Read The Mirage for Free Online Page B

I got another report card filled with zeroes, and this time my mother accused the school of negligence. My grandfather decided to enroll me in a public primary school, but because I’d graduated from a private school, the principal stipulated that I’d have to take an entrance examination. Shortly before the academic year was to start, my grandfather took me to the school, then waited for the results to be announced. In fact, there was nothing to wait for. My grandfather pleaded with the principal to accept me in spite of the test result, and the man wanted to oblige him in view of his advanced age and his eminent standing. Hence, he asked simply that I write my name, “Kamil Ru’ba.” However, I wrote Ru’ba incorrectly, so the man apologized, explaining that it wouldn’t be possible to accept me after all. My grandfather mocked me all the way home. Then, heaving a sigh of disgust, he said to my mother, “It’s no use sending him back to kindergarten. I’ll get him a tutor this year.”
    I could hardly believe my ears. Trying to conceal my delight, I asked, “Will I stay home this year, then?”
    Glowering at me with his green eyes, he said heatedly, “Yes.
That
ought to make your mother happy!”

7
    F or the first time in my life I had a fruitful year of study, sitting safely and placidly before my venerable teacher and being taught the principles of Arabic and arithmetic. Despite the fact that, as usual, the hours dragged on heavily and miserably, I was at last taking my first steps along the path of learning. In order to ensure that the teacher treated me well, I had my mother sit near the door to the teacher’s room so that I could summon her to the rescue if need be. And it’s no wonder that I felt as I did, since the memory of the two years I’d spent in Roda School—from the teachers’ blows to the pupils’ assaults—were still fresh in my mind. Up to that point, I had yet to comprehend the fact that education was an unavoidable duty that I’d spend a good part of my life fulfilling. Instead, I viewed it as a punishment that had been inflicted on me for some unknown reason, and I still held out the hope that some day my grandfather would relent and exempt me from it altogether.
    As for my mother, she was no happier than I was. She was enduring torment of another, more brutal sort. She’d grown more dejected during those days, and the minute she found herself alone, she would break into bitter tears. Whenever she was with my grandfather, she would speak to him about the matter that was robbing her of sleep. In just a few months I would be nine years old, and once I reached that age, my father would have the right to reclaim me. In fact, he was certain to do so, just as he had my sister and brother before me. The same danger had loomed over us when I turned seven. However, my grandfather had written a letter to my paternal uncle, who was an influential farmer in Fayoum, asking him to intercede with my father and persuade him to leave me in my grandfather’s care until I was nine years old. By a miracle from heaven, the intercession yielded the hoped-for result. Now, however, I was approaching my ninth birthday, and I was sure to be wrested from my mother’s arms this time unless my father waived his right to take me back.
    One day my mother began weeping in my grandfather’s presence. She said, “I lost Radiya and Medhat, and I haven’t set eyes on them for nine years now. Kamil is all I have left. He’s my only consolation in this life, and I don’t know what I’ll do if the man takes him away from me!”
    My grandfather shook his gray head crossly, as this topic never failed to distress him.
    “And what can I do about it?” he asked. “This is the ruling of Islamic law, and we have no choice in the matter. Besides, the man to whom you’re referring is his father, at least, and not some stranger.”
    “His father!” she cried indignantly. “Do you call that monster a father? Poor