by Ann Alma
“When Oma finished changing—I still remember she wore the green dress with beige stripes—we had tea and cookies. But when I bit into the first cookie, it was like cement. Oma couldn’t eat one either.
“She asked what I had baked and I listed the ingredients of my favorite recipe, sandcookies.
“‘Oh dear, oh no,’ Oma said suddenly. She showed me where the powdered sugar was kept. What I had used, from the tin your father gave me, was cornstarch.”
Josie laughed, even though she had heard the story many times. “So what did you do then?”
“Oma made jam sandwiches for us to eat while we painted half the cement cookies black and the other half white. Oma said she’d wanted a new checkers game anyway and was glad I’d helped her make one.”
While her mother was peeling potatoes, Josie saw the spider leaving its hole. Grabbing a cup, she caught it on the glass and, holding her hand over the opening, went behind her curtain. She let the spider go and watched it disappear into a crack in a plank.
*
Nervously Josie clutched the plastic bag with her sandwich and an apple. Then she put it down and combed her hair again. If only they had a mirror. She touched her hair in the semi-darkness.
“Let’s go,” Father said.
They were catching a local bus into the city, where Father had promised Josie a big breakfast at the restaurant. After breakfast school would start.
Mother kissed her and wished her good luck in German.
“Only speak English from now on, Eva,” Father said. “It’s better.”
Without replying, Mother turned to the stove.
Picking her lunch up again, Josie followed her father into the cold morning. Cars zoomed by on the road while he checked the time on his new watch.
When the bus came, they waved it down, climbed on board and headed for the city. After they got off the bus, they walked past a sporting goods store.
“Vatti,” Josie started, but then decided against pointing at the skates she saw in the front window. They walked toward a building with a flashing sign. Through the large window Josie saw tables with red benches on either side.
“Come to the kitchen,” Father said as they stepped into the restaurant. Josie still found it strange when her father spoke to her in English.
“Good morning,” Father said, walking through the swinging door.
A man turned from a grill. “Good morning, Karl,” he said. Then he turned to Josie, smiled and said, “Hi, I’m John.”
“This is Josephine. Sit here,” Father said, patting a stool.
Josie perched on the edge of the stool and watched John frying food on the grill.
“Hungry?” John asked.
“Yes,” she whispered shyly.
“Bacon and eggs,” John said, pointing. “For you.”
Bacon and fried eggs for breakfast? How strange. That was food for the midday or evening meal. Josie had never eaten that in the morning.
“Hash browns, toast, jam,” John explained while he put a plate of food in front of her. “Orange juice.”
Josie laughed. What an unusual meal! But Father got one too and started eating.
“Father, I don’t know the English for this, but why are we having dinner now? Fried potatoes and meat.”
“Canadians don’t just eat porridge or bread and tea in the morning.”
John put Josie in charge of making toast, while he arranged orange slices on plates and made French toast and waffles. Father washed and sorted dishes, looked after the garbage and helped John when he got too busy. Sometimes they spoke in English while Josie listened, though she understood little.
Pointing to his watch, Father said something in English to Josie and held out her jacket. When they left, Josie’s stomach lurched.
“I think you’ll like this school; it’s so much more relaxed than your old school,” Father said.
School, that was schule Josie knew. Father spoke as fast as Canadian people. “Ich weiss nicht,” she shrugged.
So he repeated in German, “I guess you can’t quite get all the words yet. But soon there won’t be any more German, so study hard.”
She had studied hard, for four weeks now. But people just talked too fast. When words were written down, Josie knew what some of them were because she had memorized them. But when people spoke the words were different, backwards and upside down.
The school wasn’t far from the restaurant. As they walked up, a yellow bus pulled onto the grounds.
“You’re going home on a bus like that,” Father said. “They’re just for school children.”
“Where will it take me?”
“Home. You get off right at our driveway.”
“Do I have go to a political youth group after school?”
“No, they don’t have those here. People are free to do what they want after school or work.”
Josie looked at the new, one-storey building. It was not at all like the old, grey stone school in East Germany. There would be no stairs to climb here. And where were the rows of bicycle racks? There was a playing field much larger than the one at home, but it had candy wrappers and other bits of garbage on it. If there was litter at her old school everyone had to stay for a lecture. Anyway, no one ever brought candy to school and everyone went home for lunch.
A few children ran out the front door, yelling and tossing a funny egg-shaped ball back and forth and running around on the field. And even though the bus unloaded a snake of children, the grounds still looked empty.
Another bus drove up. Josie noticed that most of the older students carried colourful bags, while the little ones had boxes. She hid her plastic grocery bag behind her back. Most girls wore pants to school, she saw, looking from them to her own East German dress, bare legs, sock and her old shoes. Everyone else had running shoes.
She followed her father, who walked right through the front door and up to the office. Last night he had told her that the principal was a woman, named Ms. Green, the English word for their own last name, Grün. He told her Josie would like her because she seemed friendly and chatty, rather than stern.
Gripping the top of her lunch bag in her left fist, Josie wiped the perspiration from her right hand. But, when the principal met them, she and Father didn’t shake hands. They only stood, smiled and talked to each other.
Father introduced Josie. She held her hand ready for a shake, the way her parents had taught her. But when the principal didn’t notice it, Josie took the edges of her dress and curtsied instead. Hearing laughter behind her, she turned to see two girls walking away, giggling. When they saw her, they curtsied too, said something to a boy who arrived, pointed and curtsied again. Josie’s stomach churned.
Father touched her shoulder. “Komm, Ms. Green will introduce us to your teacher.”
Boxes that stood on their ends, almost as big as coffins, lined the walls of the hallway. Two girls put their bags in one, then looked at themselves in a mirror on the inside of the door. Josie wished she could glance at her own hair, but was afraid to walk closer. She noticed the girls’ earrings. Then, when one of them put lipstick on, Josie felt her mouth drop. Even Mother didn’t wear make-up unless she went to a performance or an important meeting.
The principal talked to a short, curly-haired man, the teacher for grade six, Josie guessed. While he walked toward them, Josie again readied her hand for a shake.
Ms. Green spoke slowly, “Mr. Walters, this is Karl Grün. Mr. Walters is our grade six teacher.” The teacher shook Father’s hand. “This is Josie Grün.” Josie had her hand ready, but Mr. Walters didn’t notice it either.
He just smiled and said, “Hi, Josie, welcome.” “Your teacher will put you on the right bus after school,” Father said, in German. “Bye. Have a good day. Listen to your teacher.” He left with Ms. Green.
Josie followed Mr. Walters to an empty desk and sat down.
SEVEN
After the teacher left, the girls who had put makeup on walked into the classroom. They
studied Josie from her head to her toes, as if inspecting a piece of clothing at a market. Josie wished she could take her shoes off and hide them in her desk. She knew her face was turning red; she felt the heat creeping up from her neck. She must look so strange to them, with her old clothes and her wiry legs and arms that still showed the last marks from the measles. The girls both had short hair. Josie felt her own shoulder-length hair, cut by her mother at Aunt Beth’s place last week, and wished again that they had at least had a mirror this morning. One girl, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, nudged the other, who wore red pants and a flowered top. While talking in whispers, they giggled, turned and walked to the other end of the room.
A tall blond boy in a blue tracksuit walked in. “Hi,” he said.
Josie swallowed and said, “Hi.”
Sauntering over to her desk, he started talking. But Josie couldn’t understand him; she didn’t catch a single word. Why did he talk so fast?
The boy waited, looking directly at her. Cringing, Josie tried to make herself smaller. She looked away. The boy said something again, only louder. And again, louder still.
“Ich weiss nicht...” Josie started. Then she stopped, wishing she could crawl inside the desk. It was no use. The boy didn’t understand her any more than she did him. When Josie said nothing, he shrugged and walked out of the room.
Josie put her sandwich in the desk.
Three boys strolled into the classroom. One of the girls pointed to Josie and said something to them. Taking long steps, the biggest of the boys came over to her. He looked mean, with strong arms, fat legs in black pants, and very short hair.
“Hi,” he said, while he held out his hand. Josie jumped up. He wasn’t mean; he wanted to shake hands. She held hers out. “Hi.”
“Bob.” He grabbed her hand, squeezed it hard and shook her arm.
Bob said something she didn’t understand. The other two boys and the girls moved closer, forming a ring around Josie.
Bob kicked one of Josie’s shoes. Then he picked up the bottom of her dress and pulled it out as if to check the width of it. He whistled. The others laughed. Bob was saying things to the other children, but Josie understood none of it. At the same time he rotated Josie’s shoulders to make her spin around. Then he motioned for her to turn on her own. She did, slowly, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress. Why did they make her do this? Then she stood still, feeling dizzy and wanting to sit down.
Bob said something while he took the bottom of her dress again. In one quick move he lifted it up almost over her head. Everyone laughed loudly. The dress fell back down. Josie’s knees wobbled. At home lots of boys tried to lift girls’ skirts, but never too high. Besides, there she was with her friends. Or she could tell her teacher. Here she was helpless, alone.
The students quickly turned away from Josie when Mr. Walters walked in the door, his hands in his pockets. He said something. Some of the kids answered, laughing. Were they discussing her? How could the teacher talk to them like that? He was so friendly with them, not at all like at home.
The girl with the red pants motioned for Josie to follow her, but when Josie stayed at her desk, the girl came over, took her arm and said something. The teacher signalled for Josie to go along, so she went with the girl into the hall, where they walked past the narrow doors until the girl opened one and said something. She pointed to Josie. “Yours.”
When the girl indicated Josie should hang her jacket on the hook, she did. Then they moved farther down the hall, until they came to a door that said “Girls.” Josie knew that word.
She walked in. The stalls didn’t go all the way up to the ceiling or down to the floor, so others could see her feet.
She went into one of the cubicles, just to be alone. Blowing her nose, she sat down for a while. It was quiet. The girls must have left. She heard a noise above her and looked up. Two faces peeked over the door. Josie jumped. Giggling, they disappeared.
As Josie left the washroom, a loud bell rang signalling the beginning of classes. The students didn’t march in straight lines, and no teachers quieted them down.
Josie rushed into the classroom and sat at her desk.
*
Time passed very slowly that first morning. Josie understood the subject they started with, math, because the grade six questions on fractions were easy: at home she had done those in her third and fourth years. She didn’t grasp the teacher’s directions, but when she was the first to complete the whole page, with a borrowed pencil, Mr. Walters marked them all right. He patted her on the shoulder and seemed as pleased as Josie was. For once she didn’t finish last.
If school was this easy, maybe she could do well in other subjects too, after she learned more English. But even with concentration it was impossible to pick out a few words from the flood of strange sounds.
Most of the morning she sat up like the teachers at home had taught her: feet flat on the floor, back straight, hands folded on her desk. The others leaned on their elbows or swung back in their chairs. Once a boy put his feet up on the desk during reading. At home, if anyone was ever brave enough to try that, the teacher would hit the student’s legs, or at least make him stand beside his desk all morning. But Mr. Walters said nothing.
He was not very strict. The students talked a lot and yelled things out without even putting up their hands. Mr. Walters wrote on the shiny surface of the machine with a lighted square above it and magically the words showed up on a screen. At home the school had only one screen, in the gym.
Mr. Walters wrote down words the students called out, made circles around some and lines from one to the other. Finally the students stopped talking and opened their notebooks. Josie noticed that some of the children around her had scribbled all over the front of their books. At home only bad students wrote a word on the cover and the teacher always punished them.
Everyone started writing and it grew quiet, except for the scratching of pens. While Mr. Walters came up to her desk with paper, Josie noticed girls talking. Mr. Walters saw it too, but he did nothing about it. As he walked by, he even smiled at them. How could anyone learn this way? He sent no one out of the room; nobody stood in a corner. The students weren’t even afraid of him.
Mr. Walters put a blank sheet of paper and felt-tip pens on her desk. Josie tried to smile, but then she looked away. Patting the felt-tip pens, the teacher wrote “My town in East Germany” at the top of the paper. Did she get to draw a picture with these pens? At home only the richer children had felt-tip pens, and then only one or two colours. On Josie’s desk lay twelve different shades.
The teacher nodded at her and pointed to the words. Josie knew “My,” “in” and “East Germany,” but not the other word. What was she supposed to draw? The teacher didn’t give her any examples to copy, or instructions on where to draw things, or what colour to use first. He just patted the paper, said something and smiled. Picking up the blue pen, Josie hesitantly started drawing the horizon.
She expected Mr. Walters to yell at her at any moment, but the teacher just nodded, said “good” and walked away.
Quickly Josie wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. He said “good” and she knew that word. She worked on, drawing a boat, a small island and a setting sun. Then she added some red and pink clouds and waves. At home the teachers had taught her how to draw and now she remembered all the lessons about lines, shades and colour combinations that would make a picture just like one she had done before in her old school.
A while after she finished, the boy next to her bent over her shoulder and said something in a loud voice. Immediately, students flooded around her. Josie felt as if she was drowning. Mr. Walters smiled as he walked over and said something, pointing to the clouds and the ocean before holding the picture up high. Everyone clapped. They liked it.
The bell sounded and everyone left their desk as quickly as they had come. All the others went out of the room, but Josie collected the felt-tip pens and placed them on Mr. Walters desk.
Students
were eating in the hall and milling around before going outside. Josie slipped back into the room and took her apple. Was it lunch time? No. The clock only said 10:20. This was the longest morning ever. Taking a big bite from the apple, she put the rest back with her sandwich.
No one else was in the room, so she decided to go out too. The hallway was almost empty now. At the end of the hallway some students stood in line by a big white bowl in the wall. Bending over it, a girl let a stream of water come up to her face and drank. Josie looked on as the girl stood upright and wiped her mouth on her hand. Then the next one bent over. She wanted to try it, so she lined up and waited until it was her turn. Carefully she twisted the tap. Nothing happened. Bending lower, she turned harder. Water shot out and hit her full in the nose. Snorting, trying to blow the water from her nostrils, she pulled back, while she wiped her face with the handkerchief she always kept in the sleeve of her dress. A girl behind her laughed and said something. She turned the tap and showed Josie how high the water curved.
“See?” she said. She pushed her long, dark hair away from her face and bent down for a drink. While continuing to hold the tap, she motioned for Josie to drink also.
“Zank you,” Josie said.
“Sure. What’s your name?” the girl asked, her brown eyes curious, but friendly.
“ I am Josie.” There, she said a whole sentence to a stranger.
“I’m Trish. I have to...” was all Josie understood before Trish hurried out the door.
*
Time crept along toward lunch while the teacher and the students talked. Josie didn’t know what about, although she liked the pictures of volcanoes they looked at. Then the teacher reached up and pulled a large map of the world down next to the screen. Josie’s old classroom only had piles of battered textbooks, a large paper map, a blackboard and a meter stick. Here they had so much more!
Josie sat up with a start. While she daydreamed, Mr. Walters had walked up to her desk and now he said something, pointing to the map. Oh no, please! She couldn’t go up to the front all by herself, with everyone, especially Bob and his friends, looking on. She shook her head slightly, although she knew it was wrong to refuse.