Refugee Boy (13 page)

‘Yes, I think I’ll be OK. Do you think my English is good enough?’ he asked.

‘I think you’ll be fine,’ Nicholas said as he reached out and touched Alem on his shoulder.

Nicholas stayed with them until a woman came from the courtroom and called out Alem’s name.

Mrs Fitzgerald jumped up as if startled by a ghost.
‘Oh, that’s us!’

Nicholas led them into the courtroom. Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald went to the family seats, and Nicholas led Alem to his seat. Directly opposite was the adjudicator’s seat. It was big, red and empty, and stood on a raised platform, which Alem immediately thought was to symbolise superiority. Mounted on the wall above the seat was a large gilded crest. It portrayed a large lion and unicorn facing each other; above them was a golden crown and below them were the Latin words ‘
Dieu et mon droit
’. In front of Alem to the left stood Nicholas, making last-minute notes, and to the right of him stood the representative of the Secretary of State. Underneath the adjudicator’s platform sat the usher who had called Alem in, and to the left of her sat the clerk. The walls of the room were high, panelled halfway up in a rich, dark wood, but from there on up to the ceiling they were painted in cheap magnolia. Alem admired the panelling but noticed that the top half of the room had been neglected; the magnolia paint was flaking and cobwebs stretched from the corners and light fittings as if protected by a preservation order.

Suddenly, everyone stood up. Alem was taken by surprise; he was the only one left seated. He looked towards Nicholas, who signalled with his hand and mimed the words ‘Stand up’. Alem stood up. The adjudicator walked in and sat in his seat and everyone
sat down, except Alem. Nicholas signalled him down with his hand and mimed the words ‘Sit down’. Alem sat down.

The hearing began as predicted. The state representative spoke first.

‘The state believes that the appellant faces no personal threat if he were to be returned to his country. We are of the belief that if he were returned, he would live a relatively peaceful life.’

Next Nicholas stood up and said his piece. ‘My client believes that he has much to fear if he were to return home at this time. He has in fact suffered persecution there in the past and the political circumstances in both Ethiopia and Eritrea have not changed since then.’

Alem watched the adjudicator as he read from some of the papers in front of him, and knew that he was reading about him. The adjudicator then turned to Alem, took off his spectacles and began to speak. ‘What I am going to do is adjourn this hearing so that reports can be prepared. Do you understand?’

Alem was nervous, his reply was barely audible. ‘Yes, I understand.’

The adjudicator continued. ‘Until you come back before me, you will stay with your foster parents at 202 Meanly Road. Is that agreeable?’

‘Yes,’ Alem said more positively.

‘Very well,’ the adjudicator concluded. ‘Do you
have anything to say?’

‘Yes,’ Alem replied.

There was a look of surprise on the face of Nicholas. He had no idea what Alem could possibly want to say; he just hoped that he wouldn’t say anything that would jeopardise his case. The Fitzgeralds looked at each other, not knowing what was going to happen next. Alem wasn’t working to the script.

Alem looked around the courtroom and said, ‘I would like to wish you all a happy Christmas.’

A smile came to the faces of all in the courtroom and the clerk noted his remarks.

The adjudicator’s tone changed, and he leaned forward and spoke to Alem as if he was genuinely trying to help him. ‘It’s difficult to tell whether you mean that in retrospect or are speaking of the Christmas to come. You see, we have just had Christmas.’

‘I know,’ Alem replied, ‘people were very nice to me at Christmas, but today it is Christmas in Ethiopia and Eritrea and many other parts of the world, and I think that if Christmas makes us nicer to each other, we should celebrate as many Christmases as we can.’

There were smiles from all in the courtroom and quiet laughter from some. Mrs Fitzgerald smiled as tears rolled down her face.

The adjudicator laughed the loudest. ‘Not only have I learned something new today, I have also been made wiser. I would like to thank you for imparting
your knowledge to me and I would like to take this opportunity to wish you a happy Christmas.’

Alem smiled at the adjudicator. The adjudicator put on his spectacles and continued. ‘This hearing will now be adjourned until 15 February on the condition that the appellant resides with his current foster parents. I hope by then that all the relevant reports can be prepared.’

The two representatives nodded. The adjudicator stood and the whole court stood. This time Alem followed the crowd. The adjudicator turned and left, whereupon the courtroom filled with talk as everyone began to leave.

The Fitzgeralds headed straight for Alem. Mr Fitzgerald shook his hand and said, ‘You had us worried there for a moment.’

Mrs Fitzgerald hugged him, kissed him on his forehead and said, ‘Alem, you were great! Happy Christmas!’

The next day Alem was back in school. His English was improving by the day and he was tuning in well to the accent of east Londoners but he hadn’t come to terms with the weather. Sometimes he would find himself shivering because of the bitter cold but he would not complain, he just told himself that one day he would get used to it.

Two days later Alem woke up as normal to the smell of breakfast being cooked. Thanks to the twin radiators the room was warm enough for him to push the quilt aside and have a good stretch. He jumped up, sat on the bed and reached down to pick up a book. The book that came to hand was
A History of the East End
, a book of large old black and white photographs with very little text. He flicked through the pages and would stop at certain photos that caught this eye. The first was a photo of Boleyn Castle. The picture had no people in it and the quality of the photo was poor. The words underneath claimed that Anne Boleyn had lived there, and Henry VIII courted her there in
secret trysts. Then Alem turned to a picture taken in 1905 of ‘The Ladies of the St John Ambulance Brigade’. They were all dressed in white frocks with black capes, and stared into the camera as if they were afraid of it. As Alem looked at them he wondered what they were thinking at the time, and who was St John? He flicked through pages of photos of old churches, famous people and industrial buildings, ending up on a picture of Beckton in the Blitz. A bomb had hit a row of houses in a street; they had been reduced to rubble. Alem looked deep into the photo and began to notice small details, which at first were not visible among the mass of bricks and piping. He saw shoes, a doll, a radio, a handbag and a couple of hats, one of which looked very much like the hats that were worn by the ladies of the St John Ambulance Brigade.

Alem put the book down and went to the window. ‘Gosh!’ he shouted loudly as he looked outside. ‘That’s something else!’ Outside was foggy, frosty and cold.

‘Mrs Fitzgerald!’ he shouted. ‘Have you seen outside?’

She shouted back, ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Is there something wrong with the pond?’ shouted Mr Fitzgerald.

‘Yes,’ Alem replied, ‘the pond is disappearing, everything is so white.’

‘That’s nothing,’ shouted Mr Fitzgerald. ‘You should see it when it snows. It doesn’t happen much nowadays, but that’s when it’s really white.’

At the breakfast table Mr Fitzgerald explained that England was like that. ‘You could get four seasons in a day sometimes,’ he said trying to make it sound like an original observation. He went on to give a lecture on how unlucky the kids were now, and how when he was young snow would be around for weeks and they would make sleighs and snowmen. ‘But not now,’ he said, ‘it’s that global-warming thing, it never really freezes for long and if you want a snowman nowadays you can go and buy a blow-up one in the shop.’

The frost fascinated Alem, but he hadn’t prepared himself for walking to school in it. He opened the front door and the cold hit him, and even though he was warmly dressed, his puffer jacket couldn’t stop him from feeling it. He stepped carefully down the short path and turned to wave goodbye.

That morning the whole atmosphere of the streets had changed, he thought. Cars, people, even the air felt as if it was moving more slowly. The cats and dogs looked streetwise and tough, and the birds sang louder. He looked up at two birds singing to each other in a tree on the street and wondered how the small fragile creatures could survive in such conditions. The birds seemed quite happy and didn’t sound as if they were complaining.

As the day progressed the temperature rose and by dinnertime the ice had completely disappeared. But the cold stayed around to remind Alem that he was far away from home.

That afternoon when Alem came home from school he was told that Mariam was on her way to see him. By the time he had changed his clothes she had arrived. This time she was looking worried and Alem wasted no time with pleasantries.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked, looking Mariam directly in her eyes.

Mariam couldn’t hide her anxiety. She took a letter from the folder she was holding and handed it to Alem. He went straight up to his room, sat on his bed and opened the letter.

My dearest son
,

I am afraid that I have to tell you some very bad news. Remember I told you in my last letter that darkness is upon the land? Well, my son, please prepare yourself for what I have to say. This is very bad news, because darkness is now upon our family. After searching for many weeks I have just learned that your mother is no longer with us. She was killed by some very evil people and left near the border
.

Please, son, I want you to be strong, now I need you to be strong more than ever, and your mother would want you to be strong. It is very difficult for me here now, I don’t feel
that I have anything here any more, so in the next few days I will be leaving here and joining you. At this time I think that it is important that we must be together so I am coming. I will find you through the Refugee Council and we will be together again
.

I long to see you and I promise you I will be with you soon, so be strong, be as strong as your mother, and we will make it through the darkness
.

Your loving father

Downstairs, Mariam explained to Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald that, like the last one, the letter had arrived at the Refugee Council, this time accompanied by another letter addressed to the council itself, explaining the circumstances behind Alem’s arrival in Britain and informing them of the death of Alem’s mother.

When he heard about the death, Mr Fitzgerald fell into his armchair and whispered, ‘I don’t believe it. The poor boy!’

Mrs Fitzgerald headed for the door to go upstairs. ‘I must go and talk to him. He can’t be left up there all by himself,’ she said, almost pushing Mariam over as she passed her.

‘No, no,’ Mariam said softly, ‘take it easy. Just give him a little time to himself. It’s a lot for him to take in.’

Against her instincts, Mrs Fitzgerald stayed downstairs. She offered Mariam a cup of tea, Mariam
accepted, and as the three of them sat drinking, Ruth came home. Ruth was given the bad news and was stunned into silence.

After an hour of very few words, Mariam decided that it was time to leave. She wrote down the number of her mobile phone and gave it to Mrs Fitzgerald. ‘Do ring me any time if you need any help, any time, day or night.’

In the hallway she told Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald that they should keep an eye on Alem and try to speak to him soon. ‘I would just like to say something to him before I leave.’

She followed Mrs Fitzgerald up to Alem’s room, where she spoke to him through the closed door. ‘Alem, I must go now, but I’m going to ring you tomorrow, and I’ve left my mobile number with Mr Fitzgerald, so if you need me for any reason at all, at any time, please ring me, OK?’

‘Yes,’ came the reply from the other side of the door, but Alem said nothing else and Mariam left.

Not long afterwards Alem made his way slowly downstairs. Mr and Mrs Fitzgerald were moving between the kitchen and the dining room, preparing the evening meal, and Ruth sat in the living room reading a magazine. When Mrs Fitzgerald saw Alem in the dining room, she quickly put down the casserole dish she was carrying and went to him. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his forehead.
‘You poor boy, it must be so hard for you! Don’t worry, son, we’ll look after you.’

Ruth came into the dining room and went straight to Alem. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m OK,’ Alem replied.

At the meal everyone was cautious. All the members of the family were concerned with Alem’s state of mind. Although he was quiet and looked very much in control, none of them knew how much Alem would want to talk about things. Alem was eating very little, very slowly.

‘Eat as much as you can, dear,’ said Mrs Fitzgerald gently.

‘Yes, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ Alem replied.

For a long time the only sound coming from the room was that of the cutlery scraping the porcelain.

‘Try and eat some more,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said. ‘Eating may not seem that important to you now, and it may not be the best food in the world, but I reckon there’s a few of those vitamin and mineral things in there.’

‘And we all need some of those,’ Mr Fitzgerald added.

Then it was back to the silence. Another couple of minutes passed and Alem put down his knife and fork as he stared into his food.

Ruth was the first to notice. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

Suddenly, Alem burst into tears and began crying loudly. He stamped his feet up and down and began hitting the sides of his clenched fists against his thighs, causing glasses of water to topple on the table. He cried louder, then he put his hands over his ears and shook his head as if he was trying to keep out an evil sound. His sobbing was becoming harder to control; he tried to shout some words in Amharic but that just made him lose control even more. He quickly stood up. The table shook as his thighs hit it, his chair fell to the floor behind him and he ran upstairs.