Chapter Seven
Tricia was Raped
Tricia was raped three weeks ago and during Tuesday tutorial tells me she’s pregnant. I feel powerless. I want to place my arm around her shoulder but recoil. I feel something’s happened I have no experience of. Earlier Chung, seething anger, looked as if World War Three played retakes in his skull. The “I want to talk” expression on his face collapsing into vagueness when I remind him he’d requested a private meeting with me. Bits and pieces stumble into place. Tricia’s close to tears but holds them back. Lots of serious expressions, but few words, apart from she didn’t inform the police. “What’s the use”, she says, “he wore a mask. I couldn’t identify him.”
I admit I’m not able to help, other than provide a sympathetic ear.
“Does Chung know?”
“Yes he does.”
“What does he feel about it?”
“Mad.”
“Will he stick by you?”
“Yes!”
“Yes, he’s like that. Loyal and caring.”
I get the Student Guide and find the Rape Crisis Centre giving Tricia its number. It’s a twenty four hour service and if she feels like talking she can phone anytime. This knowledge affects me all week. From the outside the student group appears like any other, boisterous, antagonistic, humorous, seething with unresolved conflicts. Beneath, a state of mutual understanding and support, staff catching merely a smidgen of their reality, as private corridor talk (rightly) excludes us. How can we rebuild their educational and family relationships? Do we have a right to? An obligation? Things and matters professionals take for granted: confidence, an ability to express feelings and anger without fear of rejection.
Lee approaches me in the staff room complaining Sunil’s kicked him. “O.K. I’ll see both of you.” This should be my time to prepare lesson plans, but that’s fast becoming fragments of aspiring imagination. Seeing Lee I decide to change my tactics. Lee fills me talks to me in the quiet space next to the refectory. The sky’s subdued and grey outside after earlier winter brilliance. Tall, lost and skinny, a padded jacket swaddled around his febrile frame, his eyes glowing a wondrous gape, when not red with anger and frustration.
“Why does Sunil pick on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you fight back?”
“I can’t. I suppose I’m not like that.”
“Lee, who do bullies pick on?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like animals who hunt and kill.”
“I don’t follow.”
“They pick on the most vulnerable; the sick, young, the lame. Make it easy for themselves.”
“Oh.”
Lee smiles his simple naïve, gentle smile.
“Sunil picks on you, and Tricia, because you’re vulnerable. You can’t, or don’t, fight back.”
“Shall I hit him?”
“There are different ways to fight back. Other ways to be strong.”
“You mean like training and weight lifting.”
“They could be one, but they’re other things, like having faith in yourself. The way you move your body, what you wear, tells people things about you. Lee, what do you think college is about?”
“Getting education, learning things.”
“Yes, that’s right, and getting a better life for yourself. It’s also about being independent, making new friends, exploring things, learning to think and be free. College is one place where you can learn to cope with people like Sunil. A place where you could learn to be strong.”
“How?”
“By being positive about yourself, telling yourself you’re strong. Lee, listen to me, stand up, go on. In front of me, that’s right. Now tell me, ‘I’m Lee, I’m strong’. Go on. I know it’s not easy, but try it. Take a deep breath”. Slowly, like learning to speak in a new language, he begins. No one’s ever seen him attempting to be strong, his new words tumble out, a mixture of impunity, fear, self reproach, cacophony of alien sounds struggling to re-jig years of passivity.
“I’m Lee. I’m strong ....”, but he stops, his voice ringing hollow.
“Again!”
“It’s hard.”
“I know, so is life.”
“I’m Lee. I am strong”, emphasising ‘am’ as if he’s suddenly discovered its potential. His face beams childish smiles. Blue eyes catch aflame.
“Tell you what Lee”, I say as he sits down next to me, “get your yellow folder, the one in your bag, over there, that’s right.”
“Now write on it, ‘I want a better life’.”
And write it he does.
“Richard.”
“Yes.”
“I want to come to college by myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to get here by myself. By bus, not mini-cab.”
“Think about it, and we’ll talk later in the week.”
Where Lee sat, there’s now Sunil - after a search. He’d not gone to his lesson and I find him, ever ready as usual, with an excuse, in reception. He tells me he thought the lesson was cancelled: “I think you have a better memory than that.” Sunil’s a different kettle of fish to Lee. More intelligent, capable of strategy, one of which is withdrawal, with multiple complexities at his command. His small frame is slumped forward, his head retracted on his chest. For all intents and purposes he’s asleep, hibernating from further potential damage to his ego. “Why do you pick on Lee?”
“He hit me first!”
“Did he?”
We pause.
“I remember the first week of term when Tony hit you in the chest.”
“Who?”, he asks quizzically.
“Tony, the tall black guy, hit you because you made nasty comments to Tricia. But you didn’t pick on him, did you?”
“No.”
We pause.
“Sunil, I think you hit Tricia and Lee because they won’t retaliate. Remember, when we talked about your previous school, how you got picked on.”
“Yeah, I got beaten up all the time.”
“That’s right. You’re small and skinny. You’re easy target, easy meat, aren’t you? Does anyone here beat you up like they did at Wembley?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because college is better.”
“Sunil, then why hit Lee and Tricia?”
He pauses into silence, bowing his head.
“Lee doesn’t fight back does he?”
“No, he’s soft.”
“And”, I add, “he doesn’t know how to stand up for himself.”
“That’s right.”
“Yes, and the same for Tricia. More easy pickings, eh, Sunil?” Pause. His head sinks further into his chest. “Sunil, when I talked to Lee I mentioned that college was about getting a better life, thinking about our future, about learning things.”
“So?”
“So. You came here to escape being beaten up at Wembley High, and now you do the same things to others as were done to you. Did you like it being done to you?”
“No I didn’t!”
“You pick on others because you’re weak. You can’t damage those of average size. You’re small and puny. Easy targets, like Tricia and Lee, are simple, aren’t they?” We sit and say nothing for a few moments.
“I talked to Lee about getting stronger, learning to respect each other. But no matter how much I talk you won’t change until you feel positive about yourself.”
2
I’ve done nothing but think about Sunil’s behaviour. I’ve tried to convince the group Thursday’s session is the easiest of the week, as all we do is sit and talk. However, I’m wary of playing the session at the same intensity as last week. Can the students cope with it? Probably, but a nagging doubt remains. I enter the room a little late. Chung’s playing Brick-up on the computer, others are standing around. I need to turn this to my advantage. In Brick-up the player is given a clue and the first two letter of a word. So, ‘a body of singers’, clue, ‘ch’, answer, choir. I ask others to assist Chung because the clues are becoming more difficult. With this support Chung’s ready to break through the brick wall he’s behind. Amidst group celebration Sunil attempts to muscle in and operate the return key on the final clue. Chung tells him where to go in no uncertain terms. From this riposte I have an idea.
“This group’s called special needs isn’t it? Why do you think that is?”
“Because we’re thick”, declares Sunil.
“We’re not very clever are we?”, adds Lee.
“That’s not right”, says Ruhina who has now taken to calling herself Michelle, “I’m not thick!”
“Yes you are darlin’”, asserts Dean.
“Hang on, not so fast”, I tell them, “we’ve just played a really difficult game. Remember the word I got wrong and you got right. Lee gave some good answers, so did Paddy”, and pointing to each in turn, using their names, remind them of the responses they’d given. “I don’t think you’re thick. Remember when we did the brain in science? How many brain cells do we have?”
“Yes, eight hundred noughts,”, says Lee.
“And what’s the figure in front of those noughts, it’s more than nothing isn’t it? I don’t think it’s to do with being thick. Do you?” They nod agreement, all accept Dean who quacks like Donald Duck.
“Don’t be stupid, Dean”, shouts Sunil amidst mirth and insults.
Lee begins to make silly noises, then stops. I focus on Dean.
“Dean”, I say directly to him, “your father has an important and responsible job”, then turning to the group as a whole, continue, “he teaches people to drive responsibly. BSM isn’t it?”
“That’s right Richard, quack, quack.”
Sunil’s ready to hit him, his mouth curling angrily.
“Could you imagine Dean going for a job and his potential employer asks, ‘Now tell me about yourself?’, and he goes quack, quack! No job, no money, no independence.”
“Something stops us from learning”, Chung decides but offers no more.
I turn to Sunil, asking him, “why are you here?”
“Because I didn’t like my old school.”
“Why?”
“I got picked on.”
“You were robbed too, weren’t you?”, I said remembering the files I’d read.
“That’s right.”
“Maybe Sunil’s special need is to have peace and quiet.”
“That’s what I want”, adds Michelle.
“Maybe we all want peace and quiet. Who likes college?”
“It’s a nice place to be.”
“Lee, last Friday you left your pullover in the gym, and someone handed it into the office. You got it back today didn’t you?”
“Yes I did.”
“The college is a nice, peaceful place to be isn’t it?”
Dean’s stopped his daffy duck impersonation.
“Lee, you went to Southmead. Who else went there?”
All the students except John, who’s very quiet today, Sunil, and Tricia. Michelle’s deadly silent, festering about to explode.
“What was special about Southmead?”
“The staff are good”, asserts Chung.
“And?”, I probe.
“They cared for us.”
“Yes, that’s right. We might be special needs because things haven’t been as easy as we’d have liked.” I look at Lee saying, “We talked about something like this on Monday, didn’t we? Remember, about being strong and standing up for ourselves. Sunil, can I tell the group about what we talked about?” His head slumps forward. “Do you mind if I tell the group?” No reply which I take as a yes.
“I told Sunil one reason he picks on Tricia and Lee, and Michelle, is that he was picked on. It makes Sunil feel better....”
“That sounds like sense”, butts in Tricia.
“Most of us went to special school where the staff were kind and pupils didn’t bully, so we aren’t used to it, are we? Everyone, at some time or another, finds it difficult to cope. Sunil came to college for peace, do you think we should respect people who want peace?”
“He doesn’t respect other peoples’ peace”, blurts Chung.
“Isn’t that something we all must learn? Treating others with respect and being strong ourselves. College is about getting a better life isn’t it?” We decide to take a break as half the session has gone.
Michelle, puppy dogging me everywhere, constantly asking me to allow her time off, follows me to the staff room. “Richard, I can’t take it anymore.”
“Can’t take what?”
“Being called Ribena. They think it’s a joke, but they don’t know what it’s like to be laughed at all your life. I wish I could change my name.”
“Is yours a Kashmiri name?”
“Yes.”
“What’s its English equivalent?”
“Rose.”
“Maybe you could use that instead.”
“But Sunil will still call me names!”
“You must learn to tell him to stop, tell him no. Tell him enough’s enough. No’s such a small word, smaller than ‘yes’, more difficult to say.”
“I can’t Richard, I really can’t. I want to give up.”
“You have to.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Michelle, people will always pick on you if you don’t defend yourself. Sunil knows how to defend himself. Listen, tell me ‘Sunil, your a shit’. Go on, practice with me, then tell him face to face what you think, that you won’t allow him to walk all over you.” Fifteen minutes to say it, fifteen minutes to raise her voice to anger pitch.
We’re sitting around pushed together tables and I recommence where I’d left off. I take the theme of being laughed at. In their childish, giggly self they boast they don’t mind being humiliated.
“It doesn’t bother me”, brags Dean, adding a quick ‘quack, quack’.
“Well, I don’t mind being laughed”, declares Sunil.
“I like Ribena”, splutters Dean, “quack, quack!”
“Do you think you could stay grown up for today Dean?”
Michelle looks to me.
“Michelle, can you tell Sunil what you told me in the staff room?”
Sunil raises his head, looking quizzically around.
“What do you mean?”, he asks
“Michelle, can you tell Sunil what you think of him”.
“Yes. I think you’re a shit Sunil. You laugh at me all the time.”
“And I agree!”, shouts Dean.
“Why shouldn’t I call her Ribena, it’s fun!”, says Sunil getting angry.
“Why shouldn’t we make fun of you Sunil? You’re skinny and small”, said Chung.
“Did you like being laughed at in your old school?”, adds Michelle.
“No!”
“So why laugh at me now?”
They become serious. Michelle’s ready to flood tears, “Nobody understands what it’s like”, she tells the group.
“Do you think we should all say to Michelle, I respect you. I respect your name.”
3
Later I learn Tricia claims she’s been raped three or four times though never done anything about it. I fight my misgivings wondering if she’s telling the truth. Is it a symbolic gesture, confusing time and place, Tricia unable to identify what’s real and what’s not? I don’t know, I’ll have to take what she says at face value until I discover the contrary. Truth seldom reveal itself in clear cut communications, explanations, facts or events.
Emrhys, law unto himself, hurls a symbolic grenade into the staff room as I’m talking to Mike and Carol about student progress. Such a dark, smooth way of creeping, talking, full of unspoken insinuations, full of his own symbolic pains. “Don’t you think the romance has gone on too long?” Click! The pin’s removed. We look at each other in stunned amazement. Good God, Emrhys’ rumbled our secret triangle. With the pin in his flabby hand the grenade thumps and tumbles along the floor towards us ready to fragment shrapnel. “Or maybe you think it’s therapeutic?”
Blast! We recoil, darkness envelops us, as Emrhys vanishes along the corridor from whence he came. Demoralised and groin kicked, a colleague lays into me, arguing most forcible, that Tricia’s and Chung’s behaviour is “inappropriate”. I’m tempted to scream, “what the hell is it to do with you?” But this is college, not school, for sure not a cosy family united by unspoken collusions. I hold back anger to counter her points one by one. I suggest she spends time in a wheelchair, that Tricia enjoys being lifted from the chair and sitting on the floor by the stairwell. Being normal. I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a feminist, but it’s true, she, like Emrhys is trying to take something from Tricia, wants to circumscribe her will to explore. Reduce her emotions to penury, starving the insatiable who want to be feelings previously denied. Exercise her right to make decisions; and mistakes. Chung managed to bang himself out of Brick-up, but I fear what’s to be played out here is more than a game.
“Perhaps Tricia and Chung want to do what other teenagers do.”
“But college is the wrong place for it!”
We continue to argue, winding up nowhere.
Dean eventually hit Sunil.
“He laughed at me so I hit him.”
“I thought you didn’t object to being laughed at?”
“Well, I do. So there!”
Sunil doesn’t look happy. It’s the first time he’s been socked since Tony’s punch, and he’s visibly upset. I decide to take no action. In a contest between two equals I’ve scant sympathy for someone who gets what they deserved. Maybe a lesson’s been learnt out of class. We’ll see.
