Ask Eva by Judi Curtin Page A

Ella.
    ‘It was,’ said Aretta. ‘But we learned to put up with it. My father told my brother and me that we would have to be patient. One day our application to stay in Ireland will be accepted, he said, and then our lives will change forever. When my brother and I couldn’t sleep, our father sat on our beds and told us stories of the lovely house we would all live in when we left the centre. He told us about the garden he would make for us, with swings and a little pond for fish. He said that one day, our mother would come and live with us there, and we would all be happy again.’
    I could feel tears coming to my eyes. Ilooked at Ella, but she was rubbing her face, like dust had blown on it or something. Aretta wasn’t crying though. Her face was still and sad.
    ‘As my brother got older, he didn’t want to listen to those stories any more. He was angry all the time, and he fought with my father a lot. It was not easy, sharing a bedroom with those too, I can tell you. And then …’
    There was another long silence. I didn’t want to rush her, but lunch-time was nearly over, and I had a funny feeling that if Aretta didn’t finish her story before the bell rang, then she might never finish it.
    ‘And then what?’ I said as gently as I could.
    ‘And then something terrible happened.’ Now Aretta’s voice was almost a whisper, like what she was describing was still happening in a hidden corner of her mind.
    ‘It was dinner-time, the worst time of the day. There was a woman sitting at the tablenear us, with her little girl. When the food came out, the woman said that she was very sorry, but she could not eat it, because of her religious beliefs. She very politely asked the woman who served the food if she and her little girl could have something else. And then Mr Richards came along and started screaming at her. He said the woman should have made her request before the food was cooked, and the woman said she did not have a chance, because her little girl was sick. And then … and then … and then my brother jumped up, and before my father could do anything about it, my brother punched Mr Richards in the face. My brother is not very good at punching, and I don’t think Mr Richards was really hurt, but he acted like he was going to die. He screamed and shouted and said he would have my brother locked up for twenty years.’
    ‘But that’s so unfair,’ I said. ‘It sounds like Mr Richards was totally mean to that woman.He’s the one who should be locked up.’
    Aretta nodded. ‘In the end Mr Richards calmed down. I think he knew he might get into trouble too – because he’s supposed to provide special food for people who have strict religious beliefs. So he made a big fuss about how forgiving he could be. He said that if my family agreed to go back to Nigeria, he wouldn’t call the police or bring charges against my brother.’
    ‘But you didn’t go back to Nigeria,’ I said.
    ‘No. We couldn’t. For one thing, going back would be dangerous for us, and also … well, I’ve been here for so long, I think I’m more Irish than Nigerian now. Those stories I tell you about Nigeria – well, they’re just stories my dad has told me. Sometimes I feel like he made them all up. I’ve been here for most of my life, and going back – well, going back would be like going to a foreign country.’
    ‘So how did you end up here?’ asked Ella.
    ‘One of the social workers was really nice. She found us a place here, but my brother refused to come with us. He went to Dublin to stay in a different centre, with his girlfriend and her family.’
    I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but even so, I guessed it must be hard to be parted from the only one you had.
    Ella seemed to read my mind. ‘You must miss your brother,’ she said.
    ‘I do,’ said Aretta. ‘But even so, I thought the move here might be a good thing. It meant we would be far away from Mr Richards.’
    ‘And is the centre here better?’