I failed miserably in my attempt to be the traditional housewife, or even an adequate housewife. I dusted and cleaned, burned the food, broke the dishwasher, quieted the children, and smiled the smile of silence. Silence in English. Silence in appalling French.

Cixous states “every woman knows the torture of beginning to speak aloud” (163). Suppressed for so long, there is no knowing the outcome of speaking; will it erupt and overtake the situation? Will there be witnesses to condemn or to pity or to humiliate? Will speaking cause momentary embarrassment? Or will it just be ignored? Will it fizzle into nothingness?

To speak aloud of long suppressed desires for identity and experiences of the long concealed. The torture is in that moment before, in the indecision, and in the outcome of disregard. The torture is using a language not one’s own. Suppressing the self becomes the role. Suppression becomes the identity.

Did you men in class get pleasure from your silence and momentary woman-ness? Or did the frustration of being ignored and discarded, evaluated and found needing cause discomfort? It is an ugly experience to be silenced. It generates an unbearable resentment that overwhelms and must be forced down with a smile or a laugh or sarcasm or a smirk. Did you think your reactions went unobserved?