On the appointed Saturday, my grandfather took me to school, then returned home. As he was about to take leave of me I clung to his hand, feeling a sudden pang of fear that caused me to forget how I’d longed for this very moment. I even suggested that he take me back home with him, but he simply laughed that resounding laugh of his and, pointing to the other pupils, said, “Meet your new family!”
I stood near the door feeling more flustered than I’d ever felt in my life, and a feeling of regret came over me. Looking timidly and apprehensively at the pupils scattered about the courtyard, I hoped no one would notice me. But my smart new clothes caught people’s attention, and I lowered my gaze feeling agonizingly shy. How long will this torture go on? I wondered.
However, a boy came up and greeted me, then stood with me as though we were friends. Then he asked me for no apparent reason, “Did your father bring you?”
Since I considered my grandfather both a grandfather and a father, I nodded in the affirmative.
“What does he do?” he asked, “and what’s his name?”
Even though conversation was a cause of distress for me, I still welcomed this question in particular, and replied proudly, “Colonel Abdulla Bey Hasan.”
The boy told me that his father was So-and-so Bey too, though I’ve forgotten his name now. Then, as though he’d grown weary of my quiet, stuffy manner, he left me and went to join some other buddies. Feeling lonelier than ever, I wondered: Will I be able to fit in with these boys? Will I really be able to play with them, or will the disaster that befell me in our courtyard at home be repeated here too? My heart was gripped with fear, and if I’d had the courage to retreat and go home on the spot, I would have. Then the bell rang, delivering me from my thoughts, whereupon they stood us in a line and brought us into the classroom. It hadn’t occurred to me up to that point that school was anything but a huge playground. However, when I sat down at one of the school desks and the elderly teacher began the new school year with the traditional instructions having to do with maintaining order and not moving around or talking in class, I was certain that what I’d entered was nothing less than a prison. Perplexed and disturbed, I thought: Did my grandfather make a mistake, or did they deceive him? My imagination went soaring home, where I pictured my mother sitting alone. Do you suppose she’s forgotten me? I wondered. At around this time she’ll be overseeing Umm Zaynab as she sweeps the rooms and dusts the furniture. Hasn’t she thought about me? Can she bear to part with me for the entire day?
When the first lesson ended, I hadn’t heard a word the teacher said. And it was no wonder, since I’d decided that this first day would also be my last. During recess I saw the principal passing by the classroom door, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Not having forgotten the kindness he’d shown me when I came to enroll with my grandfather, I approached him without hesitation. As I came up to him timidly, he turned toward me with an uncomprehending look on his face. Then he cast me a harsh, quizzical gaze, and I thought he’d forgotten who I was.
In a voice that was barely audible I said, “I’m Colonel Abdulla Bey Hasan’s son.”
“And what do you want?” he asked in astonishment.
Gathering up my courage, I said, “I want to go home.”
“Get back to your desk, damn you!” he thundered in my face.
Stunned by his shouting, I returned to my place, nearly swooning from fright and anguish. From that moment onward, I stayed put, terrorized and distraught. As the day dragged on I started to feel I needed to go to the bathroom, but I was so afraid, I held it in. Not once did I think of asking the teacher for permission to leave the class. Even during recess, I was so apprehensive, I couldn’t bring myself to ask someone to show me where the toilet was. I started fidgeting and writhing like someone who’s been stung, pressing my knees together in torment and anguish. The time passed heavily and miserably until, when the bell rang at last, I took off as fast as my legs would carry me. I reached the house in a matter of seconds and ascended the stairs in leaps and bounds. In the flat I found my mother waiting for me, and when she saw me she exclaimed, “Welcome, light of my eyes!”
But when she happened to glance at my trousers, a look of distress came over her and she murmured softly, “My Lord, you’ve wet yourself!”
As for me, I burst into sobs, saying, “I’ll never go back to school! Grandpa doesn’t know anything about the place. I hate the principal, the teachers, and the pupils. Tell me I don’t have to go back, and I’ll never leave you as long as I live!”
Drying my tears and undressing me, she said gently, “Don’t say things like that. You’ll get used to it and like it. After all, how can you stay at home when all the other boys are in school? And how will you become an officer like your grandpa if you leave school?”
I kept up my crying and my importunate complaints as she spoke soothing words to me in an attempt to alleviate my distress. However, she warned me not to let my grandfather hear me complain lest he be angry with me and look down on me. So, for the first time in my life, she turned a deaf ear to my laments.
* * *
As a way of encouraging me to persevere in my new life, my mother decided to escort me to school every morning. We would arrive there together, after which I would go into the schoolyard while she stood on the opposite sidewalk. Once inside, I would stay glued to the fence, exchanging glances and smiles with her through its iron bars as melancholy descended over my heart and angst gripped me about the neck. I loathed school and everything about it. Nevertheless, I was forced to go, and neither defiance nor tears got me anywhere. Hence, I knew for a certainty that I’d been doomed to a long imprisonment. For the first time I found myself envying adults their freedom, and housewives the luxury of staying at home.
My love for Thursdays dates back to that time. Of all the days of the week, Thursdays were my favorite. As for the other days of the week, I shrank from them, finding them heavy and tedious. Late on Friday afternoon I’d feel a depression coming on. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday would pass in weariness and boredom until, when Wednesday morning arrived, I’d start breathing more easily. Then I’d waken at dawn on Thursday and turn over under the covers in blissful delight, hardly able to contain my excitement. Consequently I excelled in Thursday’s lessons, which included nothing but memorizing passages and religion classes.
Even so, that era wasn’t without its happy memories, though at the time they appeared to me against a background of severity and harshness. One of those memories is of the way we used to buy donut-shaped loaves of bread with sesame seeds on top during recess and, if we had no salt to put on them, we would use in its place the lime that came leaching out of the courtyard walls. Our aged teacher used to like to drink a glass of licorice tea during the first period. As he drank it, he would command us to stand up and turn our backs to him for fear that some harm might come to him from our voracious eyes. He came to class one day with a sour look on his face. He said that he’d had a stomachache the night before and that he had no doubt but that one of us had stolen a glance at him as he drank his licorice. He warned us that unless we revealed the culprit’s identity, we’d all get a smack on the hand. And since we were ignorant of who the culprit was, we all got the promised smack. Our other teacher was also an elderly man. However, being a gentle soul, he never struck any of us unless he was at his wits’ end. His favorite method of getting us to be quiet and maintaining order was to frighten us with talk of the goblin that had lived since ancient times under the room’s floorboards. He would tell us that the goblin didn’t like loud ruckuses, and if things got out of control, he would crouch down and tap on the floor. Then, in a tone of meekness and dread, he would say, “Pardon them, master! They don’t realize what they’re doing! Don’t ride their backs, please, and forgive them this time!”