In the Sea There Are Crocodiles - Fabio Geda [56]
The thing they didn’t need to explain, because I already knew, was that we were going to get on well with each other.
That’s how it started. What I’d call my new life. Or at least, the first step. Because now that I’d been welcomed in the house of Marco and Danila, I had to try and stay there, and staying there meant not getting myself expelled from Italy, and not getting myself expelled from Italy meant being recognized as a political refugee and granted asylum.
The first problem was the language. I spoke very little Italian. Everyone made an effort to help me. I could barely read the Latin alphabet, and was always confusing zero with the letter O. Even the pronunciation was difficult.
It might be better if you did some courses, said Danila.
School? I asked.
School, she said.
I gave her a thumbs-up sign to let her know how pleased I was. I remembered the school in Quetta, the one where I went to hear the children play. In a fit of euphoria, I chose three courses, because I was afraid that one wasn’t enough. I would leave with Danila in the morning, when she went to work, at eight, then walk around until half past nine, when it was time for my first class at the Parini Adult Education Center, which is something they have in Turin, and also in other cities, too, at least I think so. Then I left, went to another school, attended my second class, came out again, went to the youth group, attended the Italian classes there in the afternoon, and at that point, happy and exhausted, returned home. This went on for six months. In the meantime my friend Payam continued acting as my interpreter when I couldn’t manage by myself, for example at home, when someone had to tell me something and I didn’t understand, they’d phone him and he’d translate. Sometimes Danila even called him to find out what I wanted for dinner, even though I really didn’t mind what I ate as long as it was something that filled my belly.
In June I took the middle school exam (even though the teachers at the Parini Center didn’t want me to, they said it was too early, but that was because of that old question of time, which isn’t the same everywhere in the world).
In September I enrolled in upper school, where I immediately cut a sorry figure. Or rather, I think I did, because I sometimes don’t notice when something funny or strange happens, because if I did notice, I would avoid it happening, would avoid being made to feel a fool, and so on. Once the health education teacher called me to the blackboard and asked me to write things, I can’t remember what, something to do with chemistry, or with sums, but instead of numbers there were letters or something like that. I said I didn’t understand it at all. She explained it to me, but I said again that I didn’t understand, not even her explanation.
What school have you been to? she asked.
I said I hadn’t gone to school.
What? she said.
I said I’d done six months of Italian classes and then the high school exam as an external student and that was it.
What about before that? she asked.
I said I hadn’t done anything before that. Yes, I’d gone to school in Afghanistan, in my little village, with my teacher who wasn’t alive anymore, but that was it.
She got very upset. She went to the principal to complain and for a moment I was afraid I’d be thrown out of the school, which would have been a tragedy for me, because school was the one thing that interested me. Fortunately, another teacher intervened. She was patient, she said, we would take things one step at a time, health education and psychology could wait, and we’d give priority to the other subjects. So, as there was a boy in my school who was a bit handicapped, and he had special support, while I didn’t, for a few months I took advantage of the opportunity and during the health education and psychology periods I left the class and studied with him.
Language, Enaiat. As you’re talking and telling me your story, I keep thinking you’re not using the language you learned