The Girl Who Couldn't Smile Part 14

'Say ... sorrrry ...' she said.

I had no idea if these were the first English words she had ever spoken, but they were the first I had heard her say. I hugged her tight. 'I wonder if anyone ever said sorry to you. Because the world hasn't always been a nice place for you, has it?'

'Say sorrrry,' she said again, pressed into my chest.

'Yes,' I said. 'Thank you, Arga. Thank you.'

'Thanks ... joo,' she said, looking at me with grave seriousness.

'Come on,' I said, turning her to look at the house. 'Let's have a game. What shall we play?'

'Ksiniczka!' Arga said, clapping her hands.

I couldn't see any blank to fill in for that one, but Arga helped me by picking up a doll that was dressed like a princess, and began a commentary in Polish as the doll moved about the house. I watched her, trying to follow the story she was attempting to tell me. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Tammy, standing a little away from us, watching closely. I was tempted to call her over, but was reminded by my smarting nose of why I had moved in the first place. I decided to ignore her, and see what happened.

Nothing happened.

Arga continued playing her game, occasionally handing me a doll and directing me through mime or gentle pus.h.i.+ng in what she wished me to do with it. After twenty minutes or so it was time for outdoor play, and Arga, her scuffle forgotten, hugged me quickly and shot out of the door with the others. Tammy remained standing where she was.

'Time to go out now, Tam,' I said.

She gazed at me, unmoving.

'You mad at me?' I asked.

A curt nod.

'Well, if anyone has a reason to be angry, it's me. You hurt me quite badly.'

Tammy ran over and hugged my legs. My heart melted. I picked her up and gave her a cuddle.

'That's your way of telling me you didn't mean it, isn't it?' I asked her.

Another nod.

'Will we go outside now?'

She shook her head.

'So what do you want to do?'

She pointed at the books in the reading corner.

'You want a story?'

Nod.

'I'll tell you what, I'll read you a quick one and then we'll go outside to play. How's that?'

Tammy agreed, and we sat down among the beanbags again.

'What do you want to read?'

Tammy handed me one of my own favourites The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. It's a wonderfully simple tale of a caterpillar that comes out of his egg one Sunday, spends the week eating his way through various different foods, after which he spins a coc.o.o.n and turns into a b.u.t.terfly. The story is, of course, about growing up and the changes everyone goes through, but the ill.u.s.trations are so beautifully rendered and such fun that children and adults alike disappear into it effortlessly.

I opened the first page, which featured a chunky, multicoloured image of the eponymous caterpillar and the book's t.i.tle. I was about to read it when a thought occurred to me.

'You know,' I said, Tammy snuggled up against my arm, 'in storybooks, the pictures often tell us what the words mean.'

Tammy's eyes were fixed on the picture. She jabbed the page with her finger as if to say, 'Come on, read it!'

'I'll bet you can't show me which word says "caterpillar",' I said.

Tammy looked up at me, an odd expression on her face she was trying to read me. I just smiled innocently. Come on, Tammy, I thought. Show me what you can do! Without pausing, she pointed at the correct word. I felt my heart begin to beat a little faster. She could read! This child who, to all intents and purposes, appeared to be intellectually disabled might in fact be gifted. I reminded myself that picking out one word did not a competent reader make.

'That's absolutely right, Tammy,' I said gently. 'Well done. The Very Hungry Caterpillar. That's what this book is called, isn't it?'

She nodded, but I thought I detected suspicion in her demeanour now. I turned the page and looked at the text. I didn't read it: 'In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf.' The accompanying picture showed a richly hued nighttime scene, with a delicate-looking, semi-transparent egg perched on a broad, curved leaf.

'Which word says "moon", Tammy?' I asked.

Her eyes on my face, a look of sullen rebellion on her own, Tammy put her finger on the word 'egg' and tapped it three times. I almost laughed. Something told me that if she really was unable to read, and the success of our first try had been a happy accident, she would have chosen a different word. The one that had the most letters in it, and therefore stood out (as 'caterpillar' had) was 'little'. 'Egg' had fewer letters, but was the other subject of the sentence. Tammy, I firmly believed, was playing with me. But I couldn't prove it, and she was telling me very clearly that she was not going to read for me any more, that day at least.

'Why don't I just finish the story and we can go outside?' I said.

And that was precisely what happened.

24.

Susan had brought in a sort of graduated series of trays joined together with prettily coloured wire so we could display our cupcake creations for Milandra. There were also Krispie buns, some made with chocolate and some with marshmallow, and ice-cream (vanilla, strawberry and chocolate chip). The party was to happen in the hour before home-time.

'Jack them up on sugar and send them home to their parents brilliant!' Lonnie had said, before bringing the kids outside with Tush so that Susan and I could get the place ready.

'I have a surprise of my own,' Susan said, when the food was set out.

'Yeah?' I said.

'I like your idea about the birthdays,' Susan said. 'I think we should make it a tradition these things are important, and for some of our kids, a party here will probably be the only one they get. So, with that in mind ...' She opened a cupboard over the craft table, and brought down a large box, wrapped in s.h.i.+ny pink paper.

'A present?' I said.

'I took the liberty of purchasing something I thought a five-year-old girl might like,' Susan said. 'I had a notion you might find that a bit of a challenge.'

'Thanks, Susan,' I said, genuinely pleased. 'I appreciate your help on this. I know you've had some reservations about some of the changes I've made, but you've always tried to make things work.'

'We're all on the same side,' Susan said. 'But will you do me one favour in future?'

'Name it,' I said.

'Would you for f.u.c.k sake call me Su?'

The kids came back into the room in their usual manner: like a herd of stampeding cattle. They stopped dead in front of the cupcakes on their tiered tray. They did look spectacular all the different colours and decorative touches Lonnie, Tush and I had used made them quite an impressive sight. With so many cupcakes there were more than fifty I thought that single birthday candles might get lost, so I had bought lots shaped as the number '5', and set those about the cakes. With the other treats and a few decorations we had hung about the room, Little Scamps had been transformed into Party Central.

'Wow!' Jeffrey said. 'Look at all de food!'

'Look at the candles,' Mitzi cooed. 'Bright and pretty. Like stars.'

Milandra was standing at the back of the crowd. So far that day she had been uncharacteristically quiet. There had been no angry outbursts, very little invective and no violence to either person or property. Milandra had kept herself to herself, and when we discussed the upcoming birthday celebrations at our breakfast meeting, she had not really got involved in the conversation, although we had been at pains to stress to her that this was her birthday, and the effort we had gone to was to honour and value her.

'What do you think, Milandra?' I asked, as she stood, mouth open, marvelling at the cakes.

'That whole pile of cakes is for me?' she asked, her voice barely audible.

'It is. Lonnie, Tush and I spent a long time on Sat.u.r.day making them. I even made some special African ones, just like your dad would have eaten when he was a boy.'

Milandra laughed nervously. 'Yeah? African cakes like my daddy eats?'

'Come and see,' I said.

She walked up to the table.

I showed her the Colour Cakes. 'They taste of vanilla 'cause Tush told me that's what you like but as you can see, this one is green, and this one is pink, and this one is yellow. We put icing on them.'

Milandra seemed lost for words. She stood, holding my hand, trembling slightly. 'Them candles is number fives,' she said. 'That's my new age. I'm that age today, see, 'cause it's my birfday.'

'Yes, it is,' I said. 'And this is your party.'

Susan started singing 'Happy Birthday' and everyone joined in. Milandra laughed and clapped her hands. The party was off.

We played musical statues and pa.s.s-the-parcel (everyone won something), and then Milandra stood on a chair and blew out all her candles, a job that took three attempts.

'What did ya wish for, M'landra?' Rufus asked.

'You can't tell him 'cause then that wish won't come true,' Gus said. 'That's what my mammy always says.'

'No, it's okay,' Milandra said, one of her special Colour Cakes clutched in her hand, a candle still attached. 'I don' mind tellin'. I wished for a doll for my very own.'

'A doll?' Gus said. 'There's loads of dolls right here. Why'd you want an old doll?'

''Cause none o' them dolls looks like me,' Milandra said, and took a big bite of the cake.

Her comment hit me rather as Tammy's punch had. One of the basic lessons first-year childcare students are taught is to be acutely aware of anti-discriminatory practice, which means that all toys and images should be ethnically appropriate to all the children in your setting. Checking the room at a glance, and doing a mental run-through of the toys and storybooks we had, I realized that not a single one depicted any black children as central figures. I felt like slapping my head in annoyance was there any wonder Milandra was so angry?

Making a mental note to rectify the omission as soon as possible, I went back to enjoying the party. To my delight, the cakes even Lonnie's concoctions were going down a treat. To my friend's credit, I tried his anchovy and caper cake, which he had iced with cream cheese and lemon, and it was actually very good.

With twenty minutes to go before the bus arrived, Susan called for quiet.

'Now, as it's Milandra's birthday, we thought it was only fair that she get a present,' Susan said. 'So, Milandra my dear, this is from everyone here at Little Scamps.'

Milandra looked as if she could not believe what was happening. Her blue eyes were wide, her mouth in a trembling smile. Susan took down the box, which elicited gasps and comments from everyone.

'That is one big present,' Ross said, clacking over on his crutches. 'D'ya need help openin' that, M'landra?'

'No. I can do it,' Milandra said, her voice high pitched with excitement, tearing at the paper with her nails.

The children had gathered around her in a loose circle, all eyes locked on the slowly emerging box. The wrapping finally came off in one huge swathe, and there, in a big red box with a clear plastic fronting, was Milandra's wish: a beautiful African doll with cornrowed hair, dressed in denim dungarees and s.h.i.+ny red shoes. I looked over at Susan and mouthed, Well done! She was grinning unashamedly.

Milandra opened the box and took the doll out, her eyes glistening, her lower lip trembling. 'For me?' she asked, turning to Susan, who had tears in her eyes, too.

'Yes, sweetie,' Susan said. 'Just for you. To show you that we all love you.'

'You all love me,' Milandra said, her voice breaking, the doll still clutched before her like some kind of talisman. 'This is my doll 'cause you all love me.'

I don't know what happened next. It was like somebody hit a switch and everything changed changed utterly. One moment we were having one of those special, bitter-sweet moments that make childcare work worthwhile, the next all h.e.l.l broke loose. Milandra's face turned into a scowl, she let loose a scream and ripped an arm off the doll with such force she tore the sleeve clean off its denim top. 'What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you all?' Milandra roared. 'Why'd you think I'd want a s.h.i.+tty doll like this? You all f.u.c.king hate me!'

Susan's mouth was working, but no words were coming out. I felt for her, but there was no time to offer comfort. Milandra was smas.h.i.+ng the doll against the table repeatedly. Bang! Bang! Pop the head flew off and hit Mitzi in the mouth, smearing the cupcake she had been eating right across her face.

'You shouldn't do that, treasure,' Mitzi said cheerily, and grabbed Milandra by the numerous ends of her cornrows.

The birthday girl was in such a fury she was operating on pure instinct. Swinging the dismembered body of the doll, she caught Mitzi full in the throat and, amazingly, knocked her flat on her back. The other children were scattering, aware of the danger to life and limb. There was no way Milandra could be allowed to continue her rampage someone had already been hurt. I came up behind her and wrapped my arms about her, pinning hers to her sides. She thrashed, trying desperately to kick me, but I sat down on the floor, tucked my chin away so it wouldn't get caught in a head-b.u.t.t, and tried to relax. With my hands locked, one inside the other, it was impossible for her to get loose, so long as I didn't move. Which was not as easy as it sounds.

'Tush, can you stick with me, please?' I asked.

Tush was hovering nearby, uncertain what she should do. Lonnie had taken the rest of the kids outside, and Susan had gone too, although I didn't know how much good she'd be. Tush came over and sat cross-legged beside me.

'I need you to be able to record that I didn't hurt her or restrain her unnecessarily,' I explained. 'A kid should only be held like this as a last resort.'

Tush nodded. 'I know. I just got a bit ... a bit fl.u.s.tered.'

'That's not a crime,' I said. 'Situations like this can be pretty unnerving. Just sit with me now and keep an eye on things. I need you to be my eyes from outside the restraint, all right?'

She nodded. During this entire conversation, Milandra continued to rage and roar, beating her head against my chest, snapping her teeth in an effort to bite any bit of me she could reach. I realized she still had the doll, what was left of it, clutched in her right hand in a death grip. She had gone beyond language now, her cries just strings of strangled noises: grunts, vocalizations and guttural squawks. Spittle dripped from her lips and ran in rivulets from the corner of her mouth.

'I can't see her eyes,' I said to Tush. 'Are they open? Can you see anything other than the whites?' I was concerned the child might be having a seizure brought on by the stress a convulsion caused by a failure to breathe during the crisis, combined with the huge adrenaline rush she had experienced.

'I can see her pupils,' Tush said, coming as close as she dared. 'They're hugely dilated, though. I can barely see the iris.'

'Okay,' I said, sweat running down my forehead. 'She's conscious, at least.'

I could feel Milandra's rage like an electric hum. She was trembling, literally shaking with the force of her emotion. Usually a tantrum in a child so young will burn out within ten minutes or so. Fifteen had pa.s.sed, and there was no sign that it was ending.

The other children filtered back in. I heard the bus pull up outside. Susan, her face still pale, ignored me and my noisy cargo. Lonnie came over and squatted next to my ear. 'You okay there, amigo?'