Jared wasn't sure this would work. Pizza had been a bust. Nobody would take a second bite. A seafood restaurant had been worse. Nobody would take a first bite.
Mopsy went along for the movie, filled with joy, of course, because it didn't take much with Mopsy, but Jared stayed for the meeting. He wanted to say what worried him, but he didn't want to sound racist or alarmist or just plain mean.
Mrs. Lame took charge, which depressed everybody, because she had so much to say about nothing. No surprise to Jared, she had been online and found a site where other African refugees were corresponding with each other. “When I took Andre to the doctor,” she said, “I discussed the Internet and useful Web sites,but he simply would not pick up on it. I'm not sure how intelligent Andre is.”
“Andre is sharp as a tack,” said Mom. “It's not a question of intelligence. They've made it clear they don't want to deal with the past. Leave it alone.”
Mrs. Lame was not the kind of woman who left things alone. “I printed out the best pages,” she said, waving them around. “Celestine seems smarter than the others. I suggest you explain this to her. Furthermore, I'm worried about the daughter. What are we to do about this continuing silence?”
Perhaps the Mrs. Lames of the world were good for something after all. Now Jared wouldn't have to be the one to bring it up.
“Alake just needs time,” said his mom.
In what way would time solve the problem that Alake's own parents didn't care about her?
But Alake was not of general interest. “According to my records,” warned somebody, “at least four times a day, one of us is driving these people somewhere. When are they going to drive themselves? The days are turning into weeks and they don't make any progress. Where is the gas money coming from, anyway?”
“We have a separate refugee account, which was generously funded by the congregation,” said Dr. Nickerson. “Intact,” he added, before they could bring up Brady Wall.
“I think we should restrict clothing purchases to discount stores and thrift shops,” said another person, which opened a heated argument. Did refugees deserve good, expensive new clothes, like the American kids, or were any old used clothes fine?
The apartment committee gave their report. They hadn't found anything. They didn't expect to find anything. Celestine was earning very little, and Andre nothing. The kids had to stay in school, so exactly how were the Amabos to pay for an apartment, not to mention food, a car and insurance?
Jared moved his chair next to Dr. Nickerson. It was the minister's excitement about sponsoring refugees that had stirred the congregation in the first place. Under the hum of Mrs. Lame's next topic, Jared said, “The way these four guys behave toward each other is creepy.”
Bad approach. Instead of being appalled by the Amabos, Dr. Nickerson was appalled by Jared. “Their culture and lifestyle,” said the minister predictably, “and the destructive qualities of war and long-term displacement in foreign countries have alienated them. It is our task to provide a warm, welcoming atmosphere in which they are not judged.”
Implying that Jared was providing a cold, unwelcoming atmosphere and was judging left and right. Jared kept going. “They don't even seem to like each other.”
“That's unusual? I have never noticed that you particularly like your sister.”
“Right,” said Jared, and he bailed. Mom and Dad were out, the minister was out, the committee was out. If things were wrong in this family—and they were—there you had it. Nothing Jared could do.
“Where is Mattu today?” asked Mrs. Dowling.
“They're testing him in Guidance,” said Jared.
Hunter leaned forward. “What did that African family do to deserve all this help? I don't see why refugees get to mooch forever and ever.”
Only a few weeks before, Jared had fully agreed. Now he said cautiously, “I don't think it's mooching if we
Mopsy went along for the movie, filled with joy, of course, because it didn't take much with Mopsy, but Jared stayed for the meeting. He wanted to say what worried him, but he didn't want to sound racist or alarmist or just plain mean.
Mrs. Lame took charge, which depressed everybody, because she had so much to say about nothing. No surprise to Jared, she had been online and found a site where other African refugees were corresponding with each other. “When I took Andre to the doctor,” she said, “I discussed the Internet and useful Web sites,but he simply would not pick up on it. I'm not sure how intelligent Andre is.”
“Andre is sharp as a tack,” said Mom. “It's not a question of intelligence. They've made it clear they don't want to deal with the past. Leave it alone.”
Mrs. Lame was not the kind of woman who left things alone. “I printed out the best pages,” she said, waving them around. “Celestine seems smarter than the others. I suggest you explain this to her. Furthermore, I'm worried about the daughter. What are we to do about this continuing silence?”
Perhaps the Mrs. Lames of the world were good for something after all. Now Jared wouldn't have to be the one to bring it up.
“Alake just needs time,” said his mom.
In what way would time solve the problem that Alake's own parents didn't care about her?
But Alake was not of general interest. “According to my records,” warned somebody, “at least four times a day, one of us is driving these people somewhere. When are they going to drive themselves? The days are turning into weeks and they don't make any progress. Where is the gas money coming from, anyway?”
“We have a separate refugee account, which was generously funded by the congregation,” said Dr. Nickerson. “Intact,” he added, before they could bring up Brady Wall.
“I think we should restrict clothing purchases to discount stores and thrift shops,” said another person, which opened a heated argument. Did refugees deserve good, expensive new clothes, like the American kids, or were any old used clothes fine?
The apartment committee gave their report. They hadn't found anything. They didn't expect to find anything. Celestine was earning very little, and Andre nothing. The kids had to stay in school, so exactly how were the Amabos to pay for an apartment, not to mention food, a car and insurance?
Jared moved his chair next to Dr. Nickerson. It was the minister's excitement about sponsoring refugees that had stirred the congregation in the first place. Under the hum of Mrs. Lame's next topic, Jared said, “The way these four guys behave toward each other is creepy.”
Bad approach. Instead of being appalled by the Amabos, Dr. Nickerson was appalled by Jared. “Their culture and lifestyle,” said the minister predictably, “and the destructive qualities of war and long-term displacement in foreign countries have alienated them. It is our task to provide a warm, welcoming atmosphere in which they are not judged.”
Implying that Jared was providing a cold, unwelcoming atmosphere and was judging left and right. Jared kept going. “They don't even seem to like each other.”
“That's unusual? I have never noticed that you particularly like your sister.”
“Right,” said Jared, and he bailed. Mom and Dad were out, the minister was out, the committee was out. If things were wrong in this family—and they were—there you had it. Nothing Jared could do.
“Where is Mattu today?” asked Mrs. Dowling.
“They're testing him in Guidance,” said Jared.
Hunter leaned forward. “What did that African family do to deserve all this help? I don't see why refugees get to mooch forever and ever.”
Only a few weeks before, Jared had fully agreed. Now he said cautiously, “I don't think it's mooching if we
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