Read The Mirage for Free Online

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 grandfatherhear 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