Page 16 of Kiwi Sin
A blond girl named Petra answered, “There’s merit to it, too, though.” And at some scoffing, “There is! It does encourage people to strive. And why would you even worry about capitalism, when everybody around us is doing pretty much the opposite? Why do so few big ideas, so few bigentrepreneurs,come out of New Zealand? Because everybody’s so keen on their work/life balance, that’s why, too busy thinking of going sailing at the weekend or having a barbecue with the family to start their tech company and actuallygetsomewhere.”
The one I privately thought of as “the snarky mutterer,” but whose name was actually Kyra, muttered, “Peter Jackson,” and Petra pointed a finger at her and said, “The exception that proves the rule.Everybodysays ‘Peter Jackson,’ because there’s just about nobody else! We’re lazy here, is what we are, and women aren’t any better than men. Where are the women at the top of our supposedly egalitarian society? Where are the female company directors? Where?”
“Well, there’s the PM,” Kyra said. “Game, set, andmatch.”
She high-fived with Ivy, and they all laughed, because it hadn’t been a fight, even though it had sounded like one, an almost-shouting way of talking that I’d never heard women engaged in before. I’d never heardmenengaged in it, for that matter, unless you counted the Prophet’s nightly lectures. It wasn’t fighting, Frankie had told me, it was a “passionate discussion of critical topics.” She’d explained, “It’s how important ideas get aired. It’s how things finally change.”It still sounded like arguing to me, and when they got worked up, it made my stomach hurt.
“But seriously,” Ivy said, “and granted that New Zealand isn’t as bad as some places, because we’re a socialdemocracy—”
“Democratic socialist, you mean,” Petra said.
“Whatever,” Ivy said. “How about the way capitalism devalues parenthood, how everybody’s so focused on short-term gains, onproducing,like GDP is the only measurement that matters, instead of focusing on keeping society going by, you know, actuallyvaluingpeople having babies and raising children, putting their money where their mouth is? I’m surprised we’re not growing them in test tubes and raising them in institutions.Somuch more efficient.”
“Maybe that would be better,” Frankie said. “To a point. If women didn’t have to carry kids, or feed them from their bodies, there’d be no excuse for gender roles. Oneitherside. People could just decide to raise kids, or not raise them, and there’d be no question that men should do half the raising. Which would make them not want so many, I guarantee it. Kids are heaps of work, and they can be pretty awful.”
“Women aren’t going to do that,” Ivy said. “Theyloveall that ‘naturalness of motherhood’ rubbish. Breastfeeding forever and all that.Youknow that, Frankie. Youlivedthat! Mount Zion’s the natural extension of the patriarchy, that’s all. It’s just more obvious. It’s notdifferent.”
They all thought Frankie was wonderful. “So strong,” they said, and it was true. Frankie wasn’t a freak like me. She was astar.She had all this anger, and it fueled her. Like Daisy, driving toward her goals, not allowing anything to get in her way, not letting anybody make her feel small.
“But why shouldn’t women still want to have babies,” I asked, somehow, “and feed them? Is that bad? Wedidput the babies in … in institutions, I guess, at Mount Zion, because the mum goes back to work after a couple of weeks, so a few women watch all the babies. Is that really better? I always thought—”
Frankie snapped, “We know what you’ve always thought. That’s the point. Internalized misogyny.”
“Bingo,” Kyra muttered.
“Don’t talk if you don’t understand the point,” Frankie said. “Especially if your entire existence is being theanti-point. Maybe you should go find your own friends, so you can talk about knitting and cooking and gardening andbabies. Could you not be embarrassing, please?”
Everybody got quiet. I had a bite of sandwich in my mouth, and I couldn’t swallow it. My mouth had gone dry, and my eyes were stinging. Frankie couldn’t see that, at least, because she wasn’t looking at me.
Kyra muttered, “Uh-oh. Sister drama.”
Petra said, “Don’t.” To Kyra, or to Frankie, I couldn’t tell, because I couldn’t look.
I swallowed my bite of sandwich, somehow, and tried to think of something to say. I wanted to say, “You’re right. I do need to go meet my friends,” but they knew I didn’t have any friends. So I just got up and left. I couldn’t keep sitting there, not after that, even though I wanted to. It was the only place I could think oftosit.
If I’d been one of those strong women they always talked about, I’d have gone out and run three kilometers around the track, or stalked over to another table and studied my maths in preparation for my brilliant future.
I went and cried in the toilets instead. I only had my sister, but I was an embarrassment and she didn’t want me. I couldn’t go back to Mount Zion, but I couldn’t stay here, either. I didn’t belong at all.
* * *
After that,I went to World History, because there was no choice. I could have said I was ill and gone home—Ifeltill—but Daisy would ask why, and she’d be impatient if I told her, because Daisywasone of those strong women. Gray might understand, but if I talked to Gray, with his kind eyes and the way his voice got gentle when he thought you were weak, I’d start to cry, and once I started, I didn’t think I’d be able to stop.
I needed to be strong, too. That was what everybody wanted from me. Gray was doing “more than any other man would do” as it was. I’d heard that too many times not to believe it. So I went to World History.
I’d thought it would be easier than Biology, because I’d learnt a long time ago about the pagan Greeks, and then the Romans, who’d tortured the Christian martyrs before abandoning their false idols once Emperor Constantine embraced the One True Faith. I knew how the countries of Europe had brought civilization and salvation to the rest of the world, too, but the teacher didn’t talk about those things at all, and everything she did say somehow seemed to be the opposite of what I knew.
She’d heard about Mount Zion, like all the teachers, except possibly Mr. Smith. He’d probably been thinking up sarcastic insults when Frankie’s and my sad situation was being explained. Somebody must have alerted him eventually, because he didn’t make fun of me anymore. He just sighed every time he called on me and I got the answer wrong, which was almost always. I could never think clearly when people were staring at me.
Ms. Roberts, the History teacher, may actually have been worse. After the second week of school, she’d asked to speak to me after class, then had perched at the edge of her desk, studying me as I stood there dreading whateverthiswould be. She’d said, “I understand your circumstances, Oriana, and that school is bound to be difficult for you, as far behind as you are. I’m not expecting perfection. I’m expecting progress. And History is a living subject. Examining our past is how we evaluate our present, and examination and evaluation require discussion. All of which is another way of saying that you really do have to participate in class, even if it’s hard for you. What do you think is holding you back from doing that?”
“Nothing, miss,” I said, because I couldn’t think how to answer.Because my body feels like it isn’t allowed, because it was never allowed before? And because as soon as I participate, everybody will laugh?
“There must be some reason,” she said. “We’re an inclusive school, an inclusive classroom. We celebrate differences here. You’ve lived a life nobody here can imagine, but it has parallels to so much of what we’re talking about in here every day, not least the oppression of women throughout most of recorded history. I’d love you to bring that experience,yourexperience, to the class. You have so much to offer. You can help the other pupils understand in a way they couldn’t, otherwise.”
I wanted to say that offering up the rawest parts of myself for people to paw over wasn’t going to be helpful tome,and would actually feel like being beaten with my father’s belt again, but I hadn’t been raised to argue, so I said, “Yes, miss.”
Ms. Roberts sighed. Her sigh was less bad-tempered than Mr. Smith’s, but it was basically the same thing. “I’m not asking you to hold forth in every class. I’m just asking you to speak up occasionally, especially if you don’t understand something. I’ll always welcome your questions, because not knowing something isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Notlearning,now—that’s different, and you won’t learn unless you ask. Hey?”
