Raison Eyes

Raison Eyes

When Lucy arrived at our house one restless Saturday afternoon, my
sister, Leanne and I were playing hopscotch in the back yard with Jack
and Sandra from number 65. As we jumped and laughed, we listened to the
sound of dad hammering upstairs: a sound we were used to but weren't
opposed to. We knew it signified the arrival of another kid; a kid mum
and dad had taken pity on because they didn't have anywhere else to
go.
And my sister and I didn't mind, too much. We knew that it meant one
of us would have to sleep on the mattress on the floor and the other in
the bunk bed with the new kid but we still didn't mind. We knew it was
going to be a bit crowded for awhile and we had to share our things but
it wasn't too bad.
But when Lucy turned up, her brown face looking at us in repulse,
clutching a tatty doll that looked more like a piece of wool, we turned
to mum in horror. How could she allow a brown girl in the house? How
could she expect us to share our toys with a &;#8230;.a brown girl?
But mum just smiled and patted our heads and told us to take Lucy to
her bedroom. Mum also said her usual piece; how we were to make Lucy
welcome and look after her at her new school, which would be our
school.

"But mum," Leanne had whined. "There's no brown kids at our
school."

Mum frowned and laughed at the same time and told us to do what she
asked.
Upstairs, when the three of us were alone, the new brown girl walked
into the bedroom and sniffed. I pointed to the top bunk, since Leanne
and I weren't going to sleep up there if we didn't have to. Silently,
she climbed the ladder and placed her piece of wool on top of the
duvet. When she came down, she glanced at us and sniffed again.

"Where's your clothes?" I asked her.

She didn't reply, just stared and shrugged her shoulders.

"And your toys?" Leanne said.

She still didn't answer and began circling the carpet with one of her
tatty brown boots. She bowed her head and I looked at her in
fascination. She had a million plaits encircling her head, tied with
multi-coloured beads. Her skin was the darkest of brown; her eyes like
raisons, encased by the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen. She wore a
faded pink dress and one side of the hem was down, so it rested halfway
down her left brown calve. She was quite pretty for a brown girl.

"Toys and clothes?" Leanne asked her again.

When she still didn't say anything, I said, "Don't think she's got any
clothes or toys. Guess she'll just have to borrow yours."

"No," Leanne shrieked, just before she flung herself at the new brown
girl. She began to shake her. "You're not having my things, do you
hear? No brown kid's wearing my trainers, or my tops, or my trousers.
And you're not playing with my toys. Do you hear? Say something then,
brown girl."

Before I knew what was happening, Leanne had raised her foot and
kicked the brown girl a good one on the shin. The brown girl gave a
gasp and tended the pain with a rub of her hand.

"Leanne&;#8230;" I said, knowing she was going to get into trouble
for this.

Her voice croaky and sounding full of phlegm, the brown girl spoke for
the first time since walking into our house that restless Saturday
afternoon.

"Me name's not brown girl, me name's Lucy."

It took us awhile to become accustomed to Lucy but we did get used to
her, in our own way. Leanne still couldn't fathom the colour of her
skin and didn't make any effort to hide it. She received a good telling
off from mum and dad at times but it didn't quash her bitterness. I,
myself, put up with her but she did manage to annoy me: her stories
about her life in Africa had been fascinating until mum told us she'd
never even lived there. Everything she told us was a lie: she said her
dad was a war hero, her mum a show dancer. I knew, as the year crept by
and we approached the new term, that my sister and I would be the new
joke at Linton High.
That was the thought that made me sick just before we donned our new
uniforms to head back to school that September in 1985.

When Lucy arrived at our house, a couple of days later we all went on a
shopping trip. Mum bought Lucy some dresses, underwear, coats and her
new uniform, an embroidered navy blue blazer and grey skirt. Mum
muttered something about not receiving her cheque yet but she was
damned if she was going to let the poor girl squander in that awful
pink dress a minute longer.
On the morning we were due back at school, we looked as smart as any
kid looks on their first day back, with shiny shoes and wearing our
freshly pressed blazers. Mum sent us away with a kiss apiece, our
lunchboxes full of goodies and our book bags empty.
During the summer holidays, Lucy had never really played out with the
other kids in the street so when we called round for Jack and Sandra on
the way to school, they looked at the brown girl in the posh uniform in
horror.

"Is this Lucy then?" Jack said, as he eyed her up and down. "Like her
hair."

Sandra wasn't as accommodating. "She ain't walking with us, is she?
What if Jake and that sees us?"

Leanne laughed and said, "She can walk right behind us. And I mean,
right behind, Lucy. Like half a mile behind."

Lucy, meanwhile, stared right back at our white faces and, smoothing
down her new skirt proudly, she said, "I don't care what you do. I'm
just waiting for the day they send me back to mama. But she can't look
after me yet 'cos she's in one of them special shows, as a dancer. When
I grow up, I'm gonna be a dancer like my mama."

"Don't listen to her," Leanne said with a sigh. "She's just lying. She
lies all the time, don't you Lucy?"

"No, I do not," she said, indignantly.
We walked the rest of the way to school chatting amongst ourselves:
Lucy walking on behind like Leanne told her to. We didn't talk about
what it was going to be like at school with Lucy but we were all
thinking the same thing. We all knew what all the other kids would say
when they saw her for the first time. Linton High hadn't seen a brown
person in all the years it had been open. No one who lived in the
village was brown, so they weren't likely to welcome the new brown Lucy
as easily as mum and dad thought. They thought it was going to be okay
but they didn't know what kids were like. They'd forgotten what it was
like to be a kid; it was that long ago.
It was even worse than we imagined. As we walked down the corridor to
our homeroom, kids gawped at Lucy like she was an alien. Some jeered
out loud; others hissed a stream of obscenities. Leanne and I rushed
forward, afraid that somehow the obscenities would be aimed at us. At
break time, we met up with Sandra and Jack and watched Lucy being
goaded into a corner of the playground, pellets and other objects
thrown at her. Sometime later, towards the end of break time, two
teachers intervened and marched the culprits to the headmaster, and
took Lucy to the nurse.
But for all her agony, she didn't cry once.
Until I caught her in the bathroom two months later.

Life for Lucy got worse as the weeks went by and things came to a head
when mum and dad were sent for by the school. The teachers explained to
them, in their usual patronising tones, that Lucy would be better off
going to a different school where they were "more people like her". Mum
told us she got angry and shouted back at the teachers. But when she
got home and shut the door with a bang, she cried so much I was afraid
she was doing damage to her heart. Lucy watched the scene with
nonchalance and caressed her doll-cum-piece of wool between her
fingers. Leanne shook her head and went back to her computer
game.

"I'm not sure what to do," I heard mum say to dad later. "It seems
cruel to allow her to carry on here but there's a point to be made. I
don't see why we should give in, just because our fucking society can't
accept Lucy."

Dad mumbled his agreement and I tiptoed away, feeling a mixture of
naughtiness and amusement because mum had said the F word.
Every weekend, Leanne and I would go out into the street to play with
the rest of the kids. Lucy usually stayed inside, colouring and
painting. But one Saturday she put on her coat and stood by the door
whilst we were putting on our trainers.

"I want to come with you," she said.

"You can't," Leanne said.

"But I want to."

In the end, mum told Leanne it would be her staying in if she didn't
let Lucy come with us. So, we took our scooters and raced down the
street, hoping Lucy wouldn't be able to keep up with us. But she did
and soon we were down near the beck, our faces red with exertion and
our hair tangled. The kids were waiting for us, their faces dropping to
their feet when they saw Lucy clambering down the rock behind us.

"What's she doing here?" Simon, who was in the popular group at
school, said. "We ain't knocking around with her, are we?"

Lucy bowed her head again and I knew she wished she had her piece of
wool to caress.

"Yeah, she can piss off," Matthew said. "We don't put up with blacks
round here."

John, a 6ft giant of a boy even at twelve, held up his hands. "No, I
say she stays. After all, we can have some fun now, can't we
boys?"

First of all they pinned her up against a big rock and rubbed mud into
her face and hair. Then they all had turns in kicking her and I stood
watching, afraid to move. Leanne clapped and jeered as Lucy, her face
set in defiance, was subjected to the worst bullying ever. I wished I
could've stopped them but I was afraid of being set upon myself. When
they let her go, she ran past us, casting me with such a hurtful look I
was ashamed. Her eyes were dry but her mouth was quivering; she looked
like a little girl lost, not sure who she was.
As the boys laughed and hugged their stomachs, revelling in their
cruel antics, I made my excuses and ran after her.
I found her at home, in the bathroom. The door was ajar but I heard
her heart rendering sobs as I walked up the stairs. Pushing back the
door, I gasped when I saw her. She was naked, apart from her ankle
socks and she held a can of talcum powder. The powder was all over the
floor and all over her naked body. Her brown raison eyes sought me out
and she gave a strangled cry. As I ran to her, taking in her white
face, brown streaks running down her cheeks, where her tears had
fallen, I began to tell her how sorry I was. She allowed me to embrace
her and then she looked up.

"I just wanna be white, I just wanna be white."

I stroked her braided hair and simply said, "I know you do."

After the beck incident, it was decided that it would be better for
Lucy if she went to a new home. The social workers came round and
talked to Lucy in gentle and hushed tones, reassuring her that now
everything would be okay. But Lucy looked at them like she didn't
believe them and I didn't blame her. They told her she could go and see
her new foster mum before she went and they said she could take us with
her.
We went one late Sunday afternoon, when the sun was sinking into
obscurity and the air was dusky. As dad drove down the streets, we were
silent in the back and I couldn't get rid of the lump in the back of my
throat, however much I swallowed. Mum looked out of the window, her
mouth set in a sad grim. When we had gone a little way, the streets
began to take on a grimy look with litter piled up in heaps at every
corner. Lucy gasped and pointed to a group of men stood on a
corner.

"Look, Sue," she said to mum. "They're all black! Am I back in Africa
now?"
Mum didn't answer but I heard her sniff loudly.
After that visit, we went back home and Lucy was packing her clothes a
day later.
That was the last time we ever saw her.

* * * * * *

I did try to find Lucy five years later, when there was a party for
foster associates in a hall the other side of town. I went eagerly,
hoping and preying to God that she would be there. But as I searched
each face for those raison eyes, my chances of finding her grew more
bleak. She wasn't there.
I wanted to have the chance to tell her I was sorry again. Sorry I
never stuck up for her those lonely days she was with us; sorry I never
accepted her for who she was.
As laughter rang out around me, I knew it was a selfish mission.
After all, nobody ever gave her that chance I so badly wanted for
myself.

The End