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Country: Czech Republic |
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| Rationale
for Choice: Re-telling My real name is William Edwin Demeter but everyone calls me Bubu. It happened like this: on my arrival at the orphanage, some of the boys started to sing a rude song in my face. Perhaps you know it: “The little negro Bubu looks like a coal-miner…”. I can't remember the rest because I ran up the stairs so that the others wouldn't see that I was crying. I didn't want anyone to think that I was a coward. But as I was running blindly upwards, I didn't notice the edge of a thick red carpet at the top of the stairs. I stumbled and fell, banging my head badly. In the meantime the boys caught up with me, crowded round me and began laughing and shouting, “The little negro Bubu, the little negro Bubu!” and from that moment no one called me anything else. That was on my first day at the orphanage. During the introduction at my school it got worse. Practically nobody managed to remember my real name and the sports teacher, who everybody said drank a lot, called me “Dézo” instead of Demeter. Then little by little our form teacher, who had begun to call me Billy instead of William (because it was shorter), got used to Bubu. Often, when she called me to the blackboard, she would say: “Bubu come and count”. Through so much repetition even I got used to the name and eventually it no longer upset me. After school I would return to the orphanage completely alone because I didn't know anybody. The director sent a teacher to collect me, who had to do her shopping before she picked me up. By the time she arrived at the school I had left. In fact I ran back after the classes, not looking left or right, so that no one would ask me any questions. I was ashamed to say where I came from and I didn't want to lie. In fact I was taken to the orphanage against my will because I really didn't want to go there. Right up to the last minute I thought that I might run away or hide in the hull of a boat, peel potatoes and sail over to Africa. On my first day a little boy called Eda asked me where my mother was, and I told him that she was the black ballerina who was currently on a world tour. “If I am not mistaken she is in Japan” I said “but normally she lives in New York at the Plaza Hotel and travels all over the world. She always says that she has danced everywhere except where the Inuits live.” Eda stared at me open-mouthed but didn't dare to contradict me. If one of the older children had heard me, he would certainly have made some comment and asked why my mother hadn't taken me with her. And I don't know if I would have been able to reply quickly. My mother is called Amálie and she is the most beautiful mum in the world. Dad came over from Africa but he didn't stay for long, and left quite suddenly. He works as a shop assistant, so obviously he has to travel a lot to earn money. Mum says that when he earns enough money he is sure to buy us some boat tickets so that we can join him. “And that will turn into a world tour at the same time” says Mum, “because Africa is exactly on the other side of the world from where we live at the moment.” I forgot to say that the last time we lived together it was at Zlín, a fairly small town in Moravia. I enjoyed living there because Zlín is a town hidden in a hollow in the forest, where you can go looking for mushrooms every day. In winter you can do cross-country skiing. Then unfortunately we had to move to Luby near Cheb, which is on the other side of the Republic. And there I lost Mum and I'm still looking for her.
One morning on the way to school I told myself that I already knew enough things and that nothing new was waiting for me today, so I just wandered off into the park. I left my satchel in a secret hiding-place, planning to fetch it in the afternoon so that no one would notice me. A little boy without a satchel looks much better than a little boy with a satchel, especially on a Wednesday morning in the centre of town; and especially a small black boy like me. As it happened some elderly ladies, the ones who are as plump as butter and have nothing else to do except sit in cafés (at best) or stand outside their houses chatting with their friends, got excited at the sight of me and made comments like “The poor little gypsy!” or “Oh the little Jew!”. And one of the old ladies shouted: “Arab boy, where are you from, did your father swing on a creeper somewhere in the jungle?” I stopped to hear what followed. I had heard everything, even if she was pretending to speak quietly, but I know the difference between someone who REALLY wants to talk quietly and someone who wants to talk loudly and is only pretending to speak softly. And as nothing else was said I turned round, got plenty of air into my cheeks and shouted: “My Dad is sporty but you couldn't swing on a creeper because any creeper would break under your weight”. Then I climbed the stairs as I heard their insults behind my back. She complained about me, writing in a letter to Mum that this dirty little brat (that's me) was “badly brought up and insolent”, plus five more lines. But Mum didn't have time to read this letter because she didn't come home again. So I read it and, when I next met this “old creeper lady”, I made a point of ignoring her. It was at this time that I had to return all the bottles scattered around the house, in the kitchen and under the bed, so that I could buy some bread. I was quite hungry but it was bearable. Fortunately it was in the summer so I could pick some fruit off the trees (with a bit of luck no one caught me) and I didn't have to eat as much as in the winter when I felt much hungrier. I also had the idea of going to help elderly people, for example doing their shopping when they couldn't walk. I visited about a dozen flats in our block but hardly anybody wanted anything and I didn't get any rewards for my trouble. Except, for two elderly ladies who lived in a third-floor flat. They trusted me with some money and sent me to get their newspapers and their shopping. I had brought everything back and they deducted five crowns for the delivery. So I went shopping for them several times and they were pleased with me each time. Then one day they said they no longer needed anything, and from that moment I was broke again. Perhaps it was because of the “fat creeper lady” who sat in the courtyard watching everything that happened in the house from morning till night. My mum said that she was an “old crone” because when Mum dolled herself up (which happened quite often) the old crone always rushed outside to stare in the window to see how she was dressed; then she would spread lying gossip about her. I think it was just because she was jealous that she couldn't wear a beautiful red dress like my mum. But who would want to look at her fat, ugly knees?
When I got back to the orphanage people were panicking because the teacher was looking for me and couldn't find me. She arrived soon after me, very out of breath, and I was put on the carpet by the headmistress, who listened to my explanation about where I had been but made me promise never to do that again. I promised, but I can't guarantee not to repeat this because I feel as if I am in a prison here. They put me in a room with a boy called Danecek (Maybe his name is Dan but everyone calls him Danecek because he is big and strong and practically never talks. He is quiet all the time and is well liked by the teachers). Danecek never talks except that, one evening, he asked me to close the window because he was cold. Yesterday I came back from school by myself again because now I can return without an adult, since all of us living at the orphanage are expected to come back together. But I escaped and went off across the park, walked past the old wall with faded posters for old films, then past a cinema that had closed down and into a shop where I bought myself some chewing gum. Behind the wall I heard the cheep of what sounded like a little bird that had fallen out of its nest. I know what that sounds like because I have already seen lots of birds in my life, especially small birds on their own that have either fallen out of their nests or have been injured by someone. And once I had a fight with Sindlerem because he was being cruel to animals - even though he was taller and stronger than me and pretended he could box. But because I wanted to go and buy some chewing gum I carried on regardless. When I came out of the shop, I had the idea of going back to have a look. I knew that I was risking being kept in, as they were probably already out looking for me, but I could not stop myself. Meanwhile the cheeping had stopped. I picked up my satchel, which I'd left outside the shop, and as I was leaving the cheeping began again. But where was it coming from? I went through the bushes and walked along the whole length of the wall. There was no sign of any bird. In the end I decided to climb the wall and have a look at what was behind it. And that's just what I did. I fell down into an empty walled courtyard and banged my knee, but I didn't take any notice of it at the time. A nest had fallen on the ground and inside it was a little bird crying so much that it broke my heart. ( I don't know the exact meaning of “to break one's heart” but it must mean something very sad because my grandmother said it each time she was describing something that was very sad.) Beside the nest lay two fledglings. I had a look at my knee and realised that it was bleeding, so I sat down on the ground. I gently touched the little birds with my hand even though I knew I shouldn't, because immediately the mother loses her desire to take them back into the nest and they die. In this case it probably didn't matter because the little birds were quite dead and cold, and their hearts had stopped beating. The third and smallest bird had miraculously survived in the nest and was crying out with hunger. I suddenly had the idea that I ought to give it some little worms. I scratched the earth with my finger and then with my little stick but I didn't find anything. Then I went to look round the courtyard. In the water tub some tadpoles were swimming around, but I didn't take them because I thought that they would turn into little frogs which I like a lot. I wanted them to become green frogs. I have always liked picking them up in my hand and looking at their shiny yellow tummies. Behind the tub there were some unused old flower pots with dry earth in them and a canary cage. None of that was any good to me. I went back under the trees and had a look at the lawn. Where there is grass there are also worms, I thought. Then I had the idea of taking a bit of water from the tub and sprinkling the lawn to make them come out. I was lucky and eventually I found a fairly long earth worm. He was moving but I caught hold of him tightly and kept him in my hand. When I had carried him to the nest, it occurred to me that I would have to cut up the worm with my teeth because a small bird would not be able to swallow such a large titbit and there was a danger that the earth worm would escape. I shut my eyes and counted to five. I couldn't bring myself to cut into it with my teeth, so I tried to shake it above the head of the bird and I waited to see what would happen. Sooner than one can say “ouf” it had swallowed the earth worm whole. It had gobbled it down so quickly that it almost scared me. The poor little thing must have been terribly hungry. I took a slightly dirty handkerchief out of my pocket and wrapped the bird in it. Then I put it behind my shirt and felt its terrified heart and its feathers trembling. So I couldn't leave it there all alone. When I got back to the orphanage no one was looking for me. I was lucky because the teachers had shut themselves in the common room, where they were smoking and drinking coffee because the director had to leave for an unexpected appointment. The only person looking for me was Danacek, who almost gave me away in front of the teacher when she asked him who he was looking out for. Fortunately he doesn't talk much! Are you amazed how I know this? It came from him! Who else could have told me! I carried the little bird into the room and placed it on the pillow carefully. The door slammed behind me. I was very frightened. The teachers would certainly not have allowed me any animal no matter how small – and if they had, certainly not on the pillow. But such a tiny bird definitely needs at least a pillow when it hasn't got the nest its parents built for it. That's obvious! To begin with I wanted to cover up the little bird with the duvet, to hide it from Danacek, but then I told myself that I shouldn't do that because I might suffocate it. As Danacek approached, I wondered how I could hide the tiny bird. “What do you have there Bubu?” asked Danacek inquisitively. No one had ever heard him say such a long sentence. I opened my hand and showed him my treasure. Danacek made a sharp little noise like a mouse. It was clear straightaway that he liked our new room mate and that he had nothing against it. Danacek hesitated for a moment and then said: “And what are you going to do with it, Bubu?” I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. I did not know myself. I felt slightly at a loss. Would I have enough earth worms for it? Wouldn't it be cold? And when I had finished feeding it, wouldn't it want to fly away even if it wasn't very healthy? I didn't know who could advise me. So I said: “It is mine. I found it all by myself. But it's sick and needs looking after.” Danacek stretched out his hand. “No, don't do that” I shouted. “You must not touch it! It's sick!” Danacek smiled slightly and then, using just two fingers, stroked the damaged wing of the bird. He carefully lifted it and looked underneath. The wing hung helplessly along the body of the bird. “We are going to need a splint” he said, announcing the findings of his investigation. “But where can I find one?” I groaned. “ It is not going to die now just because I don't have a splint!”. Danacek made a mysteriously funny face and left. At that moment I was afraid that he might come back with a teacher, like the one who deals with first-aid. She was quite kind but even so I wouldn't want to share my secret with anyone. It was enough that I had to tell Danecek about it. Danecek soon returned with his right hand held behind his back. He stretched out his clenched fist towards me and let me guess what was in it. Then he opened it. “It's an ordinary stick…” I said, disappointed. Really it was just an ice cream stick; you can find dozens of them lying along the banks of the canal. I recognised it because I have often seen them on the ground when I've been looking around in the hope that perhaps someone has dropped five crowns - or something else that can be exchanged for money or food. Danacek wasn't bothered that I didn't show more enthusiasm, because he didn't even notice. He turned his back on me to look for something in the bedside table. Eventually he produced a piece of string. Gently he lifted the bird's wing and carefully supported it with the stick. That's when I finally understood. He wrapped the wing carefully and gently with the string. The little bird struggled but only a little. I don't think that even a doctor would have done it with greater care and love. “More water!” exclaimed Danacek, tapping his forehead. We lay the small bird down in the shoebox, that we had lined with my old tee-shirt, and put the lid of a jam jar beside it with several drops of water covering the bottom. It drank the water thirstily and then rested its head on its healthy wing and immediately fell asleep. I would have liked to go to bed, too. I felt good that day because I made two friends at the same time. When I think about it now, that was probably the best day I had at the orphanage. It's true that I went to bed very late that evening (of course I checked several times to see that the little bird didn't need anything first) but I couldn't get to sleep. I was thinking about my life, where Mum could be as well as Dad, and also why I was alone. I wondered if my grandmother, who was always saying “that breaks my heart ” was still alive and if one day she would learn how lonely and abandoned I was. I became sad. I got up to have a look in the shoebox. The little bird was still asleep and was breathing peacefully. “You are not in an ideal situation either” I said to it. “You have no Mum or Dad and your family has flown goodness knows where. Your two brothers have perished and you are completely alone.” I thought about it and came to the conclusion that the little bird was in an even worse situation than me. Who knows if its wing will ever heal. Perhaps it will never be able to fly and I shall have to carry it. (Perhaps Danacek will help me). I thought about its fate and tears ran down my nose. I was crying because I felt sorry for it! “Bubu? Aren't you asleep yet?” That was Danacek talking. Once he had begun to speak he probably had no intention of stopping. That had been the first time I didn't mind being called Bubu. NB Working translation, by Dáša Marquet & Philippe Carter, for educational purposes only. • Tell your class a little bit about the story by reading the summary from this page. Then read the visual story with them, focusing on the colours used and what the illustrations tell us about Bubu. • Discuss: Why do you think that Bubu is sad? How important is the little bird in his life? • Discuss why Bubu on page 7 and the little bird on page 40 are both lying on a red ‘carpet'. Does this help to reinforce the similarities between them? • Either read the translation to your class, or give them copies to read themselves, and discuss how much the text adds to the visual story. • You might like to consider the following: Why is Bubu so lonely? Why doesn't he like his name? How does the little bird help Bubu and his ‘mute' friend? • Get the children to either draw or tell the story in their own words (written or on tape), focusing on the relationship between the two boys and the little bird. The results can then be shared and put on display. • Discuss with the children things about their own friendships: Have there been times in their lives when they have felt very lonely and wanted a friend? Have they had a pet as friend? Do they know of other children who are lonely? What might they do to help? • In the beginning of the story, Bubu doesn't like his name. Discuss with the children some of their nicknames. Do they like them or not. Can some names be more affectionate than others? They might like to do some research on the etymology of the names of the children in the class. This research could form part of a larger school project, the results of which could be developed into large posters of family trees. In English, there is an expression: ‘Sticks and stones may beak my bones but words will never hurt me'. Is there an expression like this in your language? Are there times when words or unpleasant nicknames can be hurtful? What can we do about this?
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The NCRCL website is hosted by Roehampton University ncrcl January 2005 |
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