The Terror Behind the Mask Read online

  First period was English, which Jasmine and Lisa had together. They sat next to each other too, because their teacher, Ms. Berger, let her students choose their own seats in the beginning of the year, which most teachers didn’t do. She was lots of kids’ favorite teacher.

  Even if you didn’t know them, Jasmine and Lisa looked like best friends. They wore the same backpack but in different colors (Jasmine’s was lime-green, Lisa’s was turquoise), had the same stickers on their notebooks, and even clipped the same barrettes in their hair (because they had split one package of four pairs). English was also both girls’ favorite class. Ms. Berger had a special way of making whatever they were reading come alive.

  As everyone wandered in and took their seats, Jasmine and Lisa were both busy reading the board.

  Ms. Berger wrote one on the board every morning before her students entered the classroom. Then she’d have the class talk about the day’s quote for a few minutes before they began their lesson. Today she had written:

  HAPPY ALMOST MARDI GRAS!

  “No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.”

  —Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Jasmine really liked Mardi Gras. It was a big two-week party that happened every year in New Orleans, with fabulous costumes and colorful masks and parades with giant floats and parties and food. And the beads! Pretty, colorful beaded necklaces piled on one after another. And the tourists—people came from all over the world to celebrate Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The city turned into one giant festival.

  “Good morning, everyone,” called Ms. Berger, clapping her hands to get the class’s attention. “Who wants to read today’s quote out loud?” No one raised a hand. Ms. Berger scanned the room. “Jasmine?” she said, looking right at Jasmine.

  Jasmine looked at the quote on the board and nodded. “ ‘No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true. Nathaniel Hawthorne,’ ” she read.

  “Thank you, Jasmine,” Ms. Berger said. “First of all, multitude means ‘crowd,’ like the public. Okay. Who has something to say about this quote?” Again, no one raised a hand.

  Ms. Berger laughed. “Let’s try this again. Good morning! Nice to see everyone so wide-awake! Who can tell me what this quote has to do with Mardi Gras?”

  A boy named Nick raised his hand. “Well, it talks about wearing one face or another face. So maybe it’s sort of about wearing masks, like people do on Mardi Gras?”

  “Aha!” Ms Berger said. “Glad to know someone’s awake on this Friday morning. Yup, the quote doesn’t use the word mask, but metaphorically, that sure is what Nathaniel Hawthorne was talking about. Remember our discussion about metaphors?”

  Jasmine remembered. Metaphors were a way to describe something by comparing it to another thing, such as your brain is a superfast computer or her smile is a gleaming string of pearls.

  “So how is this quote a metaphor for a mask?” Ms. Berger asked.

  Lisa raised her hand and got called on. “If you act one way when you are alone and another way when you are around others, it’s as if you’re wearing a mask. Like you’re hiding your true self,” she said. “After a while, you might get confused about which is your real self. So maybe you shouldn’t have two faces; maybe you shouldn’t wear a mask. Wearing a mask is like being phony.”

  “Good, Lisa,” said Ms. Berger. “Masks are a very powerful metaphor, and we’re going to be seeing a lot of masks around our city during Mardi Gras, so you could take that opportunity to think about what masks might symbolize. It might just have something to do with your own life. So, on that note, and to kick off the Mardi Gras season, I want to introduce you to the first two stanzas of the new poem we will be studying, which is ‘We Wear the Mask’ by Paul Laurence Dunbar.” Ms. Berger removed the first quote, and then pulled up a poem onto the board.

  We Wear the Mask

  We wear the mask that grins and lies,

  It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

  This debt we pay to human guile;

  With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

  And mouth with myriad subtleties.

  Why should the world be over-wise,

  In counting all our tears and sighs?

  Nay, let them only see us, while

  We wear the mask.

  —Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872–1906)

  “Paul Laurence Dunbar,” Ms. Berger said, “is often called the first major African-American poet in America. His parents were freed slaves from Kentucky. And he was one of the few African Americans of his time who spoke honestly about what he saw around him. Okay, there’s clearly a lot to discuss here, and this is only a part of the poem. But first, a little vocab lesson. Guile means ‘sly intelligence’ and myriad means ‘many,’ like too many to count. Now, let’s have a feeling survey,” she announced. Ms. Berger usually did this after reading a poem, to see how it made everyone feel.

  “Who feels sad after reading this?” Ms. Berger asked.

  A few kids, including Jasmine and Lisa, raised their hands.

  “Who feels mad?”

  Again, a few kids raised their hands.

  “Does anyone feel happy or peaceful, like everything is okay?” she asked. No one raised his or her hand.

  “Okay, so we know the words made us feel mad and sad, but let’s dig deeper and figure out why,” Ms. Berger said. “First, a little context. Between which years did the poet live?”

  A girl named Maxie raised her hand. “1872 to 1906,” she said.

  “Okay,” Ms. Berger said. “I know in your history class you’re studying that period, the period right after the Civil War. Who can tell me what life was like for African Americans then? Did their lives instantly get better because slavery ended?”

  Most kids shook their heads.

  “Right,” Ms. Berger said. “Times were tough in America then. The war had ended slavery, and African Americans seemed to be in a better situation than before. But the truth was, things still weren’t all that great for them. So the poem is about African Americans pretending to be content with the way things were. The poem is about trying to cover up the painful truth—that they were feeling pretty rotten and unable to talk about their feelings in an honest way. Raise your hand if you’re with me,” she added.

  Most kids raised their hands.

  “Are the people in the poem really wearing masks?” Ms. Berger asked.

  Everyone shook their heads again.

  “That’s right. So in this poem, masks are a . . .”

  “Metaphor,” everyone said.

  “Yes,” Ms. Berger said. “Excellent. Now, someone explain that metaphor in their own words.”

  Lisa raised her hand. “The masks mean that the people in the poem are hiding something,” she said. “They are covering up their true suffering.”

  “Why do we wear masks at Mardi Gras?” Ms. Berger asked. “For fun, because they’re pretty, or to pretend to be someone else for a while. With a mask, we get to pretend, right? But imagine having to wear a mask all the time. And I think you can. Because everyone has a mask that they wear at least sometimes—one that hides their true feelings. The poem’s meaning isn’t limited to African Americans. It speaks to everyone.

  “It took courage to write this poem,” Ms. Berger continued. “It took courage for Dunbar to speak up about his real feelings. And that inspired many other African American poets. Now I want you to think about the metaphorical mask you wear sometimes. What are you covering up? What kind of mask do you cover it up with? What would you like to speak up about? Open your journals and write for five straight minutes. Start by copying one line of the poem, whichever one speaks to you the loudest. Then just write your personal reflection about that line—whatever comes out. No one else will read it but you, so be honest.”

  Jasmine opened her notebook. She noticed her hands were kind of shaky. Still, she picked up her pen and copied one line of the poem:

  We wear the mask that grins and lies.

  Then she wrote:

  I wear a mask too. My mask looks brave, independent, and cool. I pretend to be fine when Dad is away. I pretend it doesn’t bother me when he leaves. I pretend not to be afraid of the dark. I pretend not to freak out when Lisa talks about ghosts and haunted houses. I pretend I’m tough and can take care of myself. No one knows what I hide behind my mask. I even have Dad and Lisa fooled. Now that is totally depressing.

  The bell signaling the end of the period broke through Jasmine’s sad thoughts.

  “Okay, time’s up,” Ms. Berger said. “Excellent work. Have a great day, guys.”

  CHAPTER 4

  English class had definitely been intense, especially because it was first thing in the morning. But much to Jasmine’s relief, the next part of the day was fun and easy. In study hall, which came just after first period, kids got to choose and sign up for “mini-courses” that would take place on Monday. Mini-Course Day happened once every marking period. On Mini-Course Day every teacher in the school taught something he or she knew a lot about or something he or she knew well but did not teach in their regular classes. Every student got to spend the day in his or her choice of special classes. On the previous Mini-Course Day, Jasmine had taken cake decorating and tie-dyeing, and the year before, karate and hurricane science.

  Jasmine looked at her sign-up form. There were so many good topics to choose from this year. Jasmine narrowed her choices down to “Juggling and Magic Tricks,” “Mardi Gras Mask-Making,” “Learn a Little Japanese,” and “Crash Course in Shakespeare.”

  “Let’s do the mask one together,” Lisa sai
d. “It’ll be fun, and we can wear the masks to the parade. Otherwise we’ll just end up buying them in a store like we always do.”

  “I may have had enough of masks for one day,” Jasmine said, and groaned, but she was only kidding. It actually sounded like fun, and she liked arts and crafts kind of things. She circled “Mardi Gras Mask-Making” and “Learn a Little Japanese” on her form. Learning Japanese would be fun too, she figured. She’d surprise her dad with what she learned, since he’d been there and also knew some words. Then she went to her next class, math.

  The rest of the day was totally ordinary. She and Lisa ate lunch together with their usual lunch buddies, Lily and Nina, and they all traded food, as they always did. Jasmine and Lisa were happy to learn that Lily and Nina had signed up for “Mardi Gras Mask-Making” too, so they would all be together. When the day ended, Jasmine felt pretty good, and last night’s nightmare had disappeared from her brain.

  As her bus pulled up in front of her house, Jasmine noticed a taxi in her driveway. What was this? Her dad wasn’t supposed to come home until the next day. But there he was, lugging his bag out of the trunk, paying the driver, and turning around with a huge smile on his face as Jasmine got off the bus.

  “Jazzy-Jas!” he called, holding his arms open for a big bear hug. Jasmine ran into them and, even though it seemed kind of babyish, put her head on his shoulder and said happily, “I missed you, Daddy!”

  “I missed you too,” her dad said. “I caught an earlier flight. I thought I’d surprise you. Surprise!” He laughed.

  “You did surprise me,” Jasmine admitted happily. “You’ll be surprising Nana, too.”

  “Let’s go do that then, shall we?” Her dad grinned and picked up his suitcase. He always traveled pretty light. It was something that, as a professional travel writer, he prided himself on. He could be ready to go anywhere at a moment’s notice.

  “I brought a gift for the whole family this time,” he added as he and Jasmine walked up the steps that led to their front door. Because their home was actually at sea level, their basement was above ground and their living area was above that. “I’ll show you when we get inside.”

  Jasmine grinned. Her dad always picked out the best presents. He brought her home a little something from each of his trips. Sometimes it was as simple as a handful of coins from the country he’d visited. But even that was special. She’d think about the actual people living so far away who’d used the coins and held them in their hands, or had them in their pockets or wallets.

  But Jasmine thought about it as they entered the house and felt a little disappointed that her dad hadn’t brought back a gift especially for her. She had to share her dad with the whole entire world, and now she had to share his presents, too? Oh, well. She told herself she was acting kind of spoiled.

  Her dad plopped his suitcase on the couch and unzipped it. He dug in deep to pull out a package. It was about the size of a large plate, wrapped in newspaper and lots of tape. Nana brought in a pair of scissors.

  Jasmine’s dad paused dramatically. “This was a gift to me from my hosts,” he said. He suddenly looked very serious. “It was made by an elder of the tribe. It was a great honor to be given this.”

  Jasmine eagerly cut through the tape and carefully pulled back the newspaper. But she stared down in horror at the contents of the package. A wooden mask. Red. She cautiously touched it with her fingertips. It felt warm and smooth, but that was about the best thing Jasmine could think about it. It looked like the bogeyman—her bogeyman. The face of the mask had a strange, gigantic smile, one that made it look like it was in some sort of pain. Its eyebrows were all bunched up. Its nose looked like it belonged on a cartoon bird. Its eyes, even though there were just holes, still seemed somehow crossed, as if they were trying to look at each other. The mask had an expression that was mad and worried at the same time.

  “The tribe I visited believes that a mask like this protects a house from evil spirits and watches over the people in it,” her dad said. “And if an evil spirit does come near your door, you just put on the mask, and the evil spirit will be scared away. The mask-maker learned the art from his father, who learned from his father, and on and on, maybe even thousands of years ago.” Her father gazed at the mask as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “It took the mask-maker days to make it,” he continued. “And I watched him the whole time. There is something I feel a little badly about though.” He had a faraway look in his eyes. “I took a picture of him making the mask, and he didn’t like that, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was just so interesting, and I wanted to show other people what he looked like as he made it and what it was like inside his carving studio. But now I wish I had stopped when he asked. . . .”

  Jasmine looked at her father. He had kind of drifted off into his thoughts. She gave him a little pat on his arm.

  Her dad chuckled. “Sorry about that. But I think I can turn that bad experience into a good one,” he said. “This mask will always remind me to respect the wishes of the people I write about.”

  Jasmine, her dad, and her grandmother stared silently at the mask. Soon Jasmine’s dad turned to Jasmine and searched her face, trying to read her expression, which was sheer horror.

  “What’s the matter, Jazzy?” her dad asked. “You’re not scared, are you? You know there’s really no such thing as evil spirits. It’s just a superstition.”

  Jasmine’s heart felt like it was sinking into her stomach. The memory of last night’s nightmare came flooding back. The cold slimy thing that had grabbed her ankle now felt like it was clutching her heart tightly.

  She had a terrible feeling that she would always be alone in the world, no matter who was there with her. Alone with her fears. And she would always be scared of the dark. She would always have to watch the closet door. And now, she’d have to live with this big face, with this horrible-looking expression, looming over her.

  This mask was going to watch over them? That was the last thing she needed, thank you very much.

  Nana had already left the room to get a hammer and nail. “Where would you like to hang it?” she asked Jasmine and her dad.

  How about nowhere? Jasmine thought.

  “How about at the top of the stairs?” Jasmine’s dad suggested.

  Nana nodded.

  “Why don’t you help Nana while I wash up and unpack, Jazzy?” Jasmine’s dad suggested. “I’m going to try to get through dinner without falling asleep. Think I can make it?”

  Jasmine didn’t respond. She silently followed Nana up the steps and watched as Nana tap-tap-tapped a small nail into the wall. Then she hung the mask on the nail. Nana didn’t really need Jasmine’s help. It was as simple as that. As simple and as horrible.

  This day sure was full of masks, Jasmine thought, staring at the crazy wooden face that was supposed to protect her but instead gave her the chills. And this mask is the worst of all.

  CHAPTER 5

  Nana ordered Chinese food for dinner. It was what Jasmine’s dad always liked to have when he came home from one of his trips.

  “You just can’t get good Chinese food where I was,” he would always say. (Except, of course, after he came back from China. He’d raved about the food there and said it was pretty different from the American version of Chinese food.)

  Jasmine was an expert at using chopsticks. Her dad had taught her how long ago. He’d said it was “an important life skill to have.” The three of them sat at the dining room table, which was located in such a place that you could see the top of the stairs when you were sitting. Which meant, of course, that you could see that awful mask looking down upon you.

  “The mask looks great there, Mom,” Jasmine’s dad said to Nana. “Thanks for hanging it up.”

  Yeah, thanks, Jasmine thought sarcastically.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you two,” Jasmine’s dad said. “All members of the tribe have a mask like this in their homes. They believe that if danger is knocking at your door, you can put the mask on and ward off the evil spirits.”

  You actually did tell us that already, Jasmine thought, but she did not say it out loud.

  Jasmine’s dad looked over at her. “It’s just a legend, Jazz,” he added. “I got a kick out of the idea that you two would be protected by the mask when I’m away on assignment. Not that you need protecting,” he said quickly. “You’re two very strong, smart, sensible, and independent people.”