The Urban Fantasy Anthology (Peter S. Beagle) (Kitty Norville 1.50)

“Would you,” purred Ms. McLeod, handing the paper to Tawana “read it aloud—so I can hear it in the author’s own voice?”

Tawana looked down at the paper, then up at Ms. McLeod, whose thin, plucked eyebrows were lifted high to pantomime attentiveness and curiosity. “Just begin at the beginning.”

Tawana began to read from her essay:

It is difficult to determine exactly the number of Somalis living in the Twin Cities. Minnesota Department of Human Services has estimated as many as 15,000, but the Somalia Council of Minnesota maintains that these figures are greatly inflated. Over 95% of Somali people in Minnesota are refugees. Many Somalis in Minnesota are single women with five or more children, because so many men were killed in the war.

According to Mohammed Essa, director of the Somali Community in Minnesota, the role of women as authority figures in U.S. society is different from Somalia where few women work outside the home and men do not take instruction from women. For instance, the two sexes do not shake hands. Somalis practice corporal punishment, and many complain that the child protection workers are too quick to take away their children.

Somali religious tradition requires female circumcision at the youngest possible age, in order in ensure a woman’s virginity, to increase a man’s sexual pleasure, and promote marital fidelity. However, this practice is outlawed in Minnesota. Before the circumcision of an infant daughter there is a 40-day period called the “afartanbah,” followed by important celebrations attended by friends and family members that involve the killing of a goat.

Somalis are proud of their heritage and lineage. Children a

nd family are deeply valued by Somalis, who favor large families. Seven or more children are common. Due to resettlement and the inability to keep families together in refugee situations, few Somali children in Minnesota live with both parents. The availability of culturally appropriate childcare is a major issue in Minnesota.

Tawana looked up cautiously, as after a sustained punishment. Ms. McLeod had made her read the whole thing out loud. She would rather have been whipped with a belt.

“Thank you, Tawana,” said Ms. McLeod, reaching out to take back the essay. “There were a few pronunciation problems along the way, but that often happens when we read words we know only from books. I’m sure you know what all the words mean, don’t you?”

Tawana nodded, glowering.

“This one, for instance—‘corporal’? What kind of punishment might that be? Hmm? Or ‘lineage’? Why exactly is that a source of pride, Tawana?”

Ms. McLeod went on with word after word. It really was not fair. Tawana wasn’t stupid, but Ms. McLeod was trying to make her look stupid. Making her read her essay aloud had been a trap.

“Have you ever attended an ‘afartanbah,’ Tawana?”

Tawana raised her eyes in despair. What kind of question was that! “What is a… the word you said?”

“You answered that question in your own essay, Tawana. It is a celebration forty days after the birth of a baby sister. Have you had such a celebration at your home, where there was goat?”

“Who eats goats in Minnesota?” Tawana protested. “You can’t get goats with food stamps. I don’t even like goat!”

With a thin smile Ms. McLeod conceded defeat in that line of interrogation and shifted back to pedagogic mode. “I want you to understand, Tawana, that there is nothing wrong with quoting from legitimate sources. All scholars do that. But note that I said ‘sources,’ plural. To copy out someone else’s work word for word is not scholarship, it is plagiarism, and that is simply against all the rules. Students are expelled from university classes for doing what you have done. So you will have to write your essay over, from scratch, and not just copy out …this!” She produced a print-out of the same study from the Center for Cross-Cultural Health, “Somali Culture in Minnesota,” that the school librarian had called up on the Internet for Tawana’s use.

“That was the bad news,” said Ms. McLeod with a sympathetic smile. “The good news is that you have really lovely handwriting!”

“I do?”

“Indeed. Firm, well-rounded, but not…childish. I don’t know where you developed such a hand—not here at Diversitas, I’m sorry to say. The emphasis here has never been on fine penmanship.”

“The nuns taught the Palmer Method at my last school.”

“Well, you must have been one of their best students. Now, penmanship is a genuine skill. And anyone with a skill is in a position to earn money! How would you like a job, Miss Makwinja?”

Tawana regarded the Principal with ill-concealed dismay. “A job? But I’m just…a kid.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to send you off to a nine-to-five, full-time place of employment. No, this would be a part-time job, but it would pay more than you would earn by babysitting. And you could work as much or as little as you like, if you do a good job.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Just copy out the words of a letter with your clear, bold penmanship. We can have an audition for the job right now. Here is the text of the letter I want you to copy. And here is the stationery to write on. You should be able to fit the whole letter on a single page, if you use both sides of the paper. Don’t rush. Make it as neat as your essay.”

Tawana regarded the letterhead on the stationery:

Holy Angels School of Nursing and Widwifery

4217 Ralph Bunche Boulevard