Extract from 'The albino', in Pravasan Pillay's short story collection Chatsworth

Two hours after the assembly, the teachers gathered in the staffroom for the first lunch break. I sat with the other female teachers, as I usually did, in the small lounge area. The talk had centred briefly on Principal Singh’s annual charade, but it soon shifted to Cookie. We learnt a few more details about the girl from one of the teachers sitting with us, Mrs Reddy, whose hus­band taught at Primrose. 

Mrs Reddy immediately dispelled the rumour that Cookie was not actually an albino. Soon after the assembly, Kogie had visited my classroom to inform me of the gossip that had begun circulating about the pupil. She said that several of the teachers suspected that the girl was really white or coloured and that her parents were making her pretend to be an albino. 

Mr Chetty, the boys’ PE master, had speculated that the girl’s mother, whom he said was on the cleaning staff of a Durban beachfront hotel, had had an affair with one of the white guests.

Another teacher, Mr Nair, was of the opinion that the girl was 100% white, and that the Govenders had stolen her from a white family. He recommended that Principal Singh contact the education department as soon as possible with this informa­tion. It was better to approach them before a school inspector made the discovery himself, Mr Nair had reasoned.

Kogie and I laughed over the gossip, but, as far-fetched as it all seemed, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something to it. I had heard far stranger stories about Indian families trying to hide their mixed-race offspring from the authorities. One of my own cousins, Satiah, was exceptionally fair-skinned, green-eyed and had very curly hair. It was obvious to anyone that he was more coloured than Indian. 

Growing up, I remember my aunt always insisting that he wear a peak cap whenever we left the township and went into the city. “They mustn’t see your hair,” my aunt would warn him. If we saw a policeman while we were in Durban, my cou­sins and aunts would crowd around Satiah, hiding him until they thought it was safe again. As soon as he was old enough to work, Satiah began shaving off his hair. 

“The girl is not white or coloured,” Mrs Reddy said, her teacup balanced on her knee. All of the eyes in the lounge area tur­ned towards her. “She’s got a sickness.” 

In between slow and deliberate sips of tea, we learned that Cookie’s father also suffered from albinism. Mrs Reddy’s hus­band had met the Govenders on numerous occasions at parent-teacher meetings. Mrs Govender, who, as Mr Chetty correctly stated, was a hotel worker, had the regular dark complexion of a Tamil, but her husband’s skin was a mosaic of brown and white. He looked like a white person with grease stains, Mrs Reddy said, a bit unkindly. 

She added that Mr Govender’s family had a long history of albinism, and that three of his five siblings had children who suffered from the disease. The children all had the same patch­work skin that plagued Mr Govender.

Only Cookie had escaped it.