by Jan Michael
Robert didn’t grin at him as usual. He didn’t even turn his head. He quickened his pace.
So did Joshua.
Robert headed down the aisle for their desk, Joshua hard on his heels.
‘Joshua!’
He stopped. Sister Mary was beckoning him. ‘I asked you to sit over here, remember?’ She pointed to the empty desk in front.
‘But that was last week, Sister,’ he pleaded. Robert had sat down at their desk.
‘And this is this week. You’ve come in late without a word of apology or explanation, and I want you in this desk.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Joshua said. Robert had come in late too.
‘Don’t answer back! Go to the desk at once.’
He went. When the nun turned to the blackboard to write down the names of world capitals, he looked round. Robert was holding a whispered conversation across the aisle and he was unable to get his attention, though he tried. He sighed, opened his exercise book and began copying the names off the board.
Robert would think he was a mountain boy because of the carving. He had to talk to him. Again he looked round. Robert was writing, head down.
He turned back to his book. New Delhi, he copied down, Jakarta, Islamabad, Maputo. A film of tears clouded his eyes, blurring the words on the blackboard. He blinked, and wrote: Canberra, Amsterdam, Rome, Nairobi.
A tear overflowed and dropped on to the last i. He wiped it with his fist, smudging it. London, Dublin, Tokyo, Bangkok, he went on.
Tears dripped silently down on to the page. The lead of his pencil slid off the wetness.
There was a hand on his shoulder. ‘Here.’ Sister Mary passed him her handkerchief. ‘Blow your nose. It isn’t as bad as that.’
Yes it is, he thought, blowing into it. He remembered Robert saying that no one wanted to be friends with his father. Perhaps Robert would stop being his friend now that he’d seen him carve. Marius had already told some of the others; he could tell from the glances they gave him. He held the handkerchief out to Sister Mary.
‘Keep it,’ she said, patting him. ‘Now,’ she raised her voice to the class, ‘who is going to tell me which country’s capital cities these are? Yes, Rosemarie, which is the first?’
‘India,’ Rosemarie said.
‘Good girl.’ She chalked India up next to New Delhi.
‘And Jakarta?’
Joshua looked round again. This time Robert’s head was up. He was staring at the blackboard. Joshua could not catch his eye. ‘Robert!’ he mouthed.
It was no good.
He turned back to his work. Dully he wrote down India, Indonesia, Pakistan, Mozambique, in turn. He felt desolate.
‘Australia,’ someone called out.
‘Netherlands.’
He knew only half the places.
‘Excuse me, Sister.’ Sister Martha came in and went over to Sister Mary. They talked quietly, their covered heads close together like two white birds, the starched cotton quivering. Sister Martha seemed to be explaining something. Sister Mary looked across at Joshua. Behind him he could hear restless shuffling and whispering. He sat there miserably, his mind a blank.
He saw Sister Mary nod. Sister Martha came over to his desk. ‘Put away your book, Joshua,’ she said. ‘Reverend Mother wants you in her study.’
His stomach plummeted. You only went to Reverend Mother when you had done something really wrong.
‘There are some visitors to see you,’ she added.
Joshua stared at her, open-mouthed. Visitors? For him?
The whispering in the class turned to a buzz. ‘Silence, class.’ Sister Mary clapped her hands. ‘Now, who can tell me which country has Harare as its capital?’
‘Zimbabwe,’ muttered Sister Martha, leading him out of the classroom, one hand at the back of his head. He had to hurry to keep up with her as she marched down the long verandah. The wooden rosary hanging from her girdle swung and clattered with each step. She seemed upset about something.
They reached the door of Reverend Mother’s office. Sister Martha stopped and pulled his shirt straight. ‘I don’t like it,’ she said under her breath. She smoothed his shorts. ‘They’re good, decent people but if they think they can just march in here – just two letters and a week’s visit –’ she broke off when she saw Joshua’s questioning look. ‘It’s not right.’ She smoothed his hair. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering to tidy you up. Right,’ she said crossly. She turned him to face the door, and knocked.
‘Enter.’
Sister Martha ushered him in. Inside, behind a desk, sat Reverend Mother, her face all wrinkles. Joshua had only ever seen her in chapel; she did no teaching.
‘Good morning, Reverend Mother,’ he said politely, eyes to the ground.
She got up and came over to him. He was surprised to see how short she was next to him, and her usually stern face was smiling. ‘Here,’ she said, turning him towards the corner.
He hadn’t noticed the man and woman sitting in chairs. Now they stood up and came forward.
‘This is Mr and Mrs Nettar.’
It was the tourist couple.
‘Say good morning to them,’ she prompted.
‘Good morning.’
‘Hello, Yoswa,’ they answered, in his language.
Joshua almost laughed; the way they spoke sounded so funny.
‘I understand you have already met these people,’ Reverend Mother said. ‘Is that right, Joshua?’
He nodded. ‘And I’ve been for a ride in their car,’ he informed her proudly.
She smiled faintly. ‘Have you, indeed.’ She and Sister Martha exchanged glances. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘they have come here because they want to adopt a child, someone to go and live with them. They have a big house, with plenty of room. They want to adopt you, Joshua.’
Adoption? He looked at her in astonishment, and then at the couple. The woman’s lips twitched upwards in a nervous smile. The man nodded at him.
‘Now, this is an important decision,’ Reverend Mother went on, her hand still on his shoulder. ‘Joshua – are you listening?’
But he was already imagining that boat-bed in the room high up in the big house. ‘Yes, Mother John,’ he said obediently.
‘They have no children of their own and they’ve asked specially for you. You’d go to school in their country and grow up with them. And you’d learn their language, of course. They say you’ve already seen photographs of their house. Is that right?’
He nodded, hopping from one leg to the other, only hearing half of what she was saying as she continued to talk. The room would be all his. He tried to picture that: books and a clock.
‘You don’t have to say yes straight away,’ she went on.
‘No, don’t rush,’ Sister Martha chimed in. ‘Just because they’re in a hurry doesn’t mean we have to be.’
‘Sister –’ Reverend Mother raised a hand to stop her. ‘It is for the boy to decide, is it not? Now,’ she turned to Joshua again, ‘If you want to go with them, we are happy for you. Take your time.’
‘It means you’ll have to leave here.’ Sister Martha spoke again.
Joshua nodded. Exactly. Where the tourists lived, people probably wouldn’t know about mountain men, he thought. If he went with them, he could carve without feeling he was doing something wrong. That would show Robert, and the others. He tried to imagine what it would be like sleeping alone and his head whirled with the excitement of it all.
He went over to the man and woman and looked back at the nuns. Sister Martha reached out a hand, then let it drop. There was an expression on her face that he couldn’t read.
‘Does this mean that you have made your choice?’ Reverend Mother asked. ‘Does this mean that you want to go with them?’
Joshua grinned. ‘Yes,’ he said excitedly.
The man spoke some foreign words. Mother John answered him hesitantly in the same language. She turned to Joshua. ‘I’ve told him that you’ve said yes,’ she said. ‘Are you qu
ite, quite sure?’
‘Yes,’ Joshua answered again. The man and woman hadn’t even asked him what kind of man his father had been. It wouldn’t matter. ‘Oh yes.’
Sister Martha turned away.
‘Josh! Josh! Where are you going?’ Marius and Vincent came running after him. ‘Can we come too?’
‘If you want. I’m going to find Millie.’ He had wanted to tell Robert about the adoption, but every time he’d tried, Robert had moved away to talk to someone else. So Millie would have to do. At least she knew the foreigners.
Millie was at the jetty, as he’d hoped she would be, with Tom and their father. He had bought an outboard motor, secondhand, and was cleaning and oiling it. When she saw Joshua coming, Millie left them to it.
‘You mean you’ll be going to live with them? In that big house?’ Millie breathed, eyes wide, when he’d told her.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I come and stay?’
‘Of course,’ he promised, drawing himself up to his full height.
‘What big house?’ Marius asked.
Millie explained to him about the photographs. ‘Why did they want you?’ she asked Joshua. ‘Why not me? They know me too.’
‘I expect it’s because you’re not an orphan,’ Marius said importantly, reminding her. ‘Joshua is and I am, and Catherine. So’s Vincent.’
Vincent nodded. ‘Orphan,’ he said gravely, pointing at himself.
‘Orphans sometimes get adopted, Sister Martha says.’ Marius frowned, uncertain about whether he would like that. ‘She says not usually from so far away.’ His face cleared as an explanation struck him. ‘Maybe they wanted Joshua because he’s not really one of us. He carves.’
There was a tiny silence. Millie looked curiously at Joshua. ‘Do you?’ she asked. ‘Like mountain men?’
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Ooh!’ Marius squealed. ‘Liar!’
Joshua glared at him.
‘You’re a mountain man! You’re a liar! Mountain man! Liar!’ Marius took Vincent’s hand and the two of them jigged about, grinning.
‘Stop it!’ Millie scolded. ‘Does Robert know?’ she asked Joshua.
Know what? Joshua wondered. About the carving, or about the adoption? He shook his head a second time.
Millie’s father came up to them, Tom by his side. ‘What was that racket all about?’ he asked Vincent, who was still jigging up and down, chanting silently.
Vincent opened his mouth to answer but was quelled by Millie’s glare.
Millie’s father looked round at them, amused. ‘I see you’ve got yourself some brothers at last, Josh. Well done. That’ll be fun for you. Now then, I’ve got room for three if any of you want to join me in the boat.’
Marius and Vincent set off at a run towards the boat. ‘Right, that’s two. And you, Josh? Hopeless as you are. Tom, you’ve got other things to do. Millie? I expect I can squeeze you in.’ He cuffed her affectionately.
They bundled in and, for once, Joshua cast off from the jetty without losing his balance. Marius and Vincent were silenced, in awe at the unexpected treat: a boat, and a boat with an outboard motor at that. Joshua looked at them with new eyes. Brothers, Millie’s father had said. He hadn’t thought of them that way. He had always wanted brothers.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Down in the playground, six figures gathered around a nun, each with a small bag in their hand. As she dismissed them they darted away like a shoal of fish, their faded T-shirts and dresses almost merging with the dusty brown of the playground. A seventh figure, Joshua, stood apart from them up in the shade of the verandah, away from their chatter, dressed in white. A nun was bending over his foot.
One strap tightened. ‘This is how you fasten them,’ Sister Martha explained, but he couldn’t really see his feet because her white, veiled head was hiding the stiff new sandals from him. When she had finished one sandal he stamped his foot. The leather made a sharp thud on the floor.
Behind her, the others were being rounded up by Sister Mary and Sister Maria Lisa, so that they could leave for the special Easter picnic. Joshua wriggled.
‘Stand still,’ Sister Martha ordered, tugging the other strap through the buckle. ‘You’re a lucky boy,’ she said firmly.
‘Bye, Josh!’ Marius called.
Joshua waved.
‘Bye, bye!’ called Vincent. ‘Bye, Josh!’ called the others in turn.
He’d been looking forward to the picnic. He half wished the couple were coming for him the next day. But he called cheerfully back at the other orphans and waved as they left.
‘I must just make sure Sister Maria Lisa’s got the corned beef. Don’t move,’ Sister Martha said, and jumped down from the verandah after them.
He wriggled his toes. The leather of the new sandals rubbed against them. He bent and fumbled with the buckle, undid it and slipped one off.
‘What are you doing?’ Sister Martha said, returning.
‘I’m taking off the sandals,’ he answered. ‘I don’t like them.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to get used to them,’ she said sharply. ‘Put it on again. You’ll be wearing shoes every day now – sandals in summer and shoes with laces in the winter, and socks. And sweaters. It’s cold where you’re going. And there are proper streets and houses made with bricks. And libraries,’ she added wistfully. She tugged the buckle tight again. ‘You won’t be able to wander about without shoes as you do here.’
He found that difficult to imagine. When he had pictured where he was going to be living he hadn’t got any further than the bedroom. ‘I’ll be able to swim, won’t I?’
She looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know, chick. Maybe there’ll be a swimming pool nearby.’
‘What’s wrong with the sea?’
‘Too cold in winter,’ she said abruptly. ‘And it’s probably dirty. Anyway, I don’t know that they live anywhere near the sea.’
He didn’t like the sound of that.
She stood back and looked at him critically. ‘There, you’ll do,’ she said, tweaking his collar. ‘Now, no going outside and messing up your clothes, hmm? Wait here for them.’
He nodded.
‘I don’t know what’s keeping them,’ she said crossly. But still she hovered. ‘I have to go.’
He knew she did. After all, she was the one who organised the picnic.
‘I’m sure they’ll be here soon.’ She sounded almost as nervous as he felt. ‘Reverend Mother says you’ll have a better life with them,’ she said.
He nodded again. He didn’t know what that meant. But at least he wouldn’t be the odd one out, he thought.
She swooped down and hugged him, almost suffocating him in the starchy folds of her habit. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, smoothing the hair from his eyes. ‘You’re a lucky boy, Josh’ she repeated, more fiercely this time, as if she was trying to convince herself. ‘Just think, they want you so much they’ve come halfway round the world for you. Always remember that. They’ve even paid for you.’ She paused, and then went on, almost to herself, ‘It’s easy if you think everything in life can be bought. Far too easy and far too quick.’
Joshua blinked at her. ‘I’ll come back, won’t I?’ he interrupted. ‘They’ll bring me back? I won’t be gone for ever?’
She didn’t answer. ‘Be good,’ she said, her eyes moist.
He flung his arms around her, not wanting her to go, but she did all the same, in a flurry of white and a clatter of rosary beads.
He was alone.
He decided to carry his bundle along the verandah to the main entrance. It wasn’t heavy; all it had gained was another comic from Millie and a prayer book from the nuns. He went back for Pig and set him facing the doorway, standing squarely on his wooden trotters, with the bundle propped on his back. He thought again about the beautiful bedroom he’d have all to himself. His stomach churned, partly in excitement, partly in fear.
They were coming for him in the car, Sister Martha had said. He l
eft the doorway and wandered down to where the white jasmine marked the edge of the school, and looked down the road, first to the left, then to the right, but there was no car to be seen.
He jumped experimentally in his new sandals. Dust flew up and settled on the leather. He struggled with the buckles and took them off and jumped again. There, that was better. He left the sandals lying on the ground and went back to Pig, untied his bundle and took out the comic.
I’ll look at the comic, he thought, then I’ll check the road again. If they haven’t come by then, I’ll still be able to catch up with the others.
He sat down, leaning against Pig, and flicked open the comic.
He put it down. No, I won’t, he thought, they don’t want me on the picnic, not really. Besides, he’d said goodbye.
He went back for his sandals and was putting them on again when he heard the sound of a car approaching. Hurriedly he tried to buckle the sandals, but gave up when he couldn’t get his fingers to move quickly enough. He shuffled to the doorway to pick up his things and set off back across the short stretch of ground towards the gleaming car, bundle in one hand. With the other arm he half-carried, half-dragged Pig, his body twisting with the effort.
The man took his bundle. The woman named Marguerite removed her sunglasses and hugged him and he smiled up at her, excited again, his misgivings forgotten. He was going to a better life. Sister Martha had said so.
‘Get in, dear,’ the woman said.
He climbed on to the back seat. She closed his door, and the man turned on the engine. He sniffed the lovely smell of leather again and gazed once more at the dials.
Something was missing.
Pig! Pig was still outside in the road. He pressed down on the door handle to open it.
The woman turned and closed it again and locked it. ‘Careful,’ she said.
‘But – Pig.’
He thought she understood, but the car was drawing away. She shook her head gently at him. ‘We can’t take that,’ she said. ‘Wherever would we put it? Anyway, how would we get it on the aeroplane?’
Joshua just heard words. They meant nothing. He turned round and knelt on the back seat as he had done with Millie. He couldn’t see Pig. He’d been swallowed up in swirls of sand as the car sprang forward. He turned back and tapped the woman on the shoulder. ‘I want Pig,’ he said, loudly and clearly.
