gouge.away
MonCœurS'ouvre à taVoix
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“No, it means that when we feel cold, she feels hot. She’s opposite to us,” a seven year old boy explained to his female counterpart, as if his hypothesis was the cure for ADD.
“But that can’t be just because of her skin, right?” the girl queried, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side.
“Of course it is,” the boy answered, nodding imperiously, “because her skin is darker she doesn’t feel the weather like we do.”
“Does that also mean that what we think is right they think is wrong?” she asked further, frowning at the extension of the boy’s casuistry.
“Yes. So if we think she’s stupid, which she is, she thinks she’s smart. My Uncle Mick says that, and that they’re good for nothing goo–”
The boy never finished his sentence. He did, however, fall to the ground crying and clutching his shin at the feet of an infuriated Vietnamese girl screaming curses that a marine would be proud of.
While Lina was not shivering from the cold at present, she was balling herself up as much as she could without looking like a misplaced baby. Whenever she was bullied she would be the one blamed for it. At any attempt to explain herself, she would be sent to sit outside the principal’s office, though this time there was an actual reason for her sitting in the freezing hallway.
For the minutes that she had been waiting for a reprimand she knew by heart, Lina had been replaying that conversation in her mind. She trembled, not from the cold, but from the pure unmitigated anger than ran like a buffalo stampede through her veins.
The stampede was halted when a sonorous voice called her name.
“Lina Chau!”
She stood up and pushed open the door, closing it carefully. Her parents were sitting in the chairs in front of the Principal’s desk, their similarly dark complexions tinted pink with embarrassment at having been interrupted for the umpteenth time for their daughter’s misconduct.
“Mr and Mrs Chau, I believe you have heard about the incident with Thomas Keating earlier today?” the Principal, Mr Hadley, asked solicitously. Answering in the affirmative, the elder Chaus glanced reproachfully at their daughter, though they failed to inspire in her any fear whatsoever. In fact, Lina’s posture straightened defiantly, her eyes as bright and steely as exploding shells at night.
“But didn’t you tell them what he – ” Lina implored, her exasperation and respect for Mr Hadley weakening her tone.
“That is enough,” her mother declared peremptorily. “We both work two jobs to give you an education and this is what you do to repay us?”
“But he was about to call me a –” Lina began, anticipating the epithet with bared, clenched teeth and a shudder of disgust.
“I don’t care. You are coming home,” her mother continued, rising from her seat, brushing off some invisible dirt from her dowdy clothes. “Thank you for your time, Principal Hadley. Her mother than informed the Principal that Lina would be attending Waverton Public, the school down the road. It was notorious for the racist behaviour of some of the parents, who then imparted their views onto their dearly impressionable progeny, to great, and at times, fatal, detriment of other students.
“Surely, Mrs Chau, leaving Camberley will not be necessary,” Mr Hadley said firmly, deeply concerned by Lina’s sudden thousand-yard stare. “Besides, Mrs Keating would like to discuss some things regarding Thomas’ behaviour.”
“There is no need. She is wasting her time. Goodbye, Principal Hadley.”
As they left, Kingston Hadley was sure that he heard a slap followed by a quickly strangled sob. He sighed mournfully and shook his head. It did not have to end like this.
Thomas Keating went home that day with his leg emblazoned with a bilious green bruise, as if his bone had vomited up something rotten beneath his skin. He walked into the kitchen for his afternoon snack, only to see the cookie jar still atop the refrigerator and his mother sitting at the breakfast table. She looked troubled, but it was well hidden from young eyes.
“Thomas, would you like to tell me what happened at school today?” his mother, Lynn, asked, her tone hollow.
“Lina Chau kicked me because I said something about her and she heard it,” Thomas replied remorsefully.
“What did you say?” Lynn pressed.
“I said that she didn’t feel the cold like we do, and that she’s stupid because she’s a gook and –” he recounted dutifully until his mother stood up suddenly, bristling. Composing herself, she inquired as to why he would say such a thing.
“Uncle Mick told me,” Thomas stated blankly, tracking the movements of a small line of ants moving across the floor. Upon hearing this, Lynn Keating sighed in dismay. Michael Keating, or “Mick”, as he was known by his fellow cellmates and Thomas, was a Vietnam War veteran whose recounting of wartime exploits (read: atrocities) has been known to cause symptoms akin to post-traumatic stress disorder in listeners.
“You do remember what I said about Uncle Mick, Thomas?” Lynn reminded, bending down and tilting Thomas’ chin up.
“Yes, but Uncle Mick’s met girls like Lina, and I thought that he might tell me how to… you know… but he told me what I said today and…” Thomas trailed off, blushing.
“Oh,” Lynn smiled slightly to herself. “You mean, you like Lina?”
Thomas looked furtively at the knowing smile of his mother and quickly nodded.
“Well, it’s about time we had this talk. Come on.”
With that, she brought down the cookie jar and some fruit and ushered her nonplussed son into their living room.
The next day when Lina was not at school, Thomas came home crestfallen, carrying a lily and the apology he had written and spent all of lunch in the art room decorating with an etching of a cat and a dog gambolling in a field. Reporting this despondently to his mother, they resolved that he would personally deliver his apology to her. Before they left, Thomas took new flower, this time a camellia.
Answering the door, Lina almost slammed it in Thomas’ face until she saw his mother standing expectantly beside him. After an awkward pause, Thomas spoke: “Why are you wearing a Waverton uniform?”
Lina blinked and replied vacantly, “Erm, because I go there now, thanks to you,” ending her sentence with an almost imperceptible snarl, making Thomas shuffle uncomfortably. Her glowering at his mere presence rendered his apology a stream of unintelligible babble, and with shaking hands he offered the note and camellia. He also felt a strange urge to genuflect.
Lina looked unimpressed, but saw that his sentiment was genuine and read the note. As she finished her father appeared behind her and cordially invited the Keatings in for a cup of tea, which they readily accepted.
“It was our pleasure, truly it was,” Mr Chau, or Thanh, as he asked to be called, said to Lynn as she left.
“Goodbye, see you tomorrow at school, Lina,” Lynn called out from her parked car.
Lina waved shyly at the Keatings, and returned Thomas’ small smile.
“But that can’t be just because of her skin, right?” the girl queried, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side.
“Of course it is,” the boy answered, nodding imperiously, “because her skin is darker she doesn’t feel the weather like we do.”
“Does that also mean that what we think is right they think is wrong?” she asked further, frowning at the extension of the boy’s casuistry.
“Yes. So if we think she’s stupid, which she is, she thinks she’s smart. My Uncle Mick says that, and that they’re good for nothing goo–”
The boy never finished his sentence. He did, however, fall to the ground crying and clutching his shin at the feet of an infuriated Vietnamese girl screaming curses that a marine would be proud of.
While Lina was not shivering from the cold at present, she was balling herself up as much as she could without looking like a misplaced baby. Whenever she was bullied she would be the one blamed for it. At any attempt to explain herself, she would be sent to sit outside the principal’s office, though this time there was an actual reason for her sitting in the freezing hallway.
For the minutes that she had been waiting for a reprimand she knew by heart, Lina had been replaying that conversation in her mind. She trembled, not from the cold, but from the pure unmitigated anger than ran like a buffalo stampede through her veins.
The stampede was halted when a sonorous voice called her name.
“Lina Chau!”
She stood up and pushed open the door, closing it carefully. Her parents were sitting in the chairs in front of the Principal’s desk, their similarly dark complexions tinted pink with embarrassment at having been interrupted for the umpteenth time for their daughter’s misconduct.
“Mr and Mrs Chau, I believe you have heard about the incident with Thomas Keating earlier today?” the Principal, Mr Hadley, asked solicitously. Answering in the affirmative, the elder Chaus glanced reproachfully at their daughter, though they failed to inspire in her any fear whatsoever. In fact, Lina’s posture straightened defiantly, her eyes as bright and steely as exploding shells at night.
“But didn’t you tell them what he – ” Lina implored, her exasperation and respect for Mr Hadley weakening her tone.
“That is enough,” her mother declared peremptorily. “We both work two jobs to give you an education and this is what you do to repay us?”
“But he was about to call me a –” Lina began, anticipating the epithet with bared, clenched teeth and a shudder of disgust.
“I don’t care. You are coming home,” her mother continued, rising from her seat, brushing off some invisible dirt from her dowdy clothes. “Thank you for your time, Principal Hadley. Her mother than informed the Principal that Lina would be attending Waverton Public, the school down the road. It was notorious for the racist behaviour of some of the parents, who then imparted their views onto their dearly impressionable progeny, to great, and at times, fatal, detriment of other students.
“Surely, Mrs Chau, leaving Camberley will not be necessary,” Mr Hadley said firmly, deeply concerned by Lina’s sudden thousand-yard stare. “Besides, Mrs Keating would like to discuss some things regarding Thomas’ behaviour.”
“There is no need. She is wasting her time. Goodbye, Principal Hadley.”
As they left, Kingston Hadley was sure that he heard a slap followed by a quickly strangled sob. He sighed mournfully and shook his head. It did not have to end like this.
Thomas Keating went home that day with his leg emblazoned with a bilious green bruise, as if his bone had vomited up something rotten beneath his skin. He walked into the kitchen for his afternoon snack, only to see the cookie jar still atop the refrigerator and his mother sitting at the breakfast table. She looked troubled, but it was well hidden from young eyes.
“Thomas, would you like to tell me what happened at school today?” his mother, Lynn, asked, her tone hollow.
“Lina Chau kicked me because I said something about her and she heard it,” Thomas replied remorsefully.
“What did you say?” Lynn pressed.
“I said that she didn’t feel the cold like we do, and that she’s stupid because she’s a gook and –” he recounted dutifully until his mother stood up suddenly, bristling. Composing herself, she inquired as to why he would say such a thing.
“Uncle Mick told me,” Thomas stated blankly, tracking the movements of a small line of ants moving across the floor. Upon hearing this, Lynn Keating sighed in dismay. Michael Keating, or “Mick”, as he was known by his fellow cellmates and Thomas, was a Vietnam War veteran whose recounting of wartime exploits (read: atrocities) has been known to cause symptoms akin to post-traumatic stress disorder in listeners.
“You do remember what I said about Uncle Mick, Thomas?” Lynn reminded, bending down and tilting Thomas’ chin up.
“Yes, but Uncle Mick’s met girls like Lina, and I thought that he might tell me how to… you know… but he told me what I said today and…” Thomas trailed off, blushing.
“Oh,” Lynn smiled slightly to herself. “You mean, you like Lina?”
Thomas looked furtively at the knowing smile of his mother and quickly nodded.
“Well, it’s about time we had this talk. Come on.”
With that, she brought down the cookie jar and some fruit and ushered her nonplussed son into their living room.
The next day when Lina was not at school, Thomas came home crestfallen, carrying a lily and the apology he had written and spent all of lunch in the art room decorating with an etching of a cat and a dog gambolling in a field. Reporting this despondently to his mother, they resolved that he would personally deliver his apology to her. Before they left, Thomas took new flower, this time a camellia.
Answering the door, Lina almost slammed it in Thomas’ face until she saw his mother standing expectantly beside him. After an awkward pause, Thomas spoke: “Why are you wearing a Waverton uniform?”
Lina blinked and replied vacantly, “Erm, because I go there now, thanks to you,” ending her sentence with an almost imperceptible snarl, making Thomas shuffle uncomfortably. Her glowering at his mere presence rendered his apology a stream of unintelligible babble, and with shaking hands he offered the note and camellia. He also felt a strange urge to genuflect.
Lina looked unimpressed, but saw that his sentiment was genuine and read the note. As she finished her father appeared behind her and cordially invited the Keatings in for a cup of tea, which they readily accepted.
“It was our pleasure, truly it was,” Mr Chau, or Thanh, as he asked to be called, said to Lynn as she left.
“Goodbye, see you tomorrow at school, Lina,” Lynn called out from her parked car.
Lina waved shyly at the Keatings, and returned Thomas’ small smile.
