It was hot again. Why did it have to be hot again? It was the second week of September. Where was the fall weather? The trees were already changing, and the leaves were falling down. But, pardon my words, why the hell was it eighty degrees today?
The shuttle broke down a block away. We had no choice but to walk the distance. Nobody spoke, and there was no point looking at each other’s faces. Everyone’s hands were either shoved into their pockets or clinging to their books and book bags. Our clogs echoed loudly against concrete, and I tried not to trip. I would have moved faster, but I was so damn hot. Pardon my words again. I felt like I was choking on the clay, and I wanted to remove my mask, my Nahuat. But it was forbidden. Coming here should have been too.
Big, yellow beetles rose up into view. Kids poured out of them like rivers. They screamed and laughed, unburdened, and that’s why we called them Feriors. Their attention rose from the melee to us, and the laughter and conversation died. They heard that we were coming. They knew that we were coming. They didn’t believe it or want to, but here we come. If we just kept our population down, we would not need to be here. But the men of my town knew better. They shuffled some money, maybe a lot over to the superintendent of schools, and here we were. And they stared at us like we were the aliens.
None of us said a word. We marched through the throng of kids with our Nahuats poked and smacked. Harsh words struck our backs. Cruel feet would later kick our chairs and shins. Words that I would never ever dare say bloodied our ears, chased by more wicked comments. None of us responded, but I wanted to. I wanted to scream at them that I did not want to be here, but I could not step out of line. Even here in their town, I could not step out of line.
The morning dragged on. Constant remarks and words that I will not repeat bombarded me. Endless pokes and smacks and kicks. Ugly glances. Hatred. Absolute hatred, but what did I ever do to them? Nothing. Most of the teachers ignored me. They were angry too that we were here, and they did not care if we learned or not. Only one of them was different, Ms. Martin. She nearly pulled me out of the chair, forcing me to stand in front of all those Feriors.I was disgusted that she dared to touch me.
“Tell us about your… Culture,” she said as she sat down behind her nice, large, safe desk.
“Yeah. What planet do you come from,” one kid yelled, but the look on the teacher’s face quieted him quickly.
I looked at Ms. Martin for a long time. Then I noticed the blackboard behind us. “Welcome to Social Studies” was written in beautiful, white chalk. Maybe she wasn’t singling me out. Maybe I was a project. Either way I was stuck standing in front of them, so I did the only thing that I could think of. I started to talk.
“We can’t hear her with that mask on. Take off the mask,” another student demanded, and the rest started to chant that last statement. “Take off the mask,” that student repeated.
“Enough!” Ms. Martin was now on her feet, looking more angry at them than at me. “You know that she can’t. It’s forbidden.”
“It’s bullshit,” a student said from the back.
“One more comment or statement, and we will have a pop quiz right now. I will test you on last year’s studies.” The students’ groans and moans was the response that she sought, and they finally fell quiet. “Tell us about your culture,” she now said to me.
“When we are born, we are not shown to the world for a year. Our matherdoes the same. One year after birth, the clay is first applied to our heads, and the world meets us.”
“Does your mother wear clay,” a student asked, chased by a snicker.
“No. She is married. She has three blue lines on her cheeks. Two on the left. One on the right. The ones on the left are for the boys. The ones on the right are for the girls.”
“So, when do you take that… Mask off?”
“When I am thirteen, which will be in less than a year.”
“Then what,” a student asked.
“Then the black veil. Girls from thirteenthrough eighteenwear the black veil until they are married.”
“Married? No wonder, they’re fucking like bunnies,” a boy in the front said, and I tried to cover my ears, blocking out that horrid word. I failed.
Ms. Martin was about to scold him when the bell screamed. I was so grateful. I raced to my seat, nearly tripping over at least two feet, but I made it. I made it into the hall and enjoyed my half hour recess. Now I just had to survive the afternoon.
Recess came and went. We all stood together. Our backs were kept to them, those who would never accept us, those we didn’t want to accept us. None of us spoke. We didn’t have to. We didn’t want to be here, but we were. And when that bell rang again, we had no choice but to return back inside.
English wasn’t so bad. The teacher reminded me of what they called a nerd, and he talked and talked and talked. I tried to follow him, but my attention slowly moved over to a girl sitting a few rows up ahead. She twirled a long, black lock of hair around her finger. Her face was beautiful, painted like her fingers and toe nails. She smiled at the boys, and they smiled back. Part of me was drawn to her, but I could never ever be like her, so unburdened. I could not have a boy look at me like that. No boy would see my face until he purposely or accidentally removed my black veil.I’ve heard horror stories of horrible marriages, where a boy accidentally removed a girl’s veil. I did not want that to happen to me.
I envied the boys in my town. They wore the clay masks, the Nahuats, too until they turned thirteen. Then, they were free to show their faces. Once they turned twenty-one, they had to grow a beard. It was forbidden to just have a mustache. Whether short or long, they had to have a beard. It was just our way, and I still envied them. But the black veil would be better than this damn heavy, hot mask.
The day finally ended. I didn’t know what was heavier. My book bag or my mask. The shuttle would not pick us up here. We had to walk at least a mile until we saw it. Cars blasted their horns as the shuttle swerved our way. They were ridiculous. Couldn’t they see that our ride was trying to get to us? They were so rude, and I was so grateful to board that shuttle. But my thoughts and feelings crashed right afterward. I would have to do this tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. I was trapped. I was in hell, pardon my words. When I am married, I have the option of finishing school or not, but until then, here I was. And there I will be.
“Hi, honey.” My mather’svoice nearly erased the day. “How was school?”
“Horrible.” I slammed the front door a little too hard behind me. “Absolutely, horrible. Can I please remove this mask now?”
My mather stood nearby with my almost one-year-old brother in her arms. The dark blue lines on her face stood out against the shadows filling in the corners. Her soft, brown eyes clouded for a moment, and then she slowly nodded. She rushed toward the windows and pulled down every single blind, blocking the world from my sight. Then, she turned off the lights. “Take the mask off,” she whispered.
“You’ve seen my face before,” I said.
“And your father beat me bloody, remember?” Those words stung my heart. “Now, why was today so horrible?” She continued to cradle my brother in her arms. “It couldn’t be that bad.”
“Are you kidding?” I now held the mask in my hands. “They hate me. They hate us. They hate that we are there. They don’t want us there in their town. They want us here away from them, and this is going to be a nightmare. They’re going to torture me. I don’t want to be there or near them. They hate me.”
“Don’t worry, Bekka. They won’t be there that long.” She froze a second later. “Don’t tell your father that I said that. Don’t!”
It was forbidden for the women to eavesdrop on the men’s conversations behind closed doors. They ran the town. Their business was their business. The women had no part in it, and if caught spying on the men, they were beaten. One woman was even killed, and murder is the Sin. The man’s head was shaved completely, and on the back of his head, he was branded with an M. Then he was banished from the town, and nobody would speak of him again.
“Don’t tell your father,” she cried.
“I won’t. I remember what he did to you before.” I looked down at the mask in my hands. “There was this girl in English.”
“Girl? A Ferior?” She resumed rocking my brother to sleep. “What about this girl?”
“She was beautiful.” My mother paused at that. “She had beautiful hair. Her face was beautiful and painted. The boys looked at her…”
“Bekka!” I froze at her tone. “Do not flirt with Revolution.” Now I was confused. “You are there to learn, and learn only. Do not be influenced.”
“I’m not a Ferior.”
“If you let them inside, you will be, and then…”
“Then,” I repeated.
“Then I don’t know,” my matherwhispered. “Your brother’s asleep, and I need to rest.” She hurried out of the room.
“I’m not a Ferior,” I repeated.
Mirrors were forbidden in the house except for the bathroom. I felt dirty just thinking of school, so I went inside to wash my hands and face. I placed the mask gently beside the sink and welcomed the cool water against my skin. I looked up into the mirror a moment later, and I didn’t see me. I saw the girl from English. I should turn off the lights and put the mask back on, but I couldn’t. She was beautiful. I was beautiful, but no. No! I would not, could not think like that.I grabbed the mask, snapped the lights off and stormed away. But that image, that girl… I couldn’t forget it. Maybe, maybe I was flirting with Revolution.
