Armel's Revenge

by Cornwell, Nicki; Pal, Erika

• ISBN13: 9781847802248
• ISBN10: 1847802249
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2012-07-24
• Publisher: Frances Lincoln Children's Books

Summary

Christophe's been given the job of looking after the new boy in his class. But Armel's surly attitude makes him difficult to be friends with. And when he realises that there is more to Armel's hostility than meets the eye, Christophe is suddenly forced to make painful discoveries about the history of the country he once called home - Rwanda. Can Christophe and Armel leave the past alone? Or will the horrible events in their history spill over into the present?

Author Biography

Nicki Cornwell has previously worked as a social worker, a teacher and a university lecturer. She now divides her time as an author and French language interpreter. She lives in Walthamstow, London. Erika Pal was born in Budapest. She came to England and took a BA in Animation and Illustration at Kingston University. Since then she has worked as a bookseller, assistant animator, apprentice potter, amateur actress, babysitter, breakfast chef and libretto translator. She has been twice highly commended for the Macmillan Prize, designed the winning logo for the Big Picture campaign and is a memberof the East London Printmakers. Her first book for Frances Lincoln was Azad's Camel. Erika lives in Kingston upon Thames, Surrey.

Excerpts

The classroom door opened. Christophe raised his head from his work. In came Mrs Thompson, the Head of Year, followed by a thickset, scowling kid with powerful shoulders and solid, scarred hands, who glared round at the waiting class. For a moment he locked eyes with Christophe; then he lowered his eyes to the floor.Con leant over and said in a whisper, I would not want to fight with him! Christophe made no reply. There was something about the way that the kid had looked at him that had made him feel uneasy. After exchanging a few words with their teacher, Miss Nagi, Mrs Thompson went out, leaving the new kid behind. This is Armel, Miss Nagi said with a determined smile. Con, will you move over to that empty desk, please? I'm going to put Armel next to Christophe because they can both speak French.Con's face dropped. Obediently he gathered up his books and changed desks. Christophe felt a stab of dismay. No way did he want to sit next to this sulky, glowering kid; he wanted to be next to Con. At a signal from Naggy, Armel shambled over the floor, and took his place by Christophe. He glared round at the watching kids as if to push their inquisitive eyes away; then he folded his arms and stared at the desk. You'll help Armel, won't you, Christophe? Miss Nagi pleaded with a smile. He doesn't speak any English yet, but he'll soon pick it up.Christophe bit his lip and squashed back his dismay. He had not forgotten the day he started school four years ago, when he had come from Rwanda. Never before had he felt so lonely. He had hung about in the playground wishing someone would talk to him; then one day they had invited him to play football and he had stopped feeling so scared. He felt sorry for Armel. Naggy meant well. She was trying to help the kid. Miss Nagi said, Will you explain to Armel that he's got to stay with you? Christophe turned to Armel and said, Je m'appelle Christophe. Miss Nagi veut que tu restes avec moi, pour ne pas être perdu. Armel gave a sullen shrug. Otherwise there was no sign that he had understood what Christophe said. He kept his eyes on the desk.Thank you, Christophe, said Miss Nagi, giving Christophe a smile that was far too bright. She made her way to the front of the class and clapped her hands. Pay attention, everyone, please!The lesson began. While Miss Nagi was talking, Christophe shot a sideways look at the new kid. He wasn't as tall as Christophe, and his skin was darker, but he was much more solidly built. The fact that he was not in school uniform had the effect of making him look older than the other kids in the class. Everything about him, the way he sat, the way he hunched his shoulders and screwed up his face, told Christophe that Armel did not like school and did not want to be there. Con flashed Christophe a wry grin; a grin that said what rotten luck to get dumped with a kid like that. Christophe pulled a face in agreement.- 0 -That was the beginning of a very bad day. Armel greeted everything that Christophe said with a sullen, glowering expression; he was fenced in with aggression. At break, he rose to his feet with surly reluctance and followed Christophe out to the playground. Con hung around briefly, but was driven away by Armel's scowl, and the impossibility of communicating with him. Dismayed at Con's desertion, Christophe began to wish that a hole in the ground would open up and Armel would fall into it. Quite without realising what he was doing, he slipped his hand into his shirt and ran his fingers over the scar on the side of his body, something that he automatically did when he felt uncertain and in need of comfort. Touching his scar brought back the memory of the day he had fallen over in the playground in his primary school. He had winded himself, and Greg had lifted up his shirt and seen his scar. How the kids had stared! They had cried out, 'what's that?' 'how did you get it?' and Christophe had scowled at them the way Armel was scowling now. He had wanted to push them away, he wanted them to stop staring, but somehow he had managed to tell the kids about the bad things that had happened in Rwanda, and why he now had a scar. The kids had been fascinated; they had hung about him like dogs waiting to be fed, and he had not wanted to stop talking. After that, he had felt a lot better. Maybe there was a story that Armel did not want to tell; maybe Armel had scars that he kept hidden? Armel was like a bomb that might explode; it was not safe to ask questions. Christophe decided to try talking about the teachers and the school instead, but Armel slouched against the wall with a bored scowl, and Christophe struggled to find words. At last the bell rang for the end of break.You dumped me in it, he hissed at Con as they went into the classroom. Why didn't you stick around?Con spread his hands. I couldn't talk to him!Nor could I, fumed Christophe. Tell you what, I'll see if Hitch has got his cards for the dinner break, Con offered.When the lunch-time break came, Christophe went out into the playground, shadowed by a surly Armel. Con and Hitch were waiting by the bollard with the flat top on which they played cards. Hitch waved the pack at Christophe and Armel and said, Play cards?Armel shook his head. Christophe felt like a drowning man who had been thrown a line only to have it snatched away from him. In a split-second of fury he decided that he had had enough. He had done his best. You can watch, then, he shrugged.Con shuffled, Hitch dealt, and the game began. Around them were the shouts and scuffles of the playground, of kids letting off steam after being cooped up in class. Absorbed in their game, oblivious to the noise, they played on. Christophe was winning; he had good cards and he was playing them well. But at the last minute Hitch scooped a victory.The bell rang. Hastily they scooped up the cards and Hitch put them away in his pocket. Only then did Christophe remember the new kid. He looked round; his stomach began to knot up.Where's Armel? he cried. Gone for a leak? Con suggested.I'm supposed to look after him!He's not a kid, he can manage, said Hitch. Come on; Naggy will have a go at us if we're late.Christophe followed Hitch back to the classroom, but he couldn't stop his stomach churning with worry. With a sinking heart he saw that the new kid's desk was empty. Where's Armel? said Miss Nagi with concern.He was watching us play cards. Then he wasn't there. I don't know where he went, said Christophe. Miss Nagi pursed her lips. You were supposed to be looking after him, Christophe. We must let the office know that he's got lost. You can do that on your way to your next lesson. Off you go all of you; the first years are waiting to come in.By the time Christophe had finished telling the secretary in the office what had happened, and explaining to the history teacher why he was late, his cheeks were burning with shame.Wasn't your fault, Chris, Con said kindly as they walked back home. Was, Christophe answered gloomily.- 0 - You coming in? said Con.Yeah, why not?Christophe and Con had been friends ever since the start of secondary school, and Christophe often stopped by on the way back home. Con was small and wiry, gentle and funny. He had twin brothers who were younger than him and a big sister, Kathleen, who had just left school, and he lived in a house that was full of warmth and noise and clutter. The television was always on, but no one ever watched it. Deirdre, his mam, was small and kind and wired up with tension. She was forever baking, while the twins rattled round the house fighting and yelling at each other, and Kathleen sat watching with her knowing green eyes. Christophe was both fascinated and confused by Kathleen; she had an answer for everything.Con and Christophe had only just sat down at the kitchen table when the twins erupted into the room. You broke it! I did not! You did so! Deirdre said wearily, Will youse two stop having at each other? Terry started it! No I didn't! Did! Didn't!Kathleen reached out an arm and caught hold of one of the twins. You heard what Mam said. Hold your peace! Seizing the chance, the other one darted out of the room. Leggo! shrieked his twin. I'm going to get him! Go on, then, said Kath, letting go of the twin. Beat the living daylights out of each other if you must. See if I care.They're as bad as the Prods and the Papists, so they are, grumbled Deirdre. They wouldn't be like that if their Daddy was here.Want to bet? said Kath with a grin. She slid her long, slim body from her chair. I must be off; I've my homework to do.Homework? said Christophe. I thought you'd left school?So I have, I'm at the hairdressers, aren't I? And I'm at college two days a week. School doesn't stop if you want to get on in life, said Kath. She threw a smile to Christophe and left the room. Christophe felt as if the sun had come out; and all too soon it had gone in again. -0- How was school? Christophe's mother asked. Her name was Mbika.All right. When's Papa coming home?Soon; that's if the clinic doesn't go on late.Christophe's father was working as a doctor in the local hospital. In Rwanda, André had been a hospital consultant, but when he and his family came to the UK as asylum-seekers neither he nor Mbika were allowed to work. Three years later, they were at last accepted as refugees, and André had wasted no time in finding a job. In the living room, Christophe's little sister Alisha was colouring in pictures. Briefly looking up, she said, I'm colouring.Why? Christophe asked. Why was Alisha's favourite word, and he said it to tease her.Because I want to.Christophe sank on to the sofa and listened to the stillness of the room, a silence only broken by Alisha's pencil marking the page. How different it was from Con's house, where people, animals, and everything around them merged into a muddle, and no one could hear themselves think. Here in the flat, where everything was tidy and in its place, and Papa and Maman, Alisha and himself all had their separate spaces, he could listen to his mind. What was wrong with that new kid? Why did he behave the way he did? Later, Christophe told his parents how Naggy had told him to look after a new kid. She made him sit by me because he doesn't speak any English. I was supposed to look after him, but I couldn't find him because he walked out of school and he didn't come back.I hope no one bullied him? said Mbika.He's not that kind of kid. Which country has he come from? asked Papa. I don't know. Maybe he's an asylum-seeker, said Papa with a sigh. If he is, he'll have a story to tell, poor kid. Some stories are better not told, said Mbika. Why? asked Alisha.Because they're bad stories, said Mbika. Why?Because they make you sad.Snow White make me sad, then I happy again, observed Alisha.Time to get ready for bed, said Mbika. - 0 -You're home early! exclaimed Armel's mother, Kwayera. She spoke in Lingala. What happened? What's wrong? I walked out of school, scowled Armel.Why?They put me next to an inyenzi! Kwayera caught her breath. How do you know?You only have to look at him.Kwayera sat down. Her face went pale. What did he do?Nothing, snapped Armel. And he's not going to, either.Keep away from him, Kwayera said sharply. Resentment swelled up in Armel. Why do I have to go to school? I'm too old for school. I did a man's work, didn't I?Kwayera gave a stifled cry. She fled into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.Armel swung off to his bedroom and threw himself on his bed. That was what she always did. She shut him up, just as surely as she had slammed that door. The awful events of the past lay inside him like a piece of bad meat that he had swallowed and he could not digest. If only he could talk to someone about the things that had happened! A wave of pain rose up inside him. He punched the pillow; he thumped the wall; but nothing drove away the pain.- 0 -Christophe breathed a sigh of relief when Armel failed to arrive next day. Con asked if he could sit by Christophe again, but Miss Nagi refused his request. Christophe and Con exchanged glances. That means he'll be back, said Christophe gloomily. Bad luck! Con sympathized.