“I don’t want to think about rules,” said Ashur. “I want to start up a game out in the yard.”
He led the way outside. The yard was still bare but there were a few benches against the school building and a big box with balls in it. Ashur grabbed one of the balls and the boys began to kick it around. The younger children were playing tag.
Samira joined the other girls on a bench and looked around the yard. She knew every single child. They had been together in Baqubah and Baghdad and Kermanshah, and they had all worked to make the Hamadan Orphanage a good place to live.
“This yard feels like our yard,” she thought. “Pretty soon dozens of children we don’t know will be playing here, too. It will change everything.”
The next day Mr. Althius counted the children lined up beside the orphanage gate. There were forty-five girls and thirty-nine boys.
“When the other children arrive there will be twice as many,” he said. “I’m counting on you to walk in an orderly fashion today and every day. We want the city of Hamadan to be glad we’re here. So, no trouble. Is that understood?”
When they reached the city Samira decided that Hamadan didn’t give much possibility for trouble. The street took them between mud brick houses with no windows in the outer walls. If there was a marketplace she didn’t see it. Mr. Althius led them straight to a building that was strange because it was not all on one floor. There were two rows of windows, one above the other.
“This is the school,” said Mr. Althius. “The boys will be on the second floor and the girls on the first. You girls who are thirteen or older go to the room on the right and the rest go to the one on the left.”
Samira went with Anna. In the classroom, Miss Shuman greeted them.
“Please sit around these tables and tell me your names. I want to be sure that each of you is in the right class.”
They spent the day reading paragraphs and answering questions about what they had read. Miss Shuman dictated a piece from a story and everyone wrote it down. Samira knew that she had done as well as most of the girls and better than some.
Then Miss Shulman put some arithmetic problems on the blackboard.
“I’d like you to copy these into your notebooks and solve them,” she said.
Adding up numbers was not hard for Samira, and she could figure out subtraction, but there were multiplication problems on the board. The only way she could solve them was by counting on her fingers.
Miss Shulman called her up to her desk. “I see that you have not studied multiplication, Samira. You’ll have to spend extra time memorizing the times tables. Are you willing to do that? In every other subject you fit into this class.”
“I’ll work hard on multiplication,” Samira promised.
“Very well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After the evening meal Miss Shedd gathered a few of the children and said, “That piece of paper I put up yesterday has no writing on it. You’ve had a day to think about rules and I’d like to see some ideas up here before you go out to play.”
The boys and girls stared at the piece of paper. They had lived with many rules in the camps. No talking once the lamps were out. Divide food equally. Stay in line when going between tents. No running except when playing games.
The list was long. But no one had ever asked them to think up even one rule themselves.
Finally Ashur said what they were all thinking. “We know what we’re supposed to do. The other kids will know, too. What good will it do to write rules down?”
“It’s only fair to let the new children know what is expected in this orphanage,” said Miss Shedd. “But I agree that rules saying ‘do this’ and ‘don’t do that’ are not very inspiring. So think about what would make your life here happy. Or what would make it unhappy so that you would like it never to happen. Turn those thoughts into rules.” She looked around at all of them. “I have things to do. I’m going to leave you to it.”
When she was gone Anna said, “Since we have to do this, I’ll say that it would make my life happier if the boys would not try to get out of kitchen duty. I’m always having to find a boy who’s sneaking away hoping someone else will wash the dishes.”
“So each person should be responsible for checking the job schedule and showing up for their job,” said Benyamin, and he picked up a pencil and wrote down rule number one.
Ashur said, “I want a rule that says the north end of the yard is for games with balls. Right now the little kids get under our feet as soon as we start kicking the ball around.” He wrote his rule down.
Farah, who never said anything in a group, stepped forward and picked up the pencil. She wrote, No calling people mean names. Samira knew why. Farah was a round girl and sometimes people called after her, “Fatty fatty Farah.”
“That’s Farah’s rule,” thought Samira. “What rule do I want?” But she couldn’t think of even one.
Anna whispered in her ear, “Your turn. Think of a rule, Samira.”
Suddenly Samira remembered that Anna had been the first girl to speak to her in Baqubah. She remembered Anna’s voice and Anna’s hand reaching out to her when she hadn’t been able to speak to anyone for days.
She took the pencil and wrote, Be friendly to strangers who come to our orphanage. Don’t let them be alone.
When the children came through the orphanage gate after school the next day, Samira heard the sound of many voices. The yard was crowded with children of all sizes. They were standing in clumps, some near the wall and others over by the eating room. In one group every child was dressed in dark blue. Another group wore khaki. Some children were barefoot and others wore patched shoes tied on with bits of string.
“Look,” she said to Anna. “You can see that they come from different camps. And Miss Shedd was right about their shoes.”
Miss Shedd was going from group to group. After she had spoken with a group for a few minutes they picked up their bundles and went to one of the dormitories.
“They’re going to get settled,” said Anna. “Next time we see them they’ll be wearing the shoes our boys made.”
As soon as all the newcomers had gone off with their bundles, Miss Shedd came over and joined the children waiting by the gate.
“This has happened a few days earlier than I expected,” she said. “I wanted to plan a good welcome for these children but I haven’t even worked out the meal schedule yet. There’s no way everyone can eat at once, so tonight you’ll be eating first and the new children will have their turn after they get their rooms settled.” She shook her head and went off quickly.
At supper Samira found herself eating very fast, thinking that the new children would be hungry after their journey. She wasn’t the only one. The dishes were cleared away and washed in record time and everyone hurried out. They stood around the yard trying not to stare as the newcomers went in to eat.
Samira wondered what would happen when they came out. But nothing happened. The new children came out of the eating room and walked straight to their dormitories. There was no chance to speak to even one of them.
At breakfast the next day all of the children who went into town for school ate at the same time, but the newcomers came in as a group and sat at one end of the eating hall. On the way down the hill Samira tried to talk to two girls wearing green
, but they turned away and went on with their own conversation.
She said to Anna, “I thought my rule was a good one but how can I be friendly to people who won’t even look at me?”
Anna, as always, was practical. “We all live together in the orphanage. Eventually they’ll have to talk to us.”
Miss Shuman welcomed the new girls to her classroom. “Today I’ll be working with you to see where you fit in. You other girls can go over yesterday’s lessons.”
One of the new girls in Miss Shuman’s class was named Maryam. Samira thought she looked younger than thirteen and she was sitting by herself, not with the other new girls.
When they all went out into the schoolyard for their morning break, Maryam sat on a bench in the sun. Samira sat beside her and offered her some dried apricots she had saved from breakfast.
“Thank you,” said Maryam.
They were both silent for a minute. Then Samira said, “This is the first school I’ve been to. Of course we had lessons in the camp at Baqubah but before that I didn’t go to school at all. Did you?”
“Oh, yes,” said Maryam. “Our village is quite close to the city so my mother got a teacher to come to our house for me and my sister, so we could learn to read. Later my father walked with us twice a week to a girls’ school in a bigger village. We were going to go to the school in the city, but then…”
Samira knew that Maryam didn’t want to talk about what had happened when the war came, so she asked the first question that came into her head. “How old are you now?”
“I’m just about to turn thirteen. I know I’m a little young for the senior class but I wouldn’t fit in the junior class. That’s what Miss Shuman said.”
Samira smiled at her. “I’m one of the youngest in the class and there are things I have to catch up on. We’ll be the junior members of the senior class, all right?”
“All right,” said Maryam, and Samira felt that this girl was no longer a stranger.
On the way back to the orphanage Maryam walked with Samira and Anna, but most of the newcomers were still walking together, avoiding the Baqubah children.
Mr. Althius moved along the line, but when he was out of sight some of the boys stumbled on purpose into boys walking near them. One swung his arm and hit Ashur across the back. The teacher came just in time to stop a fight from breaking out.
Maryam was asking Samira what jobs she had around the orphanage when she suddenly fell silent. Samira looked around and saw that some of the new girls behind them were whispering together and looking at Maryam and rolling their eyes.
Suddenly Anna said, “Look!” She pulled Samira around to see a boy, a newcomer, running down the road toward the end of the line. Some boys tried to trip him as he went past, but he dodged them and ran on.
Maryam watched him go and shook her head.
“That’s Malik,” she said. “He was in the Mosul camp with us but he goes off by himself whenever he can. He always comes back, so most of us just let him go.”
“Why does he run?” asked Anna.
“I don’t know, but he wants to be away from everyone else. He doesn’t talk much and he can run really fast. That’s all I know.”
By now they had reached the orphanage gate. Miss Shedd was waiting for them and, as usual, she seemed to see everything. She was going over to some boys who had been pushing and jostling the boys ahead of them, when Malik came running through the gate.
“It’s the wild one,” shouted a voice. Two boys broke away from the group and began chasing Malik, who dodged behind one of the dormitory buildings.
Miss Shedd walked to the middle of the yard and stood perfectly still. She motioned to the other children to stay where they were, in a group, blocking the gate.
Samira knew that Malik had no way to get out of the orphanage compound. He was surrounded by walls and she suddenly felt sad for him. She was sure that walls didn’t make him feel safe. They made him feel trapped.
The boys who had run after Malik came back panting. The taller one said defiantly, “We couldn’t find him.”
“I didn’t ask you to find him,” said Miss Shedd calmly. “He’ll show up when he’s ready. As for you, I want both of you to come with me right now.”
She cast her eyes over the motionless group of children and saw Samira and Anna standing with Maryam.
“You three come as well. And you, Ashur, and the boy behind you, come along.”
Samira saw that the boy who followed Ashur was the one who had hit him on the way up the hill. He came and stood a distance from Miss Shedd with his arms tight by his sides and his shoulders very square.
“Tell me your name,” she said.
“Avram,” said the boy.
“I’ll be meeting with these boys and girls,” Miss Shedd said to the whole group. “You’ll hear about our discussion later. Now you are free to play or go to your rooms and do school work.”
She turned and led the seven baffled children toward her office. Samira could hear a hum of talk beginning behind her. She, too, wondered what Miss Shedd was going to do.
They all filed into the office and Miss Shedd shut the door. Samira could see a desk with a hard wooden chair behind it, shelves crowded with books, and a soft chair covered with a brightly colored shawl.
On the desk were many pieces of paper, some in piles and some scattered. There was an inkwell with a pen sticking out of it.
But what Samira noticed most was a photograph of a man with dark eyes and a dark beard.
As Miss Shedd sat down at the desk she saw Samira looking at the picture.
“My father,” she said. “I like to think he knows about my work.”
Samira nodded. Miss Shedd’s father must be gone, like Papa. His eyes in the picture looked sad and kind.
Miss Shedd was speaking to everyone. She didn’t sound angry.
“Please sit down,” she said. “There’s room for all of you on the rug.”
When they were all sitting she went on. “Some of you have been in this orphanage for nearly two months. We know each other and we’ve learned how to get along together. Those of you who arrived yesterday don’t know me yet and I don’t know you. But I do know that we cannot live here with any happiness if people fight or are unkind to each other. Tell me what happened just now. You must have had a reason for chasing that boy.”
She waited. The silence went on and on until it seemed to be stealing air from the room.
Then the smaller boy who had chased Malik spoke.
“It’s that kid,” he said. “Malik. He won’t talk to us. He always runs off by himself. He never plays ball with us. I think he hates us so we hate him.”
“But he doesn’t harm you and he always comes back.”
“Yes,” said the boy.
“Then leave him alone. We don’t know why he runs but we’ll never find out if people chase him. Or worse. I want you two to forget Malik. Do you understand?”
Both boys nodded, but Miss Shedd said, “I want to hear you say yes.”
“Yes,” they said. Samira could see that they were ready to leave.
But Miss Shedd was not finished.
“Good,” she said. “Now we can get on to what’s really important. We have three hundred children here. The children who were
in the Baqubah camp know each other well, but the rest of you have come from several other camps. We all have to get along so we’re going to have rules that everybody knows about. I’m going to read you a few rules that some of the children here have suggested.”
They listened. No fighting. No hitting. No lying. No stealing. No calling people names. Be friendly to strangers. Be responsible about work.
When Miss Shedd was finished, Avram spoke up. “If you have rules, you have to have punishment. People who break the rules should be punished.” He said it in a flat voice, as if he was reciting something he had heard many times.
Miss Shedd looked away from the children for a moment. Samira thought that she was looking at the photograph of her father.
When her attention came back to Avram she said, “I don’t want to waste my time thinking about how to punish thoughtless children. We all have more important things to do.” She was silent for a moment and then added, “Of course, punishment is always possible, but we won’t discuss it now.”
Avram almost looked disappointed.
Miss Shedd went on, “We will have rules here and each one of you will have to find the discipline to abide by them. That is your responsibility.”
She stood up and went to the door and opened it.
The children filed past her silently. They didn’t speak until the door closed behind them.
Avram looked around defiantly. “Is she always like that? Why can’t she just punish us? It would be easier.”
Samira felt a flare of anger. “Easier for you,” she said. “You could get punished and then go off and break any rule and get punished again. You don’t want to be responsible.”
Avram stared at her for a moment. Then he turned from the group and stalked away.
For the next few days no fights broke out. No names were called. But most of the newcomers kept to their own groups. They walked to school together, played together, even managed to sign up to do chores together.
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