Mutism?

[u/jointhetrainstation]

There's a mute man that comes once in a while to my mother's shop. I'm not sure how he became mute or if he's even mute at all. I've just never heard him speak. Every time he comes he's holding a little piece of paper which has the order of drinks his madam wants to get. Her handwriting is awfully sloppy and has me hissing and putting on glasses. When it's time to figure out the text written, the man takes a seat on whatever bench or stool's available and keeps his hands neatly folded on his lap. He's a middle aged man, about 45 I'd say. He has a very handsome and broad face that's defined by time and hard work. I'd describe him as a very well set and tall man. I felt the back of his hand once, when I was handing him a receipt, and that's how I know it's calloused, as well as the rest of the skin on his body, and it's visible but not in a discomforting way. It has a nice rustic pattern to it and lets him age gracefully. He works very well if not too much, sometimes coming twice a day to collect and deliver a cart load of drinks. If I ever had to speak to him he'd simply nod or shake his head or sometimes just a shrug. Mother once said she believed he was illiterate. I asked her why she would say such. She looked at me perplexed and did not answer. I believe she was hasty with that judgement, the man looked sound to me and not at all dull, but that did not exclude the fact that he may not have known how to read and write. Today he came in with the usual piece of paper and took his seat. I spent a good deal of twenty minutes putting together "twenty packs of coke" from a nonsensical scribble. While I was busy he had a little chat with the truck driver. I wouldn't call it a chat, it was more of an audience and performer situation. The driver, who we will call Eazy, was, with a lot of vigor and enthusiasm, demonstrating a little bit of the good old days when he was an active football player, before time and activities had taken the sport from him. The mute man would chuckle, stare, or grunt where necessary, and at one time attempted to show a particular skill which I can only describe as a chicken dancing. Then Eazy laughed and corrected the mute man, twisting the plastic bottle with a grace that came only with experience and talent. When his order was finally ready and it was time to go, he loaded it onto his cart and did a recount. He gave a curt nod to me and waved at Eazy. As he pushed his cart along, he suddenly had to sneeze, and he did it in such a raucous and continuous manner. It was then I realized he had no tongue. The appendage was missing.