Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t want to go again.
    ‘You’ve got to,’ she said. ‘Here, have an orange.’
    Some weeks passed, in which I tried to make myself as ordinary as possible. It seemed like it was working, and then we started sewing class; on Wednesdays, after toad-in-the-hole and Manchester tart. We did our cross stitch and chain stitch and then we had to think of a project. I decided to make a sampler for Elsie Norris. The girl next to me wanted to do one for her mother, TO MOTHER WITH LOVE; the girl opposite a birthday motif. When it came to me I said I wanted a text.
    ‘What about SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN?’ suggested Mrs Virtue.
    I knew that wouldn’t do for Elsie. She liked the prophets.
    ‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘it’s for my friend, and she reads Jeremiah mostly. I was thinking of THE SUMMER IS ENDED AND WE ARE NOT YET SAVED.’
    Mrs Virtue was a diplomatic woman, but she had her blind spots. When it came to listing all the samplers, she wrote the others out in full, and next to mine put ‘Text’.
    ‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
    ‘You might upset the others,’ she said. ‘Now what colour do you want, yellow, green, or red?’
    We looked at each other.
    ‘Black,’ I said.
    I did upset the children. Not intentionally, but effectively. Mrs Sparrow and Mrs Spencer came to school one day all fluffed up with rage; they came at playtime, I saw them with their handbags and hats, revolving up the concrete, lips pursed. Mrs Spencer had her gloves on.
    Some of the others knew what was happening. There was a little group of them by the fence, whispering. One of them pointed at me. I tried not to notice and carried on with my whip and top. The group got bigger, a girl with sherbet on her mouth yelled across at me, I didn’t catch what she said, but the others all screamed with laughter. Then a boy came and hit me on the neck, then another and another, all hitting and running off.
    ‘Tag, tag,’ they cried as the teacher came past.
    I was bewildered, then angry, in-the-stomach angry. I caught one with my little whip. He yelped.
    ‘Miss, Miss, she hit me.’
    ‘Miss, Miss, she hit him,’ chorused the rest.
    Miss took me by the back of my hair and hauled me off inside.
    Outside, the bell rang, there was noise and doors and scuffling, then quiet. That particular corridor quiet.
    I was in the staff room.
    Miss turned to me, she looked tired.
    ‘Hold out your hand.’
    I held out my hand.
    She reached for the ruler. I thought of the Lord. The staff room door opened, and in walked Mrs Vole, the head.
    ‘Ah, I see Jeanette is here already. Wait outside a moment, will you?’
    I withdrew my sacrificial palm, shoved it into my pocket and slid out between them.
    I was just in time to see the retreating shapes of Mrs Spencer and Mrs Sparrow, ripe plums of indignation falling from them.
    It was cold in the corridor; I could hear low voices behind the door, but nothing happened. I started to pick at the radiator with my compass, trying to make a bit of warped plastic look like Paris from the air.
    Last night at church had been the prayer meeting, and Mrs White had had a vision.
    ‘What was it like?’ we asked eagerly.
    ‘Oh, it was very holy,’ said Mrs White.
    The plans for the Christmas campaign were well under way. We had got permission from the Salvation Army to share their crib space outside the town hall, and rumour had it that Pastor Spratt might be back with some of the converted Heathen. ‘We can only hope and pray, said my mother, writing to him at once.
    I had won yet another Bible quiz competition, and to my great relief had been picked as narrator for the Sunday School Pageant. I had been Mary for the last three years, and there was nothing else I could bring to the part. Besides, it meant playing opposite Stanley Farmer.
    It was clear and warm and made me happy.
    At school there was only confusion.
    By this time I had squatted on the floor, so when the door finally opened all I could see were wool stockings and Hush