Tender Earth

by Sita Brahmachari

  ‘You first!’ Kez says, so I walk up the path to the front door.

  Mum and Dad go halfway up the stairs and watch.

  ‘Are you videoing all this? Mira and Krish want to see,’ Mum says.

  ‘Got it!’ Dad gives a thumbs up.

  ‘Me too!’ Maurice calls, holding his phone in the air.

  I’m in the doorway now and turning around to look back. Kez is at the bottom of the path.

  ‘You going to invite us in, or what? It’s steep but do-able.’ She laughs and steers her way slowly up the slope.

  Dad gestures to the side of the house that someone’s built a little cover over.

  ‘You can come round anytime now. Whether we’re in or not!’ Dad says as Kez steers Vimana up the path and parks. I feel myself tense, but Dad doesn’t attempt to help her.

  She looks up at Dad filming and smiles, but then leans in close to me and takes my arm. ‘I’ve so missed coming here with you.’

  I must have been so caught up in the vigil not to see that maybe fixing the wall and the ‘flood’ isn’t all that’s been happening here.

  ‘Don’t leave our guests standing on the doorstep!’ Dad jokes, as Pari and her mum walk through the door together.

  ‘Did you know about this, Pari?’ I ask.

  ‘I might have done!’

  I look to Bubbe and Maurice and Hannah for an answer.

  ‘It was Janu’s idea!’ Hannah says. ‘When you told him how much you wanted Kez to be able to come here and how it was affecting you both.’

  ‘Anyway, we’ve wanted some more domestic projects in our portfolio. To show people what’s possible . . . so this was perfect timing,’ Maurice adds.

  I look up the stairs at Mum and Dad. That weekend when they said . . .

  ‘Were you here that weekend I went to stay with Kez . . . ?’ I look at Bubbe holding the little bonsai tree and stop myself saying any more.

  ‘To tell the truth, none of us were very far away that weekend!’ Hannah says, resting her arm on Bubbe’s back. ‘But it really is Janu you’ve got to thank for all this.’

  Bubbe takes my arm and gives me the bonsai tree.

  ‘A little thank you from our family!’ she whispers, and gives me her don’t-argue-with-me look.

  ‘Why don’t you girls go through to Laila’s new bedroom?’ Dad asks, pointing to the living room.

  I feel for the step and nearly fall flat on my face trying to stop myself from dropping Bubbe’s present.

  ‘Steady! It’s supposed to bring you balance!’ Bubbe says, laughing.

  ‘Don’t make me laugh any more, Bubbe. I need the bathroom! Excuse me, Laila.’

  I move aside as Kez follows the strip of grip wall like she has all round her flat. The floor’s the same as in her house too, with little circles in it to stop you slipping. This is . . . nothing like our front room.

  ‘Where’s the living room gone?’ I ask.

  ‘We’ve moved the furniture upstairs. We’re going to make Mira’s old room into the living room!’ Mum smiles. ‘I’ve always liked that view on to the back garden!’

  Kez walks into a pod that’s been added like a little cube inside the room, just like the one at hers.

  Hannah and Maurice grin at me.

  ‘Right then!’ Mum says ‘Let’s leave them to it. Come on through to the kitchen. I’ve made some tea. There are a few drinks and snacks on the table in your new room.’ Mum points to a little low table in the window in front of my perch.

  ‘You brought it down from the landing!’

  Mum grins at me and closes my new bedroom door.

  Pari goes over to my perch and sits down. She pats the cushion next to me. Then she holds up the little velvet one where she knows I keep my chime and shakes it in the air.

  ‘You are so lucky!’ she says, as I place the plant on the mantelpiece next to Nana Josie’s little box, the one with the bonsai tree painted on it. Mum must have been going through my things. The Protest Book isn’t a secret any more because it’s sitting on the mantelpiece. Mum’s put the statue of Shiva that Janu brought us right in the middle. It looks good there, and next to it is the snakeskin. I bet that was Dad’s idea. My Banner Bag’s tucked neatly on the tiles by the fireplace.

  I sit down next to Pari. I’m just trying to get my head around the fact that this is going to be my room. It’s been decorated and I’ve even got a new bed.

  ‘I like that wall colour!’ Pari says. ‘Isn’t that the colour you used to paint the banners? You could put the one from the vigil in here.’

  I could, but I already know exactly which banner is going up on that wall. Maybe one day Mira will paint a banner of me, Kez and Pari on a march.

  The time goes so fast as we plan out how I’m going to have my room. Kez leaves first, and me and Pari sit and chat about the day of the vigil and what we’ll say if we have to do an assembly.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  ‘Leyla needs to go now!’ Mum says, as she peers around the door and opens it wider.

  Pari looks at her mum, who is standing in the doorway, busy shaking her head at Dad.

  ‘No, no, Leyla. It’s no bother at all,’ Dad’s insisting. ‘Of course I can drop you home.’

  Leyla starts speaking to Pari. The only word I can understand is ‘sleepover’. It seems like Pari’s not sure what to do. She keeps looking at her mum, then back into the room at me. Then she runs at her mum and hugs her tight.

  ‘No, no. You girls stay here, having fun.’

  ‘My first ever sleepover!’ Pari laughs like she can’t believe this is happening.

  ‘You can’t possibly go home on the tube, Leyla, with this heavy cooking pot!’

  ‘I thought I’d use it all the time, but turns out it’s just taking space up in the kitchen,’ Mum lies.

  ‘If you are sure you won’t need . . . I can show you many dishes, Uma: Iraqi Shourba, lentils Biryani, Chelefry – like a stew – Kibbe Batata.’ Leyla pats Dad on the arm. ‘And for you, some lamb, Makloba . . . So many dishes! We’ll go to Saturday market together get fresh ingredients and I show you how to cook, OK?’

  ‘Stop, Leyla, you’re making me hungry!’ Dad laughs.

  Pari looks towards me and I hardly dare meet her eyes in case she tells the truth. Mum cooks with that pot nearly every day. Pari knows that. She tilts her head slightly to the side and lowers her chin, and without saying a thing, I know we’re thinking the same thing.

  Is it always wrong to lie?

  Is it always right to tell the truth?

  She won’t tell her mum that we use it all the time, and we won’t ever talk about it again.

  Pari kisses her mum and says something to her in Arabic. She looks really worried about her mum leaving.

  ‘No, no, I am sleeping now. I’ll be fine,’ Leyla says.

  It finally dawns on me that it’s Pari who’s worrying about her mum being on her own and not the other way round.

  ‘By the way, Laila! Not to place bonsai here,’ Leyla says, pointing to the plant on the mantelpiece as she leaves. ‘It must go in light place. Keep same temperature, not cold from window, so it will grow well.’

  When Leyla’s gone Pari helps me hang Nana Josie’s banner on the wall above my bed.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Pari says, lying on my bed staring up at the banner. ‘Now tell me about this mystery boy . . . Tomek!’

  It’s not until I’m on my own, sitting on my perch looking around my new bedroom, that any of this starts to sink in. I open my laptop and email Janu.

  Dear Janu,

  I hope you’re having a good time in New York with Priya.

  I saw that your fundraising’s going well with that concert.

  Sorry I haven’t been in touch for a few days, but I just want to say thank you for what you did for me and Kez. It’s amazing. I’m sitting in my new room now. Kez and Pari have just been here. I can’t believe that I didn’t guess that all this was going on.

  I did this vigil for Bubbe. I
’m attaching the link so you can see what it was all about. Maybe Dad was right about the barefoot thing catching on!

  As you can see, Tomek came too and he asked how you are. I’ve been thinking that even though I’ll keep my promise to you and not tell anyone here what happened that day on the tube, I’ll never forget it. When we were doing the vigil I was thinking of you and so was Tomek. We talked about it and we both think you were wrong to stay quiet about what they did to you. I think it’s a bit why I had to do something. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I did the vigil for you too.

  Love

  Laila X

  The letterbox clanks.

  I’m sitting on my perch and from here I can pull the side curtain back and see who’s at the door. A flash of gold passes my window. I run to the door and a tall woman with a golden head wrap and a long green coat is crossing the road. She points to the bus that’s just pulling into the stop, gets on and waves to me.

  ‘Hope!’ I call.

  She waves back and then holds her fist in the air as if she’s rallying me on. Then she blows me a kiss and is gone.

  I look down at my feet, and there on the mat is a letter addressed to Laila Levenson.

  I take it into my room, snuggle up on my perch, open the envelope and take out a newspaper clipping of our vigil: I still can’t believe that it was actually in the paper.

  School Celebrates Student’s Anti-Racist Vigil

  Young people from Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Christian and No-faiths came together to stand up against racism in a moving vigil dedicated to Stan and Dara Braverman, Kindertransport refugees.

  Stan’s grave was one of the many recently defiled in Jewish cemeteries across the city. The Mayor of London said, ‘We applaud this moving ceremony led by young people. It gives us hope for a better future.’

  Dara Braverman of north London said she had been in despair but that her spirits had been lifted by the young campaigners’ clear message against racism and religious intolerance of any kind. The vigil was organized by twelve-year-old Laila Levenson. She said, ‘One of my best friends is from a refugee family from Iraq, and my other best friend’s gran and grandad came to this country on the Kindertransport, so we wanted to stand together to protest about these acts of racism and show everyone that they’re not being done in our names . . .’

  I can’t believe it was me and my friends who made all this happen. It feels like a long time ago since the letter from Protest Simon arrived for Mira. But this one is definitely addressed to me, and my hands are shaking as I unfold it and begin to read.

  Dear Laila,

  I am writing with sad and happy news.

  Simon died a few days ago, but his last wish was that I send this letter to you. I wrote down exactly what he said, so here it is.

  ‘Thank you for coming to pick up your Nana Josie’s Protest Book. The moment I met you – when I opened my eyes and thought you were a young Josie sitting in the sunlight – I had a feeling about you. So I was over the moon when Hope brought me this newspaper clipping of you and your friends on your vigil, holding the same banners we all used. I knew I was right to hand that Banner Bag over to you. Your Nana Josie would have been right there by your side.’

  Simon was always saying how he wanted to choose his moment of parting. He died with the newspaper article of your protest in his hands. He left us sitting by the yucca plant, bathed in sunshine, meditating. His trainers sat empty by his side!

  With love,

  Hope X

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my husband Leo and children Maya, Keshin and Esha, and all the members of our family in this and previous times who have taught me so much and without whom this and all my other stories could not have been written.

  My immense thanks to Venetia Gosling for our editorial walks and talks and for understanding how important it was for me to take time to develop the layers of Tender Earth. I would also like to thank Rachel Vale for her beautiful design of all three books in this collection, Helen Crawford-White for the painterly jackets, and the whole wonderful team at Macmillan Children’s Books. Thank you to my agent, Sophie Gorell Barnes of MBA Literary Agents, for her friendship, insight, encouragement and guidance.

  There are a number of readers of this manuscript to thank. Maya Cobley and Anna Lawrence. Special thanks go to Nina Mansourian and Avisha Patel and the dedicated staff of the Archer Academy, London. Reading this story back to them was one of the highlights of my work as a writer. The idea for the Vimana chariot (with wings), the experience of sporting events, and Kez’s commitment to charity came from discussions with them. Finally thanks to Alexandra Strick and Beth Cox of Inclusive Minds for their invaluable checking of the final manuscript.

  Thank you to the members of the Islington Centre for Refugees and Migrants for opening my mind and heart to the struggles and obstacles faced by refugee families integrating into a new society. Thanks to my friend Jo Cobley for her support in writing this story.

  Thanks to Susu Lawrence and Anna Lawrence for inviting me to Anna’s bat mitzvah and for their interview. To Noga Applebaum for inviting me to the bat mitzvah of Dana Taylor Goldman, and to Dana and her grandmother, fellow author Marilyn Taylor, for their interviews. Thank you to my long-time neighbour and friend Stephanie Rose, with her invaluable knowledge from her work on the Jewish Survivors Programme, for her advice on this manuscript.

  Thank you to Astrid Griffiths for helping me to find the title of this book that is so in keeping with our walks together. Thanks once again to my dear friend Maria Levenson and to her family for lending me their name.

  Thank you to Susan Gould for generously sharing stories and quotes about Simon that have helped immensely in the writing of this book, and to Paula Hollings, Jane Osborn and Marianne Mattison for their encouragement in keeping the memory of Simon alive.

  I would like to thank my late mother-in-law Rosie Harrison (inspiration for Artichoke Hearts), father-in-law Bernard Harrison (who marched on Cable Street) and Simon Gould, our family friend and inspiration for Simon Makepeace in this story.

  Thanks to my mum, Freda Brahmachari, and my late father, Dr Amal Krishna Brahmachari, whose caring shoes I imagine Janu walking in. I hope the spirit of all these people, their sense of justice, fairness, fun, adventure, common humanity and encouragement of future generations, chimes through the pages of Tender Earth.

  References

  For the barefoot vigil I was inspired by the Shoes on the Danube Bank memorial in Budapest, Hungary.

  The teachings in Kezia’s bat mitzvah are drawn from Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’s online article ‘Three Types of Community: Interpreting the Parsha Vayakhel’.

  Laila reads I am Malala by Malala Yousafzai with Christina Lamb.

  Amnesty International UK endorses Tender Earth because it illuminates the importance of equality, friendship and solidarity, and upholds our right to protest against injustice.

  Amnesty International is a movement of millions of ordinary people around the world standing up for humanity and human rights. Our purpose is to protect individuals wherever justice, fairness, freedom and truth are denied.

  From birth onwards we all have human rights, no matter who we are or where we live. The first declaration to set out fundamental rights that need protection in all countries was the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) in 1948, created to say ‘never again’ to the horrors of the Holocaust. It is a milestone document in the history of human rights and was the first to agree common, global terms for truth, justice and equality.

  Human rights help us to live lives that are fair and truthful, free from abuse, fear and want and respectful of other people’s rights. But they are often abused, and we need to be alert and to stand up for them, for ourselves and for other people. We can all help to make the world a better place.

  You can stand up for human rights too:

  • Take action for individuals at risk around the world at www.amnesty.org.uk/­actions<
br />
  • Find out how to start a youth group in your school or community at www.amnesty.org.uk/­youth

  • Join the Junior Urgent Action network at www.amnesty.org.uk/­jua

  If you are a teacher or librarian, please use our many free educational resources at www.amnesty.org.uk/­education

  Amnesty International UK,

  The Human Rights Action Centre,

  17–25 New Inn Yard, London EC2A 3EA

  Tel: 020 7033 1500

  Email: sct@amnesty.org.uk

  www.amnesty.org.uk

  About the Author

  Sita Brahmachari’s career spans writing novels, short stories and plays, including a celebrated adaptation of Shaun Tan’s The Arrival. She has an MA in Arts Education and regularly runs creative-writing classes for aspiring writers, including refugee communities, students, and teachers exploring the power of weaving a diverse patchwork of storytelling. In 2011 she won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize for her debut novel Artichoke Hearts. She has been Online Writer in Residence at Book Trust. Her subsequent novels, Jasmine Skies, Kite Spirit and Red Leaves, have been variously championed by Book Trust, The Reading Agency and the School Library Association, longlisted for the Carnegie Medal and the UKLA Book Award, and endorsed by Amnesty International UK. Tender Earth is her most recent novel for Macmillan Children’s Books.

  www.sitabrahmachari.com

  @sitabrahmachari

  Books by Sita Brahmachari

  Artichoke Hearts

  Jasmine Skies

  Tender Earth

  Kite Spirit

  Red Leaves

  First published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  This electronic edition published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-5098-1251-6