Teymour was the only son of one of the city’s most notable families; his father, a landowner, was quite well-to-do and had always lived off private means, never suspecting that anyone in his family could possibly work. This intelligent outlook owed nothing to some great knowledge of philosophy; old Teymour had almost no education whatsoever. It was but instinct that had guided him in this judicious choice. He loved life, and above all he loved his family too much to see them work. Nevertheless, somewhat belatedly — perhaps his daily reading of the paper had made him concerned about the transformations taking place in the world — the ludicrous idea had come into his head of seeing his son get a degree; and — the height of ambition! — a degree in chemical engineering, merely because of some stock he owned in the sugar refinery that was the city’s sole industry. This request, so late in coming, would probably have been rejected by the party in question had Teymour not seen in his father’s vanity a means of spending a few years abroad where, he knew from reliable sources, fascinating pleasures and lasciviousness reigned supreme. Like all young men trapped in their provinces, he had dreamed of leading a dissolute life. The opportunity had at last been given to him to verify the enchanting rumors about the abundance of vice in certain Western capitals. He had not been disappointed.
From the very outset of his stay abroad, he had to admit that he never could have imagined such magnificent debauchery. Amazed by the variety of sensual pleasures, the multitude of temptations, he devoted himself furiously to them all, continually putting off his tiresome studies. Even had he wanted to, he couldn’t have found enough spare time for any serious activity. Little by little he managed to persuade himself that it would be a waste of his time and his youth to study all those absurd subjects destined to turn him into a functionary. Consequently, he had not enrolled in any university, had not bought a single chemistry book; instead he had purchased a stylish and costly wardrobe that was indispensable to his taste for show. During endless nights he had made love to sublime women and experienced emotions and adventures of all kinds. A few months of this glorious existence had sufficed to make him forget he was there to earn a degree, except on those rare occasions when he received a letter from his father worrying about the state and progress of his learning. This call to order mortified Teymour for a few hours; then he got caught up once again in the pulse of his new life and thought no more about it.
As the years went by and old Teymour did not see his son return, he began to be troubled by the snail’s pace of these interminable studies; he did not understand how it could take so much time and money to get a degree, even one in chemical engineering. Knowing nothing of studies of this kind, he imagined all sorts of things, and did not dare seek advice from others for fear of provoking their animosity. But a day came when his patience ran out, and then the letters he sent his son became more and more severe, ordering him to return home without delay or his funds would be cut off. Old Teymour was loath to resort to this kind of blackmail, but he was forced into it by the pressing need to put an end to this interminable situation. He had bragged so much to everyone about his son’s scholarly success that, as the years dragged on and this son did not reappear, people began to wonder if he had died. Though they remained within the bounds of common courtesy, they demonstrated by meaningful nods that they were not fooled. The dignified old man no longer knew how to respond when asked, with an irony not devoid of pity, for news of his illustrious offspring. Furthermore, he had already schemed to obtain a position at the sugar refinery for the young engineer, and the perpetual absence of the prospective job candidate would in the end turn into a scandal. This last and most important reason had led him to the only reprisal available to him to speed the return of this neglectful son, whom he now regretted having consigned to self-destruction in dubious lands so ravaged by debauchery.
Crushed by this paternal ultimatum, Teymour found himself obliged to pack his bags and say farewell to the pleasant life that had been shaped around his ambitions. But it wasn’t so simple. Before heading home, he had to obtain a diploma from somewhere; he couldn’t possibly stand before his father empty-handed. Having known for some time that he could acquire one for a fee, he set about searching for this cursed piece of paper and, after many discreet efforts, he bought one, in due form — as lovely as a real one — for an exorbitant sum that immediately reduced him to the level of a pauper. He had to travel back third class on a boat belonging to a second-rate company that treated its passengers like convicts, if not galley-slaves. During this difficult passage, he’d had plenty of time to prepare himself for the slow and barbaric death awaiting him in his home town. The boat, practically adrift, seemed never to find a port of any kind. Every now and again Teymour would take the diploma out of his suitcase and examine it attentively, trying to detect an error, a defect, or an oversight that would have made it unusable. But each time the diploma passed his inspection with flying colors; it seemed even too perfect for what he planned to do with it. He would then let out a sigh of relief and place it back in his suitcase. This, at least, was something solid, the only concrete thing to come out of these six years of so-called studies that no one would have the impertinence to contest. Rather than alarming him, his total ignorance of the rudiments of chemistry seemed, on the contrary, an advantage, for it meant he had no chance of giving himself away by spouting nonsense. He was determined to behave modestly and not boast about his knowledge. Not even the engineering job at the sugar refinery — about which his dotard of a father had told him with such delight in his last letter as an incitement to come home — could, he felt, expose him: his cynical, sardonic nature had always prevented him from believing that jobs existed that demanded real competence. According to Teymour, no one was competent. Any imbecile could easily display a genuine diploma; that wasn’t the main thing. The main thing was to act like someone who knows but who is loath to divulge his knowledge, at least in front of subordinates. As for his future colleagues, he was sure they knew no more than he did; he, however, had a definite advantage over them — his imagination. These comforting thoughts kept him company for the duration of his journey.
Old Teymour was so moved on seeing his son who had become an engineer — or so he believed — that he practically stammered with affection; he could hardly wait to finish his outpourings before asking Teymour to show him the diploma he had traveled so far to obtain. The old man was eager to see it with his own eyes. Teymour complied and tendered the thin, rolled-up parchment to his father with the hint of respect owed to a dignitary to whom one is offering a priceless gift. The old man accepted it with equal respect, unrolling it very carefully, then putting on his glasses to decipher this treasure brought from afar as testimony to his son’s learning. He spent a long time poring over it, his face slowly taking on an expression of infinite dismay; he seemed to find it ridiculous that a piece of paper that was not even gilded could have demanded so much effort and, above all, such considerable expense. Apparently, he was disappointed by the format of the diploma, as if he had been expecting a document of this sort to be at least a meter long, with words of praise for him printed on it. Old Teymour believed, and rightly so, that he had had something to do with the acquisition of this diploma, and now he felt he had been deliberately left out of the whole thing. He was humiliated by this piece of paper with its elaborate and illegible signatures and its typographical austerity. He pulled at it from both ends, trying in vain to stretch it; the diploma resisted, remaining immutable. Faced with the inertia of this precious material, old Teymour was forced to give up, fearing that a tear would only increase its frailty. He let out a sigh of disbelief and looked at his son with commiseration.