The Stalking of Louise Copperfield

by Robert W Fisk

  Kezia gave her cellphone to the exchange student to make a video of Youssef, sitting in the shade of a tree, eating lunch together. Kezia and Youssef sat on the ground with Kezia’s lunch box between them. For the camera, Youssef fed Kezia a tasty morsel.

  ‘This is idyllic,’ she thought, using her new word, the one she had learned in her English lesson.

  “You f**ing rag head!”

  Kezia looked up from the black shoes and grey trousers to the white shirt and the angry face.

  “Come on Youssef,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Kezia stood and pulled at Youssef’s arm. He got to his feet and smiled at his adversary. In New Zealand he had become used to tolerance so he asked, “Please, what does f**ing rag head mean?”

  “You. Bloody terrorist. Go home. Go back where you came from.”

  Kezia knew Wilson. He was a hot head, always raving on about immigrants and how they were all spies and criminals. Wilson had red hair and a flaming temper to match. He was large and freckled and sweaty. He lunged between Kezia and Youssef.

  “Keep your filthy f**ing hands off our women!” he screamed as a crowd gathered, attracted by the noise. They began to chant “Rag Head. Terrorist. Rag Head. Terrorist.”

  A teacher left the shade of the assembly hall block and began to walk over to the disturbance. The cricket players stopped their game to watch.

  Wilson grabbed Kezia and tried to drag her away. She let fly at Wilson, putting all her anger and rage engendered by her home situation into the blow.

  “Fight! Fight! Fight!” chanted the pupils, rapidly forming a circle.

  Wilson caught Kezia’s blow on his prominent nose. The pain enraged him and he swung at Kezia. Just as the blow was about to land, Youssef knocked Wilson’s arm sideways with a karate-like chop of the side of his hand. There was a loud crack as Wilson’s forearm broke. He howled with pain and went down on his knees.

  The teacher arrived and the crowd melted away. The teacher, Mr Dunne, saw Wilson on his knees, howling in pain, with Youssef standing over him and Kezia pulling him back.

  “Kezia, Mr Bannister’s Office. You, the Principal’s Office.”

  “Mr Dunne, it wasn’t Youssef,” said Kezia. “He stopped Wilson from hitting me.”

  “Now why would Wilson want to hit you?” asked Mr Dunne.

  “Because I hit him and made his nose bleed,” said Kezia. “He was being racist then when Wilson tried to pull me away I hit him.”

  “Then the Arab hit him in return,” said Mr Dunne.

  “No sir. Wilson went to hit me really hard, a full punch. Youssef blocked the blow and Wilson went down. It was all Wilson’s fault, sir.”

  Kezia was fired up. Too slow to defend Youssef from Wilson’s unexpected onslaught, she was determined to defend him now.

  “To Mr Bannister,” said Mr Dunne to Kezia. “You, the Arab boy, come with me.”

  “Mr Dunne, Youssef has a name. Please use it. And he is Syrian, not Arab,” said Kezia.

  “Enough, Miss Copperfield,” said Mr Dunne, plainly annoyed. “Go to Mr Bannister’s office and wait outside.”

  With that, Mr Dunne walked off with Youssef on the way to see the Principal.

  Kezia had to wait half an hour before Mr Bannister appeared.

  “I’ve just come from the Principal, Mr Jackson,” said Mr Bannister, as if Kezia did not know who the Principal was. “He has called the police. That Arab boy is in for a rude awakening. He can’t bring his terrorist tactics to this country. We’re asking that he’s deported.”

  Kezia was stunned. Youssef had done nothing wrong.

  “As for you, telling lies to excuse him ... ” said Mr Bannister.

  “I did no such thing,” said Kezia. “I told the truth.”

  “Like your mother before you with her lies about me,” said Bannister. He moved to the door and locked it.

  “There’s one way you can save the boy,” said Bannister. “That is to convince me your story is the true one.”

  “And how shall I do that if you won’t believe the plain truth?” asked Kezia.

  “Be nice to me,” said Bannister, moving close to her. “Now that’s not hard, is it?”

  Mr Bannister tugged at his zip, felt inside his trousers and pulled out his penis. It looked like a skinned banana. Kezia put two and two together: her mother’s change of mind when Kezia held the banana to slice it for breakfast and Bannister saying about her mother lying. She wished she had the knife with her, the one she had been using to slice the banana on to the toast. However, she did have her cell phone with its camera.

  Cellular phones were not allowed to be used for communication in school but were essential for students to photograph notes on the white-boards, look up words, make mathematical calculations and keep schedules. Cell phones were permanently attached to students like extra growths, held in the palm of the hand, ready for instant use.

  Kezia pressed the video record button then covertly aimed it at Bannister, holding it close to the side of her body, next to the material of her skirt. She turned, hoping that the camera would pick Bannister as the target and focus on him. Used to phones in students’ hands Bannister did not even see the camera. Holding Bannister’s gaze, Kezia moved her hand slightly to get a good picture of Bannister with his banana sticking out of his unzipped fly. She needed to record something by voice.

  “Did you do this to my mother?” she asked. “And when she told the authorities you labelled her as a liar, got everyone to gang up on her?”

  “Get out! You had your chance. Now get out,” said Mr Bannister.

  “And have you do the same to me?” asked Kezia. “I don’t think so. I have Facebook and Twitter now, and a sick video.”

  “Your mother enjoyed every minute with me,” said Bannister. “What do you mean, a sick video?”

  He pushed his erection back into his pants and pulled up the zipper.

  Kezia realised she had gone too far. Banister could easily overpower her and snatch the camera. She had to think quickly. She waved her camera at Mr Bannister. “Listen.”

  Kezia played the video she had made when the phone was handed back by the American exchange student, not the one she had just recorded where Bannister was playing diddly winks with his penis sticking out of his fly and a leer on his face.

  The exchange student had not turned the videorecorder off. It started with the idyllic picture of Youssef and Kezia sitting in the leopard spotted shade having their lunch. Just as Youssef tucked a morsel into Kezia’s mouth, Wilson arrived. Every syllable was recorded. The picture was often off target, which added to the reality and credibility of the recording. The sound ran consistently, not affected by where the camera had been pointing.

  “There’s one way you can save the video,” said Kezia, mimicking Mr Bannister’s tone of voice.

  “How?” asked Mr Bannister. He was honest in other respects and quickly realised that if Kezia’s phone had the incident with Wilson recorded so would a hundred others.

  “Put the whole matter in the hands of the police, just as you want to” said Kezia. “But when they come, retract what you and Mr Dunne said to Mr Jackson. Neither of you were there. When the truth comes out, I swear I’ll give you the only copy of the video.”

  Mr Bannister thought for a moment.

  “I’ll do it if you come and talk to me once a week. In my office, after school. Until your boyfriend is proven to be innocent. Swear?” he asked.

  “All right,” said Kezia. “Mr Bannister, I think you are a sick man. I will leave the camera card with someone I trust, and if you lay a finger on me, they will release it.”

  Calling Mr Bannister’s bluff was a risk, but while he might be setting a trap so that he could molest her, Kezia would find it easy with the pictures of his exposed penis to claim sexual assault. She knew that although she was over the age of consent, she was protected by the law. Teachers cannot do that sort of thing to a pupil of any age. His bargain set as a trap was in reality a
lso a trap for him. As long as it helped Youssef she would take the risk.

  CHAPTER 27.

  The police took over the investigation into what had happened that lunch hour. Youssef had been excluded from school but his English had improved so quickly that while he was excluded from school, Mr Ross engaged him full time in the Pet Pals Clinic, with a promise to help him enrol in the Vet School in Dunedin or Palmerston North.

  Kezia visited Mr Bannister in his office every Wednesday after school was finished. He was a flasher. He walked up and down in front of Kezia with no clothes below his waist. She watched fascinated and repulsed by the way the shrivelled organ grew and straightened and stood at the angle of his underbelly. At that stage he would dismiss her and she would go home. Secretly, she managed to take more photographs, just in case he reneged on his bargain.

  After four visits to the Deputy Principal’s Office, Kezia was pleased to hear from the young male officer who had interviewed her after Wilson had picked on Youssef.

  “Youssef Al Tuma played no part in Wilson’s assault on you,” he said. “That is official. Al Tuma may wish to claim damages from the school. You might like to talk to him about that. Witnesses, in particular Max Orstein, the Exchange Student from Nevada fully support your story. He mentioned a video?”

  PC Smith looked quizzically at Kezia and when she did not respond, he added, “The racist barrage by Brian Wilson was recorded in part on students’ cell phones and is damaging enough for a report to be made to the Race Relations Commission.”

  Kezia did not know whether to call the officer Bernard Smith, as it said on his label, or Constable. She settled on Mr Smith.

  “Mr Smith, does that mean he will not be deported?” asked Kezia.

  “That’s right. In fact, he saved you from a rather nasty blow,” said PC Smith. “Even though Barry Wilson’s blow did not land, the intention was there, and you can lay charges if you wish. If you lay charges, a process called diversion can be arranged, which allows Barry Wilson to apologise and then that’s it, finished, all over.”

  “I’d like that,” said Kezia, wondering if she should tell PC Smith about Mr Bannister. She decided against it because he would say she had agreed to come to his office, and in fact had not laid a finger on her. That was going to stop. Right now.

  The Wilsons were very nice people. Kezia liked them. They had been shocked by the video recordings, and the foul mouth her son seemed to have developed through association with unsuitable friends. Secretly, Kezia thought that Mr Wilson might be the origin, but she said nothing and accepted the apology. She did not involve Louise because she was under enough pressure dealing with Frank.

  The diversion meeting was held in Mr Jackson’s office, with Mr Dunne and Mr Bannister present. Mr Dunne was particularly upset. Both made apologies to Kezia for making assumptions.

  Sixteen year olds can sometimes show astonishing strength and act regardless of potential consequences. Usually a quiet teenager, Kezia felt on a mission to right injustice. This was her moment.

  “Thank you. But you should be apologizing to Youssef Al Tuma,” she said to them. “You would have sent him back to Syria to be killed. You were as racist as Barry. Racism doesn’t mean raving like Barry did. Racism also means when you make assumptions and act simply on the basis of race.”

  Kezia paused, turned to Mr Jackson and said, “Mr Jackson, Mr Bannister punished me unjustly. I was quite correct in what I said but Mr Bannister still punished me. That’s not fair. I want you to tell him that my punishment stops right now.”

  Bannister was shocked, believing that his guilty secret was about to be exposed. Jackson looked at Bannister and saw that he was flabbergasted. “David, whatever you thought Kezia did, let it go. As she says, it stops right now.”

  Bannister said, “I am happy to do that, but she must return my property to me.”

  Kezia got the message. Bannister wanted her to keep her bargain. In her bag she had an envelope which contained the original camera card from her phone, and from which she had transferred everything except the video that Bannister wanted. She handed it over. Bannister shook her hand.

  “Is this everything?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Kezia.

  Now the adrenalin rush was over she felt deflated As they left, PC Bernard Smith half-jokingly said to Kezia, “Please tell me you weren’t blackmailing Mr Bannister?”

  “Not like that,” said Kezia. “Protecting myself.”

  PC Smith said, “I think you were fantastic in there. You really set the cat among the pigeons. Mr Jackson has a lot to sort out now: two of his staff laying false complaints, Deputy with some sort of secret arrangement with you, racism within his staff, and a police witness to it all. Be aware that there may be repercussions. Let me know if I can help.”

  He said no more, just a simple goodbye when he dropped Kezia at her gate. Much later, he would look back and regret that he did not follow up on the issues he had raised.

  CHAPTER 28.

  On the same day that Kezia challenged Bannister, Louise was casually checking her Facebook page, which she had not done for some time. Suddenly she stopped, appalled. She could not believe what she was seeing. There was a side-on photograph of her and Youssef as he entered the house. Louise was smiling, inviting him in. Leaning forward, she was unaware that her blouse had opened and was exposing a complete cup of her bra.

  The caption read, “Can’t wait!”

  The second post showed Youssef with Kezia. They were walking hand in hand, along a tree-lined street. Louise had seen Kezia’s fondness for Youssef. She was pleased for her daughter as Youssef was a nice young man, good looking and well-mannered. Louise felt that Kezia was safe with him.

  Just behind the couple was a sign reading ‘MOTEL’. It was an unfortunate juxtaposition of the young couple and the sign. It made it look as if Kezia and Youssef were leaving the motel. Had they been there for sex? The looks on their faces could be read that way. Louise would have to ask Kezia about sex. She was still too young but old enough.

  Underneath the picture the caption read “First the mother, then the daughter. Arabs go home!” The implication was clear: Youssef was being maligned in a racist way. Come to think of it, She and Kezia were also being maligned.

  Louise read the comments.

  “Send the bastards home!” “Arabs not welcome here!” “Leave our women alone!” “Old or young, doesn’t matter to them.” “Shoot the buggers!” were some of the milder comments. Although a long time ago, the cruel deaths of so many through the destruction of the Twin Towers in the USA still brought forward a hatred of the terrorists which transferred to all of the same race or appearance.

  Louise thought she would wait for Kezia. She would know how to get offensive material removed. Louise scrolled down a little further. There was a picture of Youssef working in the garden. On the clothesline behind him was Kezia’s underwear, hung out to dry: a week’s load of panties, three bras, a filmy nightie (where did that come from?) some blouses and Tee shirts and three pairs of jeans.

  Underneath was the caption, ‘Did you know your gardener goes through your undies?”.

  Louise was at once ashamed and angry. Kezia should not leave her laundry a full week. Louise washed every second day, usually by hand, and hung her personal items on the heated towel rail in her en suite. Kezia didn’t seem to care who saw what.

  When Kezia came home, Louise was in a state of agitation. Although she had rehearsed in her mind the conversation she wanted to have, starting with ‘A funny thing happened when I read my Facebook posts’ she lost the plot when the time came.

  “Are you and Youssef having sex?” asked Louis without preamble.

  Kezia was taken aback but was quick to respond. “Not yet,” she said. “But I might if he wants to.”

  Louise was taken aback. With her upbringing in a Catholic primary school, she held many things as personal and not to be shared, even with a husband. It had taken all her courage to blurt out the matt
er of sexual activity with Kezia.

  “Have you seen a doctor? About contraception?”

  “No,” Kezia rejoined. “That would be begging the question. What’s wrong Mum?”

  Kezia held her arms wide to give her mother a hug.

  ‘God, she’s so skinny,’ thought Kezia. ‘How does she keep going?’ Out loud she asked, “Mum, what are you so upset about?”

  Louise explained about the Facebook postings.

  “Mum, you shouldn’t worry. The police will trace them. What was the name of the person posting?” Kezia still held her mother in her arms. Louise began to relax, pleased to be able to share with her daughter.

  “They might still be traceable,” said Kezia. “Hang on. I’ll check with my laptop.”

  The posts were still there, on Kezia’s screen.

  “That’s nothing compared with what the kids at school do,” said Kezia. “Ultor. It’s ben posted by someone called Ultor. What does that mean? Is it Latin? Why don’t you call Father Larkin?”

  Raymond Larkin was not dressed as a priest when Louise’s call came through. He was in what he would have called his gardening clothes. Again, Louise gabbled her story until Father Larkin interrupted her.

  “Louise, slow down,” said Father Larkin. “What has upset you so much?”

  Louise took a deep breath and began again. She told him about the posts on Facebook, and asked what Ultor meant.

  “I’ll be round immediately,” said Father Larkin. “Louise, you have people around who love and respect you. Please stay calm.”

  He was as good as his word. Within five minutes his car drew up outside Louise’s house. He was wearing shorts and an open neck shirt. He looked like any other fit young man. He actually looked more handsome dressed casually.

  “Good morning Father,” said Louise. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Good morning Louise. How are you today? Firstly, tell me what has distressed you, my dear,” said Father Larkin, who was younger than Louise but called all women ‘my dear’.