He went over to the jurist’s bench and kissed the proffered hand in all due humility. He did not notice that, meanwhile, with a simple gesture, an exchange had taken place between his father and the jurist. He only realised what had occurred when the jurist grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He turned to the door only to see his father turning his back on him and leaving the schoolroom.
His feet were now lifted to receive fifty lashes of the cane – that being the content of Hajj Muhammad’s gesture to the jurist. A savage punishment, no doubt, but it did not extinguish Abd al-Rahman’s determination to fight, and fight again, until he became a pupil at the secular academy for children of the elite.
15
Abd al-Rahman was an inquisitive student. It was not just that, unlike the majority of his new schoolmates, he had not learned French or studied Arabic grammar. He was curious about many other things too, things that may well have also aroused the curiosity of the other students – but his curiosity was on an entirely different level to theirs.
They all noticed the obvious differences between the teachers al-Yazighi and Monsieur François. The explanations of the former were most of the time utterly incomprehensible, while those of the latter were understandable, even though spoken in a foreign language. The former delivered his lessons with an entirely false aplomb, without even bothering to look at the students he was addressing. The latter, on the other hand, would spring out of the corner and stand in the middle of the classroom; their young minds would spring with him, attentive and understanding, without the need for commands or arrogance. Al-Yazighi’s classes inspired respect, awe, and a reverence for learning, but they were tedious, while François’s classes may have suggested simplicity but were, in fact, a confirmation of life itself.
Al-Yazighi would stand in front of the students, ranting and raving so much that they felt compelled to be even more defiant in order to provoke his tirades further. Monsieur François did not give al-Yazighi any kind of sanctuary. He would stand in the middle of the classroom adjudicating between the students and their other teacher, often coming down on the students’ side of things, not hesitating to announce his decision in front of their foe. The aged al-Yazighi would be forced to submit humbly to the decision.
Monsieur François did not rant and rave, because there was no reason for him do so. Those students who misbehaved or failed to understand something were punished in a straightforward way, and they accepted it with an open heart. He wore tailored clothes and shoes with laces. He did not wear a skullcap, a fez, or a turban, and his long hair protected him from winter cold, summer heat, and gusts of wind. To the students, al-Yazighi – with his corpulent body, pale complexion, and thick spectacles on a rusty frame – appeared more like an old, traditional tribal shaykh, who might live in a ramshackle tent.
François gave the impression of being open minded; he moved freely and swung about like a young man. His speech was carefully regulated, and his gestures controlled. So he seemed more like one of the students, though enjoying the additional liberty of being their teacher. Al-Yazighi on the other hand looked weighed down, firstly by an ageing body growing ever heavier as time went by, and secondly by the learning and the residue of wisdom in his mind that he was supposed to be imparting to and embodying for his pupils.
François was fulfilling a mission of mind and life, always eager to get the message across, with a responsibility to do so. If one of the children did not understand, he would see the fault in himself and try a different way of communicating the idea. Al-Yazighi felt the same weight of responsibility, but he showed it only in the way he would recite things from memory in a stentorian tone, using mechanical gestures that completely failed to connect with the children, merely bringing his hands together in a meaningless movement to create an irrelevant clapping sound.
The students discussed these differences during their breaks, and in lessons too, but none of it was either specific or profound. They simply talked about some of the more obvious aspects with a good deal of withering sarcasm and a fair amount of mockery. One of them would stand in the middle of the schoolyard during break and do imitations of al-Yazighi. The other students would burst into laughter. It was a moment of freedom, so none of them felt any constraints. They also competed to imitate François as much as they did al-Yazighi, but in his case it was a matter of admiration rather than the mockery that was reserved for his colleague.
The main square in Makhfiyya also witnessed performances of this kind. But now it was not just the quarter’s inhabitants – the flour vendor, the mint and halva merchant perched on the sidewalk, and Hajj Muhammad al-Tihami – who were the objects of these charades. A whole new element was now added, one that was rich in images, gestures, new words, and great ironies. Sometimes one would encounter al-Yazighi, dressed in his jallaba, turban, burnous, and spectacles, reciting his lesson in the square with his habitual pomposity and his repertoire of gestures, reactions, and pretension. There would also be Monsieur François, deft and lively, rushing around among the students to illustrate a word on the blackboard or spelling out a foreign word in syllables in a way that sounded both funny and strange.
Two-Heads was not the only theatrical star in the square, nor was Abd al-Qadir al-Rahmuni any longer the only hero when it came to talking about the secular academy, the teachers, and the science and French classes. The stage spawned other talented actors among the students attending this elite school, among them Abd al-Rahman.
To his peers, Abd al-Rahman was a talented actor. But whereas Two-Heads only poked fun at the personality he was portraying and used raunchy language to raise a laugh, Abd al-Rahman went deep into the genuine differences between the Qur’an school and the secular academy, and between al-Yazighi and Monsieur François. For this reason he was rarely either funny or dismissive; rather he was most effective at influencing the children’s minds. He was the one who managed best to arouse their curiosity, stimulate their aspirations for the future, and nourish hope for a better life in their young minds.
But Abd al-Rahman no longer found a sufficient outlet for his ideas in Makhfiyya Square. The new things he was learning stimulated in him a strong desire to know what goals one might have, what kind of future might open up before the school’s students.
When it came to the conspicuous differences between al-Yazighi and Monsieur François – amusing sometimes, and never less than remarkable – Abd al-Rahman never regarded either the acts or the appearances of the two men as just something to laugh and scoff at. He always emerged from his amused contempt with one overriding question: why?
Why was it that al-Yazighi, the august teacher and perfect model of rectitude in the country, could provoke such mockery and scorn? François, to the contrary, was a perfectly ordinary person without pretence or airs; he never made use of his person, clothes, or manner of working to gain the kind of respect that invoked admiration and encouraged imitation.
Why was al-Yazighi so incapable of dealing with his pupils, who were all young and naturally timid and shy? Why did he have to go to François to ask for help? François was younger than al-Yazighi, so why did he possess such an amazing, magical power that al-Yazighi did not have?
Why was it that everyone else respected al-Yazighi, kissing his hand and shoulder on the street, and yet, as soon as he was inside the classroom with his pupils, he turned into someone else – not the kind of person who inspires respect, whose shoulder one kisses, or to whom one lowers one’s head as a sign of reverence?
A whole series of illustrations came together in Abd al-Rahman’s mind: his father Hajj Muhammad; Mawlay Abd al-Ghafur, whose night-time classes his father attended at the Mawlay Idris shrine and the Qarawiyin Mosque; his brother Abd al-Ghani, still a young man but already emulating al-Yazighi’s behaviour, though no venerable scholar himself. He could come up with any number of examples from among people he knew, people he saw, and people who talked to him about al-Yazighi. In every case the story about al-Yazighi was the same, with no varia
tions.
So yet again the insistent question posed itself: why? But his young mind could not come up with an answer, so the issue faded away, to be replaced by a new kind of enquiry: ‘Are all the people in whose bosom we live – at home and on the street, in city and village, in shop, mosque, Qur’an school, and secular academy – are they all models of al-Yazighi, Mawlay Abd al-Ghafur, Abd al-Ghani, and the flour and halva seller?’
The question sank from the surface to the very depths, to be replaced by another more brutal and insistent enquiry: ‘François isn’t a fellow countryman of ours, but he offers us a different model, one that’s marked by movement and life. Is it smarter, stronger, richer, cleverer?’
And yet these questions, which were forcing themselves on him with such insistence, also gradually sank into the recesses of his mind, leaving behind them a new question: ‘What about me? Am I going to be François or al-Yazighi?’
Setting out for school, and every day at school, and in every class, his mind encountered two possible models of behaviour, and he found himself having to decide which one to pursue in order to avoid losing his way.
One used a particular strategy with the young pupils, but he would find himself needing to seek help from the other to protect himself from their dirty tricks.
The other got the things he talked about into the pupils’ minds.
One tried to reach their minds while sitting in his seat.
The other leapt around with fresh opinions, ideas, and words, stimulating the children’s minds through his sheer activity.
One brought his hands out from under his jallaba to yank out a victim.
The other used chalk, pencils, paper, and books as part of his work.
‘So,’ Abd al-Rahman wondered, ‘which one of them shall I be? Al-Yazighi or Monsieur François?’ Once more the question settled at the back of his mind, leaving him in a confrontation with a test, a dilemma, a labyrinth.
16
Abd al-Rahman’s new life at the academy proceeded, as did those of the other students who were embarking on a journey in a new world. He no longer paused to think of how he was rid of the jurist in the mosque school and free of his summer and winter prison. His new world had made him forget all about the old one with its positive aspects and idiosyncrasies. Hajj Muhammad had no role to play in this life; he had handed his son over to a school in which he knew from the start that he could not be involved. He could not talk to the new school’s director the way he could to the Qur’anschool teacher, or make suggestions. If he were to propose something, the reaction would not be complete agreement as was the case with the jurist. So he had left Abd al-Rahman to his own fate, without questioning him about his studies, following his progress at the school, or inserting himself into his life outside the house.
However, through his elder brother, Abd al-Ghani, Abd al-Rahman was not completely divorced from his former world. Abd al-Ghani assumed that his authority over his younger brother would never be terminated; he was older, more sensible, and more upright in his behaviour. By now Abd al-Ghani was involved in commerce. Hajj Muhammad had set him up in a little shop in the Qaysariyya Market and given him some capital, not for the purpose of making a profit, but rather to train his son and familiarise him with business matters.
Abd al-Ghani’s transfer from Qur’an school to commerce had convinced him that he was exceptional and reinforced the idea that within the household he could play the role of second fiddle to his father. His primary point of experiment was Abd al-Rahman. After his younger brother had transferred schools, something he himself had been against, Abd al-Ghani tried even harder to be domineering, and to take over the role that Hajj Muhammad had now relinquished because he had discovered that he could no longer fulfil it.
Sitting around in the evening, Abd al-Rahman was reading a French book, while Abd al-Ghani amused himself by chewing gum, doing his best to overcome his boredom by unconsciously using his mouth as a rapid chewing device; occasional popping noises would be heard, as though he were trying to use it to compensate for his sense of absolute isolation. Abd al-Latif was sitting beside the two of them, as was Yasmine’s son, Mahmud, who kept looking curiously at his two elder brothers as though from their personalities he could glean the best example for himself: Abd al-Ghani, all about money and commerce, a miniature version of Hajj Muhammad, and someone Mahmud feared because of his meanness to him and his beatings; Abd al-Rahman, the high-performing student who earned respect for the number of books he brought home which no one else in the house could understand – the new model, he was unlike anyone else in the house. Their sister, Aisha, was beside them all; by now she was no longer a child, but had become a young woman hastening toward her own future.
Abd al-Ghani found the silence enveloping the room utterly aggravating; even his own popping noises did nothing to relieve the atmosphere. He longed to have someone ask him about his new life in the shop, his commercial profits, and his customers, with whom he would haggle as they tried to get a lower price, and about his neighbours and the various aspects of their lives. But Hajj Muhammad would not fulfil his desire, because he actually disdained the commercial activity in which Abd al-Ghani was now engaged. Even though he was not about to give up on a future career for Abd al-Ghani in business ventures, he still considered his son to be in training, and that it would require a good deal of time for him to become a successful merchant. Nor did his mother, Khaduj, satisfy his longing; she was only concerned about household matters and never bothered to ask Hajj Muhammad any questions about his work in either commerce or agriculture, and so Abd al-Ghani was not concerned about whether his mother spoke to him or let him talk to her about his little enterprise, his daily experiences, his haggling with customers, and his secret struggles with neighbouring shopkeepers in the market.
Thus he was hoping that Abd al-Rahman would feel like arguing with him, so he could have an opportunity to show off how rich he was and how much money was in his shop’s cash register. But Abd al-Rahman disappointed him; he was busy with his book and the exercises he had to do, things that were a complete mystery to Abd al-Ghani whenever he heard him repeating words and numbers out loud.
Finally he could take no more of the oppressive silence. ‘Haven’t you had enough of that heretical nonsense during the day?’ he asked from where he was sitting. ‘Do you really have to spend the night at it as well?’
Abd al-Rahman gave his brother a contemptuous glance, but he did not hold it for long; he needed to get back to the problem he was dealing with as soon as possible. He left Abd al-Ghani’s remark hanging like a question mark in the silent void.
Abd al-Ghani now started chewing his gum furiously. What really infuriated him was that Abd al-Rahman was ignoring him in a way that showed his defiance and contempt, which had begun to show themselves since his transfer to the secular academy.
‘Hey, you! I’m talking to you! Can’t you spare us all this heretical gibberish?’
Abd al-Rahman looked up again, with increasing reluctance. Abd al-Ghani repeated his question, and this time Abd al-Rahman decided to respond. ‘And can’t you spare us that chewing noise? You’re making as much noise as women do!’
His cutting comment made Abd al-Ghani even more annoyed.
‘That academy’s beguiled you,’ he said with obvious menace. ‘If I were your father, I wouldn’t have let you go to that place for heretics!’
Abd al-Rahman let out a huge guffaw and made no effort to suppress it; indeed, he wanted it to reverberate in Abd al-Ghani’s ears and heart. ‘You know absolutely nothing about heresy or belief,’ he said. ‘You’re as angry about my being in the academy as you’re happy about being in your shop. You’d be better off not talking about the academy. You know absolutely nothing about it. You’ve never even been through its doorway.’
Abd al-Ghani frowned. One of the things that really upset him was that Abd al-Rahman, who was younger than him, now had a status beyond his own reach. Even so, he could not argue with his brother’
s logic.
‘You’ll see!’ he threatened angrily. ‘You’ll see if you’re going to stay at that academy!’
The threat was enough to provoke a defiant response. ‘Oh yes,’ he responded, ‘I’m going to stay at the academy. Not only that, but Aisha, Mahmud, and Abd al-Latif will be going there too. We’re going to give you a free hand in your shop so you can carry on measuring clothes with a tape measure.’
‘Aisha, Abd al-Latif, and Mahmud? Are you out of your mind? Aisha’s going to the girls’ Qur’an school, and Abd al-Latif is going to the Qarawiyin. Mahmud’s success at the Qur’an school won’t be repeated at the academy.’
Aisha, Abd al-Latif, and Mahmud, who were all sitting there, looked curiously at the angry faces of their two elder brothers, unaware that this fierce argument was actually about them.
Aisha’s imagination had never gone so far as to contemplate the possibility of going to the academy; she had never even heard of daughters of elite families going to any kind of school. She had heard mention of the female teacher’s Qur’an school where young girls would go to memorise parts of the sacred text and prayers. But it was not intended for daughters of wealthy people; she had heard its name mentioned, but conservative families would not agree to send their daughters to that school, where girls would also learn how to sew and help the female teacher in household chores. Now, for the first time, she was hearing the word ‘academy’ from the lips of a furious Abd al-Rahman. She did not take the matter seriously, but concluded that it was only the heat of the argument that had led her brother to defy Abd al-Ghani and threaten to enrol her in the academy.
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