Читать книгу The Rooftop - Toby Hammerschlag - Страница 6

Tuesday Morning:

25 January 2011

The four students sat in an awkward silence in their stiff new uniforms, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their teacher. Every Tuesday, the pupils of Darlinghurst East Public School separated into groups for special classes in Scripture. These four children did not share the same religion but were simply brought together by a friendship that had begun in the playground just three days earlier. The three new students had been standing around self-conscious and alone, feeling swamped by the groups of laughing, running children. Almost imperceptibly, they had moved closer to each other, greeting each other with shy looks and half smiles. Since then, they would search anxiously for each other at the start of school, sit near each other in the classroom and gravitate towards each other at lunch time.

For three of the students, it was not only the beginning of Year 6 but also the start of a new school. Maha Hamdan was new not only to the school but also to Australia. Maha, who had long pitch-black, braided hair and serious brown eyes, sat with her hands folded in her lap. It was as if her life had begun on that September day two years earlier, as the plane started its slow descent into Sydney. Maha had looked through the window at the wide expanse of sea below with growing excitement. The rising sun had painted the ocean in shades of purple and pink and as the plane was nearing landing, she could only just discern the white froth of the breaking waves. At that moment, she had felt the overwhelming desire to jump from her seat and run and shout wildly. But once in Sydney, for two long years Maha had refused to leave her mother’s side. It was only in the last few months that Maha had attended a special college for new immigrants to learn English even though since the age of three, her parents had provided her with a tutor in Iraq who taught her English. There were no Islam classes available at this school, so she joined her newfound friends in the Jewish Scripture class.

Sitting next to her was Emma Beaumont. She was the only one among them that had been at the school since kindergarten. Tall, blue-eyed, blonde Emma was an all-rounder. She was not at the top of her class but she did well in her studies and was always in the second highest group for Maths and Reading. She loved sports and participated in all sporting events but netball was definitely her favourite. She had always played the key position of centre and because she was so well liked, she was continuously chosen to be captain of the team year after year. She was not sure why she had been drawn to the three new students in the playground. She had lots of friends but they had looked a little lost and somewhat interesting, or perhaps it was just her good nature that had driven her to approach them on the third day of school.

“Hi, I’m Emma,” she had greeted them casually and seen the relief in their eyes at having someone to speak to that was not new to the school.

“Come and I’ll show you around,” she had offered kindly and they followed her eagerly, taking in their new surroundings. Emma’s parents were members of the Uniting Church but only actually attended church at Easter and Christmas. She had decided to join her new friends in the Jewish Scripture class because she wanted to learn about a new religion. She had not asked permission from her parents, knowing that they would approve of her decision.

The third girl in the group was Talia Leveson. Talia had arrived from South Africa two years ago and had, up until now, always attended private schools in both South Africa and Australia. She was tall for her age, ungainly with unruly brown hair that she twirled around her finger constantly to the annoyance of her teachers. Talia had always had difficulties at school. Even in kindergarten, while the other students learnt the names and sounds of letters, Talia was unable to keep them in her head. She was repeatedly sent out of class into small groups which she hated, to be helped with reading and spelling. But what was most difficult for Talia was sitting still and concentrating on what the teacher was saying. Her mind would drift off and her body so wanted to get up and move. It was Talia who had instigated the move to a new school. She had insisted on having a fresh start where nobody knew her or labelled her as ‘dumb’. Her parents had initially refused but she had sobbed and screamed until eventually they chose Darlinghurst East as it was known for its caring staff and happy children. Talia was the only Jewish student in this newly formed group.

And then there was Simon Abbot, who had just moved from Melbourne to Sydney with his mum. Simon`s mum had wanted to live close to the city and so had chosen to live in Edgecliff as she spent long hours at her job in a large law firm. People would always feel compelled to take a second glance at this young boy with spiky, carrot-red hair, freckled face and pale blue eyes. Simon had a fiery temper and, when angry, would look as if he was about to explode, his face turning to a deeper red than his hair; around his neck always hung a chain with a key to their present apartment. Simon had to move home and city regularly because of Mrs Abbot’s job. The chain and key had become an extension of his body and Simon could not remember a time when he had not worn that chain and key, which gave him entry into yet another silent, meticulous apartment. Simon and his mother did not practise any religion, so he had followed his new classmates into the Jewish Scripture class.

The children were startled as a tall, muscular man strode into the room. He was dressed in faded jeans and a crisp white short-sleeved shirt and perched on his long blond-streaked hair was a small woven skullcap. He placed his briefcase on the desk and shifted uneasily on his huge feet. Simon’s eyes were transfixed on his bulging arm muscles. Being thin and scrawny himself, which no amount of eating and weightlifting could change, Simon immediately aspired to look like this man. Emma thought that he could easily be a lifesaver on Bondi Beach and wondered what he was doing in the classroom. Talia decided that she had made the right decision in changing schools as no teacher in her previous school had looked even vaguely like him. Maha was feeling slightly intimidated by the size of this man as she had only ever been taught by women. But when she looked into his green eyes speckled with brown, she saw only warmth and kindness and felt reassured.

He began uncertainly, “My name is Mark Zulman. I guess you had better call me Mr Zulman.” Four pairs of eyes watched his every move. Unbeknown to the children, this was Mr Zulman’s first teaching job and he was feeling rather unsure of himself. Mr Zulman had always wanted to be a teacher. He loved children and from an early age had always been able to weave a story, hiding his shyness behind a wall of words. He now stood apprehensively before the gaze of the four silent students.

Mr Zulman cleared his throat and, in his nervousness, immediately plunged into the story that he had carefully prepared the night before:

“In the weeks ahead, we are going to travel back 3000 years as if we are in a time capsule to when the Jews, then known as Israelites, had been kept in captivity as slaves for 400 torturous years in Egypt. We arrive at a time when the slaves were still suffering under Pharaoh, king of the Egyptians, who ruled the land with an iron fist. The Jewish festival of Passover, which we are going to learn about, celebrates the liberation or freeing of these slaves and of all people who are oppressed. This is a story for all times, not just a tale to be dusted off and then forgotten. It is a blueprint telling us that every one of us has the right to live in freedom, then and now.”

Mr Zulman stopped and ran his fingers through his long, wavy, sun-bleached hair and adjusted his small skullcap. He realised that in his haste to begin, he had forgotten to ask the students their names.

“Before we continue, please tell me your names,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.

Simon sat upright in his chair and stuck out his chest, trying to make his small frame larger before this huge man:

“I’m Simon Abbot.”

Mr Zulman nodded and looked over at the next student.

“Emma Beaumont,” she said brightly and smiled at him.

“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” he said and smiled back at her.

“Talia Leveson,” Talia announced loudly and with the back of her hand unconsciously pushed back a lock of curly hair that had fallen across her eyes.

“Pleased to meet you also, Talia.”

“Maha Hamdan,” Maha said softly and did not even look up.

“Now let us start again,” Mr Zulman said. “Let’s climb back into the time capsule and land in the distant land of Egypt all those years ago.”

Mr Zulman took a breath. Calm down, he told himself sternly but still launched into his story:

“Pharaoh, king of the Egyptians was a brutal man. To add to the suffering of the slaves, he passed another cruel law decreeing that all male, newborn babies of the Israelites be slain. Can you imagine the terrible suffering of the slaves, especially of the mothers? It is amidst this dark, sad time that a baby boy called Moses was born to a woman called Yocheved. Instead of the birth being a happy time, it was a moment of terrible fear that her newborn baby would be put to death. This distraught mother wept and wept. In a brave attempt to save her baby, Yocheved defied Pharaoh by instructing the baby’s sister Miriam to hide him in a waterproof crib in the bulrushes, which are these long reeds that you sometimes see in lakes and rivers. Miriam obeyed her mother and placed his crib gently in the bulrushes keeping guard over her helpless brother. Miriam was gripped with fear when she suddenly saw from her hiding place the arrival of Pharaoh’s daughter who had come to bathe near the bulrushes and caught sight of baby Moses. Miriam stayed hidden watching with dread as the princess tenderly lifted the gurgling baby from the crib into her arms. In that moment Miriam knew, even though her heart was breaking, that her brother would be saved if she allowed him to be taken into the safekeeping of the Egyptians. So Moses, child born of an enslaved people, was taken to live in the palace.”

Mr Zulman stopped for a moment breathless, realising that he had been speaking non-stop in his nervousness. He looked around at his students and thought that they all looked interested except for Talia, who was fiddling with her pens. Feeling encouraged, he continued:

“The mother and sister of baby Moses, Yocheved and Miriam, were two selfless and brave people who gave up their son and brother to ensure that he was kept alive. Now we all live in Australia, many years later, far removed from that land of oppression; however, we may still have experienced even small acts of kindness by others in our lives. And I am sure that there has been a time when you have put others before yourself. Would anyone like to start by sharing a story where you encountered kindness or perhaps when you have been the person who showed kindness?”

He looked at the students anxiously, wishing for one of them to speak. Maha had tried to follow what Mr Zulman was saying but her English still needed some improvement and some of his words seemed to escape her and she had stopped listening. Her eyes glazed over as she remembered her final night before leaving Iraq. All around her at the airport, there was frantic activity as shouting, sweaty people gathered their precious possessions. She had snuggled into her grandmother’s lap and had felt her grandmother’s arms wrap around her. Her grandmother’s tears had merged with her own as she repeatedly lowered her head to kiss Maha`s face. Then she remembered her father lifting her gently from her grandmother’s arms and carrying her to the plane as she wept with her head buried in his shoulder.

As if awakening from a trance, Maha recognised Simon`s voice, “…only see my father every six months as he lives in America. When he comes to Sydney, we spend all our time together. We stay in the Hilton hotel and I’m allowed to order whatever I want from room service. Every morning we drive down to Bronte Beach. My father is a strong swimmer and however fast I swim to try and get away, he always grabs me and throws me under the next wave. Then we go for breakfast on the beachfront and scoff down pancakes with maple syrup. But then his bags are packed and he is ready to go back to Los Angeles. I always feel sad but pretend to smile because I know that my dad will be sad if I am. When I get home, my mum is always grumpy because she hates me spending time with him. So when she asks me if I had a good time, I just say, ‘It was ok,’ and go to my room.”

As Simon finished speaking, he gave a half smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He had wanted to impress Mr Zulman by speaking first and placing himself in a good light. But he now regretted that he had exposed himself. He looked up uncertainly at Mr Zulman, who was nodding his head intently as if every word that he had just said was very important and Simon felt himself relax.

Talia’s thoughts had begun to wander while Simon was speaking but she suddenly noticed that the group had become silent and that Mr Zulman was looking directly at her. She looked back at him with surprise. Talia was often forgotten in the rush of overeager students in the crowded classroom, their hands raised and ready to partake while she instead conjured up her next painting in her mind. She looked again into his soft, direct gaze and felt enticed to speak. She began hesitantly, knowing that the story would flow as long as she did not need to write it down. It was always the spelling of the words that made her lose her train of thought.

“Um, for all the time I lived in South Africa, I had a black nanny called Gladys. Every day Gladys would appear just like magic. I never thought to ask her how she got there until I was older. She called me Nyenyane which means ‘my precious one’ in Sotho, which is an African language. I loved Gladys and still miss her.”

Talia’s voice quivered. She was surprised that everyone was listening intently to her and so she continued.

“I have always found it difficult to sleep and I still do. I remember my mother insisting when I was little that I take naps and feeling like a prisoner when she shut the door behind her. I would jump up in minutes and hear my mother muttering, ‘Never any time for myself’. The door would swing open and there was Gladys with the biggest smile you have ever seen. She had these big white teeth that seemed to shine in her black face,” and Talia smiled at the memory.

“‘Give her to me, madam!’ she would say to my mother and swing me up into her arms. Her arms always felt so strong and she would put me on her back and tie a blanket around us. I remember clearly that the blanket was bright yellow, red and green with a zigzag pattern. I loved the rough feel of it against my cheek. She had this soap smell, not perfumed like my mother’s but strong like washing powder. She hummed softly while she did the washing or vacuuming with me on her back and before long I would fall asleep.”

Talia could not quite believe that she had told Mr Zulman and the other students about her beloved Gladys. She had always thought that Gladys belonged to her and her alone. Maybe it is because Mr Zulman is just so cool that I told them, she thought ruefully to herself.

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Mr Zulman said softly in response. Mr Zulman turned to Maha and asked gently, “Would you like to tell us anything, Maha?” Maha continued to look down at the desk, feeling as if her lips were clamped tightly shut.

He then looked over at Emma, “Would you like to add a story or thought of your own?” he asked quietly.

While Talia had been talking, Emma had been racking her brain for a story to tell but could not for the life of her think of a time that she or her family had made a real sacrifice.

Her family were nothing like Simon`s. Her parents loved each other and did everything together. She remembered her last birthday when she had taken all her friends bowling. Her mother had bought a chocolate ice-cream cake which was decorated with ballerinas, as she loved to dance. She had adored all the attention, especially since her brother and sister were a lot older than her and spoilt her rotten. She looked miserably at her new friends and shook her head.

The bell rang for morning recess and the students jumped up, gathering their belongings and ran out into the playground, barely turning around as Mr Zulman mumbled, “See you next week”. Emma noticed Talia taking a skipping rope from her bag. Talia did not particularly like skipping, her timing was always a little off and her feet seemed to get caught in the rope but having a rope insured that she was not left alone. Today she was immediately surrounded by three friends.

“Who wants first turn at holding the rope?” asked Emma.

“Me,” said Talia quickly even though she knew that she sometimes struggled to keep an even rhythm. Maha also chose to turn the rope and stood there shyly, concentrating on moving her arm in wide circles. The other two children weaved happily in and out of the rope and were soon joined by other students from their grade.