When I think back to the old village school where I once learned, there was an orphan girl who lived with her greatgrandmother, a very frail and devout old woman. Every Sunday the two of them would trudge to StMarys parish church, passing the cottage where we all lived, both of them thin as twigs and cloaked in pristine white kerchiefs. Rumour had it that her grandmother forbade her to watch the television, to eat sweets, even to laugh with her mouth open, lest the devil slip in, and she forced her to splash her face with icy water each morning.
We would tease the girl. She would stare at us with a dull, childless gaze and whisper, Lord, have mercy on them; they know not what they do. No one befriended her; the other pupils thought her a lunatic. They called her Ethel, sometimes Agatha.
In my childhood the school canteen was hardly appetising, yet on Fridays there were sweet buns with tea, or a sausage wrapped in pastry with a drizzle of cocoa and a tiny chocolate bar. One day, as the older boys were tormenting Ethel, one shoved her hard; she tumbled into me and I collided with a side table where a tray of cocoa cups and that chocolate river spilled over two senior pupils.
Watch it, they grumbled.
Run! I shouted, grabbing Ethels hand, and we fled toward our classroom.
It felt as though a band of highwaymen and a herd of cattle were charging after us, shouting their curses. The next two lessons were mathematics. Behind the glass door two hulking silhouettes loomed. Occasionally the door cracked ajar and two heads peeked in, then vanished with a whisper. I understood that what awaited us was, as the classics put it, a inquiry, a trial, and a sentence.
The key is to slip out unnoticed, then I know a hatch to the attic; well hide there till dusk and make our way home, I whispered.
No, Ethel replied, well go as proper girlsquiet and modest.
But Ethel, theyll
What? What will they do? Pour milk over our heads? Beat us?
Well
Even if they beat us, it will be once. If you stay, fear will stalk you every day.
We left the class with the rest, as girls oughthushed and demure. Two senior boys leaned against the wall.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one said, holding my wallet emblazoned with Mickey Mouse and ten pounds, meant for the swimming pool and art studio fees.
Take it, he thrust the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
I walked home, swinging my satchel, marveling at how nicely life had turned out, and grateful for my new companion.
Shall I call my mother? She could ring your grandmother, get you excused, and we could watch cartoons at my house. Or is that forbidden?
Ethel rolled her eyes.
Lets go fetch the waffles with condensed milk that my grandmother baked today, she said.
Our friendship endured for many years, until life scattered us across different continents. Yet I forever recall that one moment.
Leaping from the school tower into the blue mirror of the swimming pool was terrifyingbut only once. Trying something new is frightening. What if the worst happens? Youre foolish, they might say, just once. Yet I would repeat that to myself every day.
Terrifying just once, or every day. You conquer fear once, or it lives inside you, governing each day. There is a choice.
