Even though I’m nervous and I’ve never done anything like this before, somehow it’s not so difficult to tell them my idea, because I’m doing it for Bubbe. I ask everyone to turn their phones off and they do. I thought people would argue or think the barefoot idea is too weird, but when I tell them that our footprints in the snow will show how much we care about this, nobody laughs at me.
‘I get that!’ Stella says. ‘And when people see these footprints they won’t know who they belong to.’
I feel like hugging Stella . . . but she’s not the sort of person who looks like she would let you hug her.
I hand my iPad to Becks. ‘Can you film it all from the start? I’m going to send it to Kez and Bubbe.’
‘OK!’ she says. ‘Ready?’ She points the iPad towards us.
We are standing outside the cemetery, and the graves inside look like little even hills of snow. I can just about make out the path still.
When you first take your shoes off, the softness and coldness of the snow takes your breath away. I feel like this is the first time I have really felt what snow is.
I say my name and lay my shoes by the cemetery gates. Then Pari follows:
‘Pari Pashaei’ – and she places her shoes neatly behind mine.
‘Stella Firn.’
‘Selina Sen.’
‘Carmel Baninga.’
‘Nathan Mathews.’
‘Louis Falks.’
‘Riba Allan.’
‘Akil Husseini.’
‘Milena Aleksandrov.’
‘Kian Edwards.’
‘Carlos Mandego.’
The shoes, snow boots and wellies line back and back along the path. There’s something so strange about that line of shoes in the snow that I get a bit hypnotized by it and by the people speaking their names, so I don’t see him arrive.
‘Tomek Romanek.’
I turn and he smiles and nods at me like he doesn’t want to make a big deal of being here.
‘How’s Janu?’ he asks.
‘He’s fine . . . gone to see his sister in New York,’ I tell him.
I can feel Pari and Stella staring at us. Pari pulls a face at me as if to say, Aren’t you the secretive one?
I ignore their grins and hand out the banners to people who want to carry them. People collect their jam jars and lit candles. We line up in little groups and start to walk barefoot down the path to Stan Braverman’s grave.
Tomek doesn’t say anything to me. He just walks by my side and occasionally his hand grazes mine. Is he doing it on purpose? Every time our hands touch I feel like an electric shock runs through my body. Even though we’ve only met twice, and he doesn’t know any of my friends, he understands as much as anyone here why we’re walking together, so the next time his hand touches mine I reach for his fingers and our hands fold together, palm against palm.
Everything is still except for the song of a robin that hops ahead of us, as if it’s leading the way.
‘Such a tiny little bird . . . with a strong voice.’ Simon’s words float into my head.
We reach the end of the cemetery where Bubbe fell and lay down the banners. One by one we place the candles around all the graves that were spoilt. I smooth away the snow to reveal Stan’s headstone. The stone is bleached where they have cleaned away the swastika, but you can still see the washed-out shadow of the shape. It makes me think of Pari’s picture of her dad, and I think of Janu and what he said after he was attacked . . . about the memory of hatred taking longer to heal. I place my candle on Stan Braverman’s grave and Tomek places his beside mine. This corner of the cemetery looks so pretty now, all lit up with candles. Nobody speaks, even the robin has stopped singing. The peace is as soft and deep as the snow. Becks spends a long time filming it, trying to capture the atmosphere.
When all the candles are arranged in the snow, we pick up our banners and walk in our own footprints back to the entrance of the cemetery, leaving the candles burning. Tomek keeps looking sideways at me and smiling as we hold the banner together, and even though this is such a small vigil, nothing like the Women’s March or big marches that Nana and Simon went on, or the one Pari, Leyla and me watched on the news, this still feels like something.
Rebecca takes a last shot of the empty shoes and stops filming.
‘Will you send it now . . . to Kez?’ I ask.
‘What do you think I should write about it?’ Rebecca asks.
We try out a few ideas and finally agree on: ‘Our vigil for Bubbe and your family, love from all your friends.’
After we’ve done the walk back through the cemetery, people turn their phones back on and there’s a chorus of pinging and speaking to parents who want to know where they are.
We stand around talking for a while, but even with their shoes back on people are starting to shiver. I think it’s probably all over now. Quite a few people start to say their goodbyes. There’s lots of hugging and arm holding. I understand what Nana Josie was saying now in her Protest Book, about how standing together makes you feel stronger, even if you can’t see how it changes things straight away.
We take it in turns to walk back to the graves to make sure the candles are still alight. I have plenty of spare nightlights in my Banner Bag, enough to keep it all lit up to the entrance and by the gravesides.
By the time it’s dark, the road has opened up and a few cars drive slowly past, but no buses. I suppose people must be wondering what we’re doing here.
The cold is biting through my clothes now and I start to shiver. I suppose it would have been really hard for Kez to come and see this vigil for Bubbe.
‘Can I walk with you home?’ Tomek asks.
Pari and Stella hear him and don’t seem to be able to stop giggling.
We’re just about to pack up the banners when I hear the engine. I know the sound of that van.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Bubbe steps carefully out of the driver’s seat, walks around and opens the back of the van for Kez.
‘I couldn’t stop her coming! Mum and Dad are going to kill me. I’m supposed to be at home looking after Bubbe! But . . . thank you,’ Kez calls out from the van as she waits for the ramp to lower.
Kez comes slowly across the snow towards us in Vimana.
‘Don’t want to go flying!’ She smiles at me but she looks sad. Her eyes are full of tears. She reaches out to me and we hold each other for a long time. It’s a hug that says so many things. It seems such a long time ago that we used to play those flying games.
Bubbe looks so fragile, like the winter twigs all around, but her face is soft again, and smiling.
‘My dear, sweet Laila! I’m wearing them!’ she whispers to me, pointing to the little black leather shoes she wore the day she had to leave her home forever.
‘Can you help me, Laila?’ Kez asks, and I pull her wellies off for her.
‘Now, where is that camera you used?’ Bubbe asks, and shudders with the cold.
I start filming.
‘Dara Braverman,’ she says, looking straight at the camera.
‘Kezia Braverman.’
I light a candle for Bubbe and one for Kez. Bubbe walks carefully towards Stan’s grave with Kez by her side.
I follow the path of Bubbe’s little-girl shoe prints treading through the snow.
I can just make out the branches of the trees above. As they walk further down the path, the snow-light and mist merge into one so you can’t tell what’s earth, air or sky any more. Bubbe and Kez disappear and all that you can see of them is the faint glow of their candles.
It’s a real laugh in the van on the way back, except for Pari, Stella and Kez giggling and elbowing me whenever Tomek speaks!
Bubbe’s obviously going to drop me home first. I wish I could stay in the van and drop Pari and Tomek off too.
‘The sign’s gone!’ Kez says as we draw up by the tree.
‘What sign?’ Tomek asks.
‘Oh! Long story . . . We had a snake turn up in our kitche
n,’ I say.
‘OK!’ Tomek laughs. ‘It does sound like you’re going to have to tell me about that one!’
Dad comes out to meet me and waves Bubbe and Kez off.
‘She’s got a vanful of girls!’ Dad laughs, then he spots Tomek. ‘But who’s that?’
‘Just a friend!’ I say.
‘I’ve heard that one before! Is Dara feeling better now? When she told us where you were, we all wanted to drive her and Kez up there, but she was having none of it. Insisted on it being just her and Kez.’
‘She’s fine, but she’s tired now so she’s going home, and Maurice is dropping them all back.’
‘Lucky Maurice!’ Dad jokes.
‘What happened with the snake sign?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes.’ Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders. ‘Krish’s friend Eddie came over with something for you while you were out! He seemed to think you might want to keep it.’
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘A snakeskin!’
‘Eddie said it shed its skin and about half an hour later there was a knock on the door and someone claimed it. They had a photo of it and everything! The owners had moved house and it got out in the move. They couldn’t believe it was still alive! And we were all so afraid of it!’ Dad smiles.
‘I wasn’t!
I feel different walking back into our house. The front garden looks so pretty covered in snow . . . you can’t see all the mud from knocking down the high wall. But when I get inside, the place is still like a building site.
‘What’s going on in this house?’
‘It’s chaos. We’ve had a burst pipe. The hallway floor’s going to have to come up. Please sleep in Mira’s room! I don’t want your eczema to get worse,’ Dad explains. ‘Come on; let’s get you into the warm.’ He helps me navigate around the dustsheets and a toolbox. I suddenly feel a bit shaky. ‘Cup of tea? Mum’s made soup.’
‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ I say.
‘Not so fast! We want the whole truth and nothing but the truth! Where did that come from?’ Dad asks as I place the Banner Bag on the table.
‘It’s all there!’ I say, tapping the iPad. ‘Where is Mum?’
‘On her way back from the Bravermans’. You’re going to have some questions to answer! But come on, get that coat off. I lit the fire for you.’
I stand in front of the fireplace feeling the heat slowly warm me through.
When Mum comes home she won’t let me go. She keeps hanging on to me. She doesn’t even want to leave me on my own while I wait for the bath to run. My feet itch and burn – like they were frozen before and now they’re thawing out.
‘You’ll all have chilblains,’ Mum says, fluffing up the bubbles of the bath. ‘I don’t know what this’ll do for your eczema.’
I haven’t been sratching my arm for a while. In fact I haven’t even thought about it. I hold my arms out to check and the cracked skin’s gone, with just a faint red shadow to show that the eczema was ever there.
‘That latest remedy worked then,’ Mum says, and kisses the crooks of my arms.
‘Mum!’ I laugh. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just glad to have you home safe and sound!’ Mum sighs and sits on the toilet as if I’m going to get in the bath with her sitting there.
‘Can I have some privacy now?’
She laughs and leaves, closing the bathroom door.
The house is so dusty that after my bath I go into Mira’s room, close the door and snuggle up on her bed. I take out Nana’s chime and ring it just once . . .
Old bare feet are walking in the snow in a long trail of people. Old, old feet, black feet, white feet, brown feet. When they lift their heels out of the snow, they’re all cracked and sore and pink from the cold.
‘Follow the chime, Laila.’ I hear a voice and follow the feet and the sound of an ankle bracelet jingling.
‘Is that you, Nana Josie?’ I call, but the feet keep walking, the chime keeps ringing.
Someone’s running behind me, panting, out of breath. ‘Wait for me!’
I know his voice but all I can see is feet in the snow.
The chime rings.
‘Simon, time to go!’ Nana Josie’s voice calls.
I follow, but the faster I walk, the further they are away from me, walking into the sun.
The chime rings in my hand, louder and louder . . .
I’m still holding it when I wake up. I feel all warm inside like you do when you fall asleep in the sun and wake up feeling like the heat has seeped into your skin. I hardly ever dream. It’s Mira who has those dreams that she thinks really mean something, not me.
I walk down the stairs and there’s a builder already working in the hallway.
‘Sorry!’ I say, squeezing past him and grabbing my blazer. No time for breakfast. I’m going to be in so much trouble if I’m late for school again.
The sun’s so bright as I walk out of the door I can hardly see the path.
The snow’s packed down from all the footprints. The path is icy, so I step on to the grass of the park instead and run. I love these bright frosty mornings when your shoes scrunch on the ice, but I’m happy I’m not barefoot today like Janu is. It must be so cold in New York.
I slow as I approach the school gates. Mrs Latif is waiting for me with . . . Kez, Pari and . . . what’s Bubbe doing there?
Mrs Latif walks towards me.
‘Are you better?’ I ask her.
‘I’m not ill! Though I have had a very sickly few weeks! Haven’t you noticed my bump?’ I look down at her tummy and I can see that her slim shape has changed. Mrs Latif is beaming with happiness.
‘Congratulations . . . Oh, I forgot to give you your Malala book back for your bookshelf!’ I say.
Mrs Latif shakes her head. ‘No, Laila, I’ll get another copy when he or she is old enough. Think of it as a congratulations present . . . Come on, let’s go and see Mrs Kaur – I think she’s got a few words she wants to say to you.’
‘Am I in trouble? Sorry, but—’
‘Save it for the Head!’ Mrs Latif smiles at me, takes Bubbe’s arm and leads the way into school.
Kez holds my hand on one side and Pari’s on the other and we walk through the gates together. Rebecca, Stella, Carlos, Selina, Carmel, Milena, Nathan and some of the people from Kez’s tutor group who came to the vigil are lined up outside our Head’s office. Mrs Latif knocks on the door and Mrs Kaur answers.
‘It was my idea!’ I blurt out.
‘I’ve heard all about it!’ Mrs Kaur smiles at Bubbe and motions for us all to cram into her office. ‘Now! Let me shake your hand, Laila Levenson,’ Mrs Kaur says when we’ve all finally managed to fit in.
I’ve never actually spoken to our Head Teacher before. I thought she would be scary, but she looks really normal and friendly.
‘Don’t look so worried, Laila! I have never had a group of Year Sevens make a statement I’m more proud of. You are an absolute credit to this school. I’m so happy Mrs Braverman here has gone out of her way to come in and tell me what you young people have done. With all of your permission I would like to bring this to the attention of the media.’
Bubbe turns around and beams at us all. She looks thin and tired but her eyes are sparkling with happiness, like they did when she listened to Kez speak on her bat mitzvah day.
Most of the rest of the morning we spend in Mrs Kaur’s office being interviewed by local papers and even for a TV news report.
‘Let’s just have a small group shot!’ the reporter says.
Mrs Latif, Mrs Kaur, Bubbe, Kez, Pari, Carlos, Selina and Rebecca get in the photo, but Stella hangs back.
Mrs Latif calls her over. ‘Come on, Stella! We’re all in this together.’
The best thing about this photo is something that no one else would really get, except maybe Pari and me and Mrs Latif. On the first day of school I never would have thought that Stella, Pari and me would be the closest of anyone in our tutor group. I would never have
put that on Mrs Latif’s map.
The end-of-school bell goes and everyone’s getting out of their seats. Mrs Latif and Mr Rivera come over and chat to me a bit more about the vigil. Mrs Latif wants to know if we could get everyone who was involved from school together and do an assembly about it. Bubbe’s agreed to come in and talk too.
‘I’ll help you put something together,’ Mrs Latif says.
‘We should play the “underground” music you made,’ Mr Rivera suggests.
‘And your film of the vigil,’ Mrs Latif adds.
‘Yes, and I can bring in my Nana Josie’s banner to show everyone,’ I say.
They seem to be actually really excited about all this.
‘I’ll talk to the others about it,’ I tell them, and turn around to see what Stella and Pari think. But they’ve gone.
I wait at the school gates but I can’t see anyone. I don’t know why, but I feel a bit flat. What I would really love now is for all my friends to be able to come back to mine and sit on my bed, close the door and for us to just talk on our own about everything that’s happened. It doesn’t look like anyone’s going to show now. Maybe Pari and Stella are already on the underground. I give up waiting by the Unfriendship Bench and go home.
As I cross the road there’s a crowd outside our house. Kez and her mum and dad and Pari and her mum are all standing on the pavement. Someone’s planted a small tree and some bright red and white flowers either side of the new S-shaped path up to our front door. The garden looks really good. And then the door opens and Mum’s standing there and I realize that since I left this morning our house has a got a new door that’s been painted turquoise.
Dad’s standing off the sloped path near the front door, holding his iPhone up and recording.
‘Mind the new planting!’ Mum says, steering Dad away from treading on a climber with little yellow star-shaped flowers.
‘What is that plant?’ Hannah asks.
‘Winter-flowering jasmine. Janu’s choice!’ Mum says.
‘What’s going on, Laila?’ Dad asks.
‘I dunno! I haven’t got a clue!’ I look to Kez and Pari for an answer.
Tender Earth Page 26
