—You’re not doing that all by yourself, are you?
—No, I answered, the others are picking up stuff, too.
I put on one of the aprons and started distributing the milk cartons. I was afraid the boys would start making sarcastic comments. As I placed their milk in front of them, I could hear them thinking, I don’t wanna drink anything from you. But since the teacher was there, they just scowled. When I put down the milk for the volleyball team girls, Mina pushed her carton away with her index finger. She was the star attacker and one of the most popular girls in the school. The other two girls did the same thing, and then glared at me and laughed. To avoid their stares, I moved on to the next group. Some had their heads on their desks and others were chatting. Luckily, all of them ignored me.
Just as I finished passing out the milk, the other three girls and two boys on lunch duty entered with the food and dishes. The teacher said to call in the students goofing off in the hallway and to have everyone sit down. Then she went around warning students that wouldn’t listen. Meanwhile, the lunch preparations continued. One girl ladled cream stew into small bowls, which I then distributed. I thought I was more likely to get comments about the stew, but the volleyball team girls just pushed their containers away like before, and everyone else ignored me. However, that meant something much worse was going to happen later, so I started to get fidgety. Once our jobs were finished, I took my seat and tried to hide my anxiety.
All through lunch, the other five members of my group chatted, boys and girls separately. But no one spoke to me. This started from the beginning of the school year, so it didn’t bother me anymore. Actually, I was more nervous about someone throwing me off with a comment. The assistant homeroom teacher arrived and apologized to our teacher for being late. Then she carried two chairs to the groups at the front and sat in one of them. When our teacher told her about the speech, the assistant said she regretted not being able to attend because of other work. The girl sitting next to me mentioned that some of the girls had spoken with the lady on the way to the lunch center.
—What did you say to her? the teacher asked. Did you give your opinions about the speech?
The other two girls sitting in my group joined in, and the three took turns recreating the conversation. Everyone else became quiet, and our teacher listened with a big smile. I was so nervous about my name being mentioned that I couldn’t even taste the cream stew, which I normally enjoyed.
Once the explanations were finished, and everyone started talking again, I could relax and think about the lady and her speech. I regretted that I hadn’t been able to give her a proper reply. The speech wasn’t enjoyable so much as painful, but it left a strong impression on me. She talked about how during the US naval bombings and air raids, she ran away and hid in a cave; how whenever a bomb exploded, the ground shook and the sound echoed around them; how terrified she was of being blown into pieces or buried alive under falling stones; how twelve people from two families in another cave were buried alive after a direct hit, with only a six-year-old boy surviving; how the boy had crawled into a space created by a blown-up pine tree, and was able to breathe thanks to air seeping in through a crevice; how the villagers frantically dug up the cave, and the women cried when they found all the bodies; and how one of the dead bodies was her classmate, but that after the dirt had been wiped from her face, she only looked like she was sleeping. At that point in her speech, the lady paused and looked out at us.
—I was ten at the time. That’d be four years younger than you, right?
When her eyes met mine, I couldn’t help looking down. I thought she might be checking to see if any of us resembled the girl who had died. Her story about people being buried alive was vivid, so everyone listened quietly, but during the other parts, there was an awful lot of talking. I couldn’t turn around to check, but I could hear the two teachers going around, warning students to keep their voices down. I had to admit the lady wasn’t a very good speaker. Sure, she was doing her best, but she was difficult to hear and sometimes stumbled over her words. And there were a lot of long pauses. She also talked about her childhood memories, such as going to the ocean to pick up shellfish and being terrified when she saw an American for the first time. During those parts, I couldn’t really picture what she was describing. And she seemed to sense the poor reaction. As her speech continued, her smile gradually faded, and she started to look confused. Making matters worse, her voice grew fainter and fainter. It was painful to watch, and I wanted to look away. But Mina and her friends had ordered me to pretend to listen, so I couldn’t.
After about thirty minutes, the lady stopped and stared out at us again.
—I’m really sorry, she said. I’m not a very good speaker, and I can tell that I’m boring you....
She looked sincerely sorry.
—At least you know it! jeered a boy in the back.
A few seconds later, I heard the other class’s teacher scolding him. Next, I heard several girls and boys giggling, and then a boy yelling at them to shut up and listen. After that, the
