One Saturday morning in early May she was brought to me

a seven-year-old girl fresh from Spanish Dominica

for 'help with English' in her new life in Bermuda:

a child of grace standing tall before me

chocolate skin lightly flushed as flower petals

lips like rubies and black bayonet eyes.

On her thick plaits bounced yellow ribbons

pleated as crisply as her daffodil frock and white socks.

One skinned knee jauntily sported a Donald Duck plaster.

I had not yet said even 'Hello' and already I loved her.

It was her eyes: not shy - not fearful – just waiting.

 

I smiled and held out my hand saying clearly 'Feliz Navidad.'

Her eyes flashed as she got the corny joke and the clear message:

'No bridge of shared language; it's off the deep end for both of us.'

Her parents left and we began that very day to talk together

just conversation - things we see and do and use every day.

 

Over the months we laughed a lot and made amazing headway.

Intelligence shone from her like a beacon.

I soon realized how much she already knew

and how fast she would learn as her English became fluent.

We were a great team, enjoying each lesson - easy friends.

 

I am a mixed marriage, a 'zebra couple' in mostly good-natured slang.

I'm so white I'm almost blue, just a summer blush, even in Bermuda.

So, in September, something happened which I did not foresee.

One regular Saturday deep in conversation and giggles

I said something that electrified my little Spanish girl.

I have no idea what, perhaps a comment about my own childhood.

Her eyes exploded in horror.

She hurtled off her chair headlong on to the sofa

scrunching into a ball, pounding the cushions and screaming:

I HATE WHITE PEOPLE! over and over at the top of her lungs.

 

I was so surprised I was senseless for a moment.

But not shocked. No, not shocked.

I understood the 'island rules', both legal and popular:

a white woman in a mixed marriage is socially 'black';

her children at birth are recorded 'black.

She is a 'black family' in both communities.

 

Over many years 'blackness' seemed less about skin colour

(in whatever shade of 'coloured'  pigment)

and more about your barometer of historical anger.

Anti-white feeling found some 'blacks' spurred to belligerence

and others not responding at all.

Many 'blacks' pushed back, 'What does this attitude accomplish?'

 

But not the children – regardless of their parents' view .

Kids just spew - feeling grown-up with hot words in their mouths

and no knowledge in their brains.

So I 'got it' immediately.

The school yard can be a vicious habitat.

Children harangue; they bully; they fight with fists, with slander, with ostrazization!

Already counter prejudice was engrained in my little Spanish girl.

She may have said terrible things herself.

She might even be the leader of a pack – she had that power.

I was WHITE - a woman of the hated class – the HATED class!

No wonder she freaked out – she LIKED ME!

 

Words were useless, touch out of the question.

I went to the kitchen, and made mint tea for her.

Into a pretty mug - warm milk, a sugar cube

drop of peppermint, drip of green,

shiny silver spoon to swirl it all around 

et voila - an elixir of comfort.

Even with her head under the pillow she smelled the mint

unwound herself, came back to her chair.

She cradled her cup, clinking the delicate spoon

sniffing and sipping, never raising her eyes.

I did not say a word. I did not look at her.

I shuffled some papers together, opened a lesson book and read silently.

 

Minutes ticked by, before a slight movement made me raise my eyes.

She pulled across the bowl of bright fresh fruit and said:

'An orange orange. That is very funny. Ha! Ha!

Would you like an apple apple? Ha! Ha! Ha! Or a banana banana!'

And she laughed and laughed flinging off the tears still sparkling on her lashes.

I wadded tissues under my own eyes soaking up more tears than I could shake away.

I didn't even try to speak over the lump in my throat only nodding 

Yes, very funny, my little warrior. 

What a woman you will be some day.

I shall never forget her.