by Lora Inak
‘Can anyone tell me how this relates to our theme of identity and belonging?’
Silence.
Natalie suddenly heard herself speak. ‘Each writer wrote a very personal story, talking about their experiences growing up, trying to fit in, their attempts to be like everyone else around them. You can tell how confused and isolated these people felt trying to belong when their situation at home, within a different cultural context, was so far apart from their experiences at school or at work or with their Australian friends.’
Why were her arms and legs quivering? And why had she spoken at all? She couldn’t explain it, except that a surge of courage had compelled her to speak. Had she sounded stupid? Was the answer she’d given even the right answer? Was everyone in class staring at her, thinking of course the Middle Eastern girl would relate to not fitting in? Natalie wished she’d just kept her mouth shut like she normally did.
‘Good work, geek,’ Katelyn whispered.
‘Ladies and gentleman, we are on fire today.’ Mr Nelson beamed, unbuttoning his jacket. ‘Natalie is spot on.’
Natalie and Chris glanced at each other and smiled. Chris knew her name now. Mr Nelson had given it away, or maybe she’d given it away by volunteering an answer. She wondered if she’d given away more than just her name.
‘Okay, let’s get started. Divide yourselves into groups of two or three, and consider what some of the stereotypes we have about people from these different cultures are. Then compare them to the stereotypes that are commonly held about Australian people.’
***
After English, Natalie and Katelyn split off into their other classes, then met in their usual spot on the oval beside the tennis courts for lunch. A group of boys were playing footy, their faces red, their hair wet with sweat, yelling and swearing at each other as they battled for possession of the ball. Clusters of Year Eleven and Year Twelve students sat around watching the game. The sporty girls, headed by Brooke James and Chloe Sebastian, sat against the school gate, while the pretty popular girls were positioned as close to the football game as was safe. The shy but nerdy guys—the ones that would probably be rich one day but who weren’t cool enough to invite to parties—were sprawled on the outer edge of the oval adjascent to the car park. And both the Asian crew and the ‘All Blacks’ dotted the length of the gymnasium wall. The social outcasts and the odds and ends—that group of kids that theoretially didn’t fit, but somehow, for reasons unknown to everyone else, hung out together—sat against the fence which separated the school from the neighbouring retirement village. Everyone knew that the oval was for senior kids only. Younger students stayed away, unless expressly invited by a senior.
‘Want some borek?’ Natalie split her meat pastry in half and handed a piece to Katelyn.
‘Yum. I love your mum’s pastries.’ She scoffed it down and pulled out a cheese and vegemite sandwich from her Hello Kitty lunchbox. ‘Want half of my lunch?’ She gave Natalie a cheeky smile. Katelyn knew how much she hated vegemite and cheese.
‘Let me think about it … ah … no thanks.’ Natalie wrinkled her nose, repelled by the pungent yeasty smell. She pushed the sandwich away. ‘I can’t understand how you eat that stuff. It’s like salty poo.’
‘Classy,’ Katelyn laughed. ‘You know what? You’ve totally succeeded in turning me off my food. Something I never thought possible.’ She threw her sandwich back into her lunchbox and snapped it shut.
‘So, tell me about Thailand.’
Katelyn leaned back on her elbows. ‘Seriously, Nats. It was fantastic. The weather, the food, everything dirt cheap, everyone desperate to please you. Full body massages were like twenty Australian dollars. Mum pays a hundred and fifty here. It was insane, but in a totally cool way.’
‘I’m so jealous. I’d love to go there one day,’ Natalie sighed, itching the back of her legs where the grass tickled. Fat chance of that ever happening while she was with her family. Her father thought Asia was a heaving pool of poverty and disease. He even refused to eat Asian food, claiming he could never tell what type of meat was used.
‘Hey, when you become a foreign correspondent, you could do a story on women in Thailand. So many are forced into prostitution. It’s sad.’
‘Yeah …’ Natalie shrugged. ‘I think it’s already been done, but I’m sure I could put a new spin on it. But anyway, I’d like to go there for the food and weather, you know, the whole holiday experience. And there’d be so many tourists there. Imagine all the things I could learn about different cultures in one place.’
‘Actually, on that …’ Katelyn paused. ‘ I met someone. A guy. A tourist too.’
Natalie nodded. Katelyn was slowly but surely getting to her ‘hot guy’ episode.
‘Was he … O.M.G … so HOT?’ Natalie jested, clasping her hands together and fluttering her eyelashes.
Katelyn’s cheeks coloured. ‘Yes.’
Katelyn wasn’t the blushing type. This was serious.
‘Kate! Are you in love?’
‘Not really in … love. More like in lust. We did it,’ Katelyn whispered, her eyes wide.
‘What?’ Had she misheard?
‘You know … ‘‘it”. Sex.’
Natalie gasped, her heart pounding. ‘You had sex with some random in Thailand?’
A few people turned towards them, but Natalie didn’t care. She couldn’t believe Katelyn had given her virginity to a guy she barely knew.
‘Keep it down. It wasn’t like that. We really like each other. It was pretty great, Nats.’
Natalie turned her head, unable to meet Katelyn’s eyes. Why did this affect her so much?
‘I’m seventeen-years-old, and I’m not going to wait until I’m married or anything. Sooner or later it was going to happen. You know that, right? It’s not the same for me as it is for you.’ Katelyn gripped Natalie’s arm, her voice heavy. ‘Markus was lovely. We’re going to keep in touch. This time I mean it. He even said he might come down to Australia after he’s finished Uni, but even if he doesn’t, it was a beautiful first time. Natalie. Please look at me.’
Natalie lifted her eyes to Katelyn’s, but she couldn’t hold them there. Her insides were knotted up. ‘But it was your first time. It should be special.’
‘It was special, Nats.’
‘You only knew him for a few weeks.’
‘It doesn’t take a lifetime to care for someone.’
Natalie frowned. Surely it took more than a few weeks, but there was no point pressing the issue with Katelyn. Instead she nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’
Katelyn chewed her lower lip. ‘Are we okay?’
Natalie swallowed, desperate to dislodge the boulder stuck in her throat. It was as if her best friend had suddenly changed. Become someone else. ‘Yep,’ she whispered. ‘Fine.’
Katelyn lowered her shoulders and smiled.
Deep down Natalie knew that she and Katelyn were no longer on the same page.
Chapter 3
The chorus of chanting intensified. A spicy scent of incense filled the room as two solemn-faced altar boys shook brass censers covered in golden jingle bells.
Rows and rows of worshippers stood in their pews, heads bowed, hands clasped or palms facing up in prayer. The baritone voice of the priest sang out passionately, before fading into a reverent silence as he turned to face the congregation.
Standing in the front row, Natalie’s back ached. In fact, every muscle in her body was tense. She’d hardly slept all week, perturbed by her mixed feelings about Katelyn. She needed space away, time to process the new Katelyn, find a way to reconnect with her, but Katelyn was always there, wanting to hang out after school, or eat lunch together on the oval, or study. Natalie tried to pretend everything was okay, normal, but she wasn’t sure how convincing she was. She could see the worry and confusion in Katelyn’s eyes and it only made things worse.
> Natalie rubbed her back, tilting her head towards the high vaulted ceiling to ease the tightness in her neck. If only she could sit, just for a moment. Surely it wouldn’t be a sin.
Carefully, quietly, she lowered herself down. Maybe no one would even notice.
‘Get up,’ Misha growled, prodding her shoulder.
‘My back is sore,’ Natalie whispered.
‘You are such a heathen.’
‘And you’re such a cow.’ Natalie was sick of her sister’s foul mood. Misha needed to accept that Baba was never going to change his mind about Jozef.
‘Shut up and get up.’
‘Fine. Okay. Settle down.’
‘Shhh,’ said a woman seated behind them.
Natalie turned to find several sets of eyes glaring at her from below pinched brows, accusingly, as if she’d broken a major commandment.
‘Girls, please keep quiet,’ Mama scolded.
Father Ashram gestured for the congregation to be seated, and on military cue, everyone obeyed. Natalie exhaled. Church service seemed like an endless routine of standing, sitting, drawing crucifixes across your chest, standing again, then sitting again, listening to the choir with your head bowed in prayer, and then standing again. Her mother once explained that they stood as respect to God, the church, and Father Ashram during important parts of the sermon, but Natalie wasn’t convinced. Wasn’t the whole sermon equally important? If so, did it really matter if they sat through the whole thing? She wouldn’t mind as much if she could sit more and stand less. She’d like it even better if she didn’t have to attend every single Sunday. Maybe she’d be happier to come along if Baba didn’t make it an absolute non-negotiable, you-would-have-to-be-dying-not-to-attend kind of thing.
Finally, Father Ashram ended the service and invited the congregation to the hall for refreshments. Whispered conversation filled the room as a few hundred people rose to their feet, grabbed their jackets or handbags, and jostled towards the exit.
‘Seriously, Natalie. You’re such a child,’ Misha began. Natalie expected the lecture, but she’d hoped her sister would wait until the hour-long car trip home. Misha would have plenty of time to berate her then.
‘You’ll be eighteen in five months and you still act like a five-year-old.’ She ushered Natalie along the pew and out onto the red-carpeted aisle behind Mama and dozens of others.
‘Put a lid on it, Mish. I told you, my back is really sore. Why does the sermon have to go on for so long anyway? Father Ashram pretty much said the same thing last week. I’m beginning to think he just loves the sound of his own voice.’
Misha stared at her aghast. ‘Sshhh … Don’t let anyone hear you say that. Especially not Baba and Mama.’
‘Mama already knows I think it goes on too long. I reckon she thinks so too. Besides, I’m not saying I hate God or anything.’
Natalie really didn’t hate church. In fact, she loved the bells, the soothing smell of incense, the chanting, the stained glass windows painted in religious scenes, the community feeling. It was just that she was starting to question the old-fashioned traditions and practices.
‘Well, if you don’t hate Allah, then prove it by respecting his house of worship. By respecting the community you’re a part of.’
Natalie sighed. She couldn’t win this one. Not when Misha took the religious high road, but a sense of injustice egged her on. ‘So basically, the only way I can prove I believe in God is to go to church every Sunday, sit and stand with the women and girls in the left-hand side pews, wear a mantilla on my head, serve the men in the hall after service, and make sure I’m a good little virgin on my wedding night. That’s totally fair. Not!’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Misha pursed her lips.
Natalie was about to make a smart retort when a middle-aged woman leaned over her shoulder and patted Mama on the arm.
‘S … S … Selma. How are you?’ Her fingers and wrists dripped in gold and diamonds, and her short dark hair was slicked back like she’d dunked her head in an oil spill. She was familiar, and Natalie had heard people gossip about her stammer, but she didn’t know her name.
Mama jumped. ‘Oh. Marina. I’m good. I’m good.’
‘Do you have a m ... m … minute, S … S… Selma? We should t ... talk.’ The woman arched her eyebrows, peering down her nose at Mama.
‘Yes, yes, but I have to go. I must heat up the food. We can talk later.’ Mama nudged through the crowd and headed for the door.
Marina smiled at the girls, but Natalie noticed it was a hollow smile. The type of smile that never reached the eyes. She pushed past them and followed Mama out, her back upright, her bony shoulders square.
‘Hey, Juliette. Over here.’ Misha grabbed her friend’s arm and yanked her out of her pew and into the aisle beside them. ‘O.M.G. Did you see what Alya is wearing?’
Juliette giggled, flicking back her long, bottle-blonde hair. ‘Those pants are way too tight, or maybe she’s way too fat. You can see the shape of her lady bits.’
‘She’s got the hots for Milat. I think she’s trying to impress him.’
‘Well, she’s not gonna do that by showing everyone her camel toe and wearing make-up like a drag queen.’
Misha and Juliette exploded into raucous laughter. Natalie couldn’t help laughing too, even though she knew it was mean.
When they finally got out into the courtyard, Juliette nudged Misha. ‘So …’ She let the word hang suggestively in the air.
Misha shrugged.
‘Come on, tell me.’
‘It’s not happening.’ Misha flicked her hand. ‘Jozef is way too old for me; even Baba thinks so. He’s like totally geriatric.’
Natalie raised her eyebrows. Just that morning Misha was wailing about how a twelve-year age gap was not a big deal.
‘Oh. That’s too bad.’ Juliette rubbed Misha’s arm. ‘I’m sure someone else will come along. But you know …’ she added, arching a perfectly sculptured eyebrow, ‘I wouldn’t be too picky. You’re already pretty much in your mid-twenties.’
‘She’s twenty three,’ Natalie cut in, shaking her head. ‘That’s nowhere near mid-twenties. Besides, you’re twenty-two yourself.’
‘Whatevs.’ Juliette held up her hand and turned her back on Natalie. ‘Hey, Mish, what about Asim? He’s really nice,’ she said, twirling a strand of her hair between her thumb and forefinger.
‘Yeah, but he’s too young. He won’t want to settle down. He’s only twenty-three and he doesn’t even have a proper job yet, so he’s got no money. I’d give him a four out of ten.’
‘He’s the same age as you are,’ Natalie interruped, annoyed. ‘You’ve been ready for marriage since you were born.’
‘It’s not the same. I’m a girl. Girls are more mature.’
‘Why does there always have to be a difference between boys and girls? You always tell me that God made us all equal.’
Misha flicked back her curls and slid her arm into Juliette’s. ‘Allah did make us equal, but equal in different ways. Now let’s go to the hall. I need a drink.’
‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ Natalie shot back, trailing behind. It was the nonsensical answers she normally got when she asked questions relating to the gender inequality in their community.
She hated that. The inequality. Women weren’t allowed on the pulpit or permitted to preach. After the service, women rushed to the church hall to make coffee and snacks, while the men seated themselves and waited to be served. And then there were the broader unspoken rules and expectations. Women were expected to go to their marital beds as virgins, men weren’t. Women had to be homemakers and caregivers. They could work, but the home, their husbands and any children were always to be their first priority. The man’s decision was the final decision, and so on. All these things troubled her. She’d read parts of the Bible, but it seemed to her that it
was written for another time, by men. The world had changed, modernised. Slavery was outlawed now. Women had rights, could vote, own property. So then, why was it that in her community, it was still uncommon for women to focus on their careers? Why was it still expected they be housewives and mothers, and not much else? She wanted more than that; she wanted to travel, to write, to experience the world. She didn’t want everything to be decided for her, or her prospects to be limited. The older she got, and the closer she came to being a suitable age for marriage, the more the thought of blindly marrying a man she didn’t know worried her.
She followed Misha and Juliette into the church hall. Already abuzz with conversation and laughter, almost every spare seat was taken, mostly by the elderly. Long trestle tables were set with plastic crockery and cutlery, ready for a late-morning feast. The aroma of cake and tea and pastries filled the hall. Children chased each other inside and out, criss-crossing under tables and between chairs. The women gossiped and prepared the food in the adjoining kitchen.
‘I can’t see Baba anywhere,’ Natalie told Misha. ‘Maybe he’s already at the shrine.’
Her father had invited Natalie to light a candle together for Meyme, Baba’s mother. It was the ten-year anniversary of her passing. Now in the church hall, she could see Uncle Sami and his family, as well as Aunty Jasmina and her cousins, but her father was nowhere around.
‘Hey, there’s Yalda and the other girls. Let’s go sit with them.’ Misha pointed to a corner of the heaving room. ‘They really need to get some air con in here.’
‘Yeah. I’m seriously about to pass out.’ Juliette giggled, fanning herself.
‘Mish, Nats, Jules,’ Yalda called out, waving them over.
They snaked their way to the corner and found seats among the group of girls. Natalie sat beside Alya, who was sipping a can of lemonade. Someone must have said something about her pants because she had her cardigan draped over her lap.
‘Did you girls hear about Elbira?’ Yalda said, pausing long enough to get everyone’s attention. ‘She ran off with an Asian guy. Her parents are ready to kill her, but they don’t know where she is. They called the police, but she’s over eighteen and left home willingly, so they won’t do anything.’
