The next day, Mr. Pius gathered the senior students together. He told them he was shocked by the whole episode but he was even more shocked by the students' behavior. He pointed out that Deborah Lain was a fellow student who did not deserve to be treated like an outcast and Miss Lora should have been respected as a teacher.
"Your behavior has been shameful and disgraceful," he said. Nobody stirred. They all bent their heads.
"Now, George Stephens, come out!" The matter was explained: George had been rummaging through Caleb's locker, trying to find an assignment he wanted to copy when he came across Deborah's letter. Out of a malicious desire to humiliate Deborah, he had made photocopies of the letter and showed them to some other boys.
"Disgraceful behavior! How would you like everyone to know your personal thoughts?" said the principal. "This will be the end of the matter." He proceeded to have George publicly flogged with ten strokes of the cane.
Deborah's mother arrived at the principal's office with Deborah and her aunt. They had met her at the airport and driven straight down. No words had been exchanged.
"Mr. Pius, I'm dreadfully sorry about the whole matter," Mrs. Lain began. "It has been a shock," he said. "Such a thing has never been reported in my school before. I'm thankful that nothing - or at least there is no evidence that anything - happened. I care about my school, and its reputation."
"I do apologize. And I know how stubborn my daughter can be." Mrs. Lain gave him a winning smile. "Please just let her stay to the end of term - that dreadful corper must be at fault too. Thank goodness she's been redeployed somewhere else."
Mr. Pius took a deep breath. "Now, madam, the corper has denied anything improper, though she admits they were very friendly. I like to think she was simply the object of some misplaced affection. However, I have cautioned her severely. I recommend that Deborah take a week off classes because a lot of unnecessary unpleasantness has occurred. We will deliberate on the matter and then I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, sir. And you know, just last week my husband was talking about donating new computers to the school."
Back home, her mother raged, "This is the worst thing you have done! You incorrigible child!"
"'Funmi, do calm down," Deborah's aunt said nervously.
"It isn't true anyway," Deborah cried. "At least, not the way people think it is!"
"When have you ever told the truth?" her mother said.
Deborah's aunt was beginning to think that they were talking about something entirely different.
Here's the rewritten text:
Deborah's mother glared at her, her eyes blazing with anger. "When have you ever told the truth?" she spat.
Deborah's aunt was taken aback by the intensity of the exchange. She began to think that they were talking about something entirely different.
Deborah lifted her head defiantly. "I've always told the truth!" she exclaimed.
Her mother's face twisted in disgust. "Harlot! Sick child! What will you do to me next?" she shouted.
Deborah made a swaying motion in the doorway, as if she was about to fall down. She clutched the doorknob and then left the room, silently.
"I have to go back," Deborah's mother said to her cousin. "Keep me informed of any new developments."
Deborah stayed in her room for the rest of that day, and the next. Her aunt went in to see her. "Deborah dear, do eat something. The maid said you're not eating anything."
Deborah turned over in the bed and said nothing.
By the third day, Deborah's aunt was terrified. "Deborah, do you want to starve yourself to death?" she cried. "God forbid, you shall eat, even if it's by force."
Deborah's head and bones ached, and she kept drifting off to an uneasy sleep, waking up troubled by nightmares.
A hard-faced woman sat on the dressing table beside the mirror, wearing expensive jewelry and the latest lace material. Just like her mother.
It was her mother.
"I'm not your mother," the woman said in her cold, hard voice. "Nobody can love you. You are nothing."
Deborah's eyes snapped open, and she was met with a wave of fear. The sneering lips receded, and the smell of strong, spicy perfume gave way to a horrifying masculine smell mixed with cigar smoke. Her stepfather's menacing voice whispered in her ear, "Ahhh, Deborah, come along. Be a good girl..." She woke up trembling, feeling as if someone was shouting in her ear. "They are coming here, and they will do bad things to you. Bad things you deserve."
She stood up, wobbling, and stumbled out into the sitting room. The room was shrouded in darkness, and the silence was oppressive. Her forehead was burning, and her throat felt cracked and parched. She didn't know when she left the house, but soon she was crossing the street, her feet carrying her on autopilot.
A thin, scatter-haired girl in a damp t-shirt and jeans, weaving through the traffic. The neon lights of the city cast a gaudy glow on the wet pavement. She stopped and leaned against a street wall, sinking down, feeling weak. Scattered tins and pieces of rubbish littered the ground. The air was tainted with the strong smell of urine and waste.
A sudden screech startled her. She jumped up. A bedraggled cat crouched in front of her, the fur on its back standing on end. The cat hissed and spat, its eyes glowing like embers. She shrieked and stumbled away, falling among the tins.
A voice spoke, "Who be dat?" Deborah looked up; it was a woman, huddled together, wrapped up in rags with dirty hair matted together. A woman holding a burning tin lamp. A mad woman, Deborah knew.
"You," the woman said in a cracked voice. "Are you my daughter?" Deborah tried to speak, but she wasn't sure. Who am I? Am I her daughter?
"Sit down, my daughter, sit," the woman crooned. "Sit down, and I will take care of you." Deborah felt a shiver run down her spine as the woman touched her face, her hand felt scaly, like a lizard. The woman began to chant and mutter meaningless words, and Deborah slowly drifted asleep.
When she woke up, she found herself in a room surrounded by people in white, and she gasped. "She's awake." It was her aunt's voice. "Thank God! Deborah, you are in the hospital."
Thank God, another voice said. "Ah, Deborah," her aunt said, stroking her head. "Don't do this to me again. Thank God you didn't wander too far off. We found you unconscious on the streets of Lagos! A young girl! You are safe now. Rest."
She understood that, but where was the old witch, the one who said she was her mother? She could hear the doctor saying "severe malaria," and she leaned back against the pillows. It was good to be here, away from everybody. She wanted to be somewhere safe. But the question lingered in her mind: who was that mad woman, and why did she claim Deborah was her daughter?