screaming, to the coffin of cold darkness, and locking me in for hours, for a whole day. I was so afraid I thought of running: so they’d have to shoot me and get it over with.
The warden opened a door, took my arm, and pushed me forward.
There was a thick, patterned rug on the floor, that went all the way into the corners. The room was warm and there was a bright lamp, dispelling the gloom of a murky February afternoon. All I could see was the pattern on the rug. I
couldn’t
raise my eyes. The warden gave me another push, and I stumbled forward.
“So this is Sloe.”
“Look at Madam Principal,” said the warden sternly. “Stand up straight!”
I stood up straight. I saw a tall, slim woman in a tailored uniform. I had seen the principal only once before—a faraway figure, across a sea of heads in student caps, at the Winter Break General Assembly. I’d never expected to get any closer. Smiling, she came from behind her desk and led me by the hand to a stool in front of an easy chair near the stove. I wondered what on earth was going on. A warden, in a smarter white coat from the one who’d brought me, set a tray on a little table.
I could feel the armed guards, there behind me.
“Now, Sloe, don’t be afraid. You aren’t going to be punished, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’d like to talk to you about your mother.”
I nodded.
“Say ‘Yes, Madam Principal,’” snapped the warden who’d brought me.
“Yes, Madam Principal,” I whispered, reeling with shock and fear, trying not to let my voice shake, trying not to show any feelings. What had happened to my mama? The red light on the wall behind Madam Principal’s desk meant everything in here was being recorded. I stared at the tray, which held a glass of milk, a plate of yellow slices of cake, and a glass dish heaped with glistening purple jam. What were the treats for, if I was here to be given bad news? It made no sense.
“It’s been reported that you have confessed to your play-mates that your mother taught science, when you were living with her in the Settlements. Is that true, Sloe?”
Nothing had happened. Mama was safe. I almost fainted with relief.
“Do you like cake?” suggested the principal. “A little jam wouldn’t go amiss?”
The deal was clear. I must talk about Mama or I would get nothing. I had been hungry every day of my life, for as long as I could remember. I was hungry now. They could have stabbed me with red-hot pokers, and I would never,
never
have told anyone about the Lindquists, but I thought hard, and I could see no harm in what the principal was asking. Of course Mama had taught me. There was nothing wrong in that. She’d only taught me things everybody at New Dawn was learning.
“What kind of things did she teach?” coaxed the kindly voice.
My hand reached out. “Well, she didn’t teach anyone but me, but she told me oh, lots of things. About the planets, and the moon and tides, and how the winters got so cold, and how once there were dinosaurs.”
“Yes, yes,” said the principal, smiling sadly.
I didn’t understand. Mama had always said she would explain things when I was older. She had never told me why we were in the Settlement. I didn’t know that what Dadda had done wrong had anything to do with science. I’d never thought about it, never put two and two together. . . . I was just a little girl, and I believed New Dawn was different, in spite of the guards and the wardens. I really believed I was being given a chance. Mama had taught me to respect teachers, even Miss Malik. I never suspected that a head teacher would get a little girl to betray her own mother.
I ate two pieces of cake, with a big spoonful of jam spread on each. I couldn’t believe how good it tasted. I drank my milk: and I answered the questions. Then I was escorted to my next class and sent to my desk. My friends and enemies stared as much as they dared, their brains frying with curiosity, amazed that I’d come
The warden opened a door, took my arm, and pushed me forward.
There was a thick, patterned rug on the floor, that went all the way into the corners. The room was warm and there was a bright lamp, dispelling the gloom of a murky February afternoon. All I could see was the pattern on the rug. I
couldn’t
raise my eyes. The warden gave me another push, and I stumbled forward.
“So this is Sloe.”
“Look at Madam Principal,” said the warden sternly. “Stand up straight!”
I stood up straight. I saw a tall, slim woman in a tailored uniform. I had seen the principal only once before—a faraway figure, across a sea of heads in student caps, at the Winter Break General Assembly. I’d never expected to get any closer. Smiling, she came from behind her desk and led me by the hand to a stool in front of an easy chair near the stove. I wondered what on earth was going on. A warden, in a smarter white coat from the one who’d brought me, set a tray on a little table.
I could feel the armed guards, there behind me.
“Now, Sloe, don’t be afraid. You aren’t going to be punished, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’d like to talk to you about your mother.”
I nodded.
“Say ‘Yes, Madam Principal,’” snapped the warden who’d brought me.
“Yes, Madam Principal,” I whispered, reeling with shock and fear, trying not to let my voice shake, trying not to show any feelings. What had happened to my mama? The red light on the wall behind Madam Principal’s desk meant everything in here was being recorded. I stared at the tray, which held a glass of milk, a plate of yellow slices of cake, and a glass dish heaped with glistening purple jam. What were the treats for, if I was here to be given bad news? It made no sense.
“It’s been reported that you have confessed to your play-mates that your mother taught science, when you were living with her in the Settlements. Is that true, Sloe?”
Nothing had happened. Mama was safe. I almost fainted with relief.
“Do you like cake?” suggested the principal. “A little jam wouldn’t go amiss?”
The deal was clear. I must talk about Mama or I would get nothing. I had been hungry every day of my life, for as long as I could remember. I was hungry now. They could have stabbed me with red-hot pokers, and I would never,
never
have told anyone about the Lindquists, but I thought hard, and I could see no harm in what the principal was asking. Of course Mama had taught me. There was nothing wrong in that. She’d only taught me things everybody at New Dawn was learning.
“What kind of things did she teach?” coaxed the kindly voice.
My hand reached out. “Well, she didn’t teach anyone but me, but she told me oh, lots of things. About the planets, and the moon and tides, and how the winters got so cold, and how once there were dinosaurs.”
“Yes, yes,” said the principal, smiling sadly.
I didn’t understand. Mama had always said she would explain things when I was older. She had never told me why we were in the Settlement. I didn’t know that what Dadda had done wrong had anything to do with science. I’d never thought about it, never put two and two together. . . . I was just a little girl, and I believed New Dawn was different, in spite of the guards and the wardens. I really believed I was being given a chance. Mama had taught me to respect teachers, even Miss Malik. I never suspected that a head teacher would get a little girl to betray her own mother.
I ate two pieces of cake, with a big spoonful of jam spread on each. I couldn’t believe how good it tasted. I drank my milk: and I answered the questions. Then I was escorted to my next class and sent to my desk. My friends and enemies stared as much as they dared, their brains frying with curiosity, amazed that I’d come
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