The new school year had started, like a thousand times before with the make-up exams for the students that had done poorly the previous year. They had to pass or repeat last years studies. Finally, the formation of the new classes.
In his new, first year class, there was a novelty, an Egyptian boy, whose name was Akim Abd 'el Fawzi, sixteen years old (but two years older than his classmates). He was already a well developed boy, thin, tall, with black wavy hair and lively black eyes. He had a perfectly oval face, olive complexion and perfect, shining white teeth; but with an almost troubled expression.
He was dressed in a simple, modest way, but his appearance was clean and neat. At the end of the first lesson; where as usual, he introduced himself and explained to the boys his program and his methodology, and after two more lessons in two of his older classes, Piero went to the registrars office and asked for the Arab boy's file.
"Who, the Moroccan?" the girl secretary asked, scornfully.
"No, the Egyptian, Akim Abd 'el Fawzi." an annoyed Piero answered.
"Well, Egyptian, Moroccan, they're all the same. He's just a 'wanna buy?', right, professor?"
"Absolutely not! He is a pupil at this school and he happens to be an Egyptian." Piero retorted with an even sterner tone.
The girl, shrugged her shoulders, and looked for the requested documents. Piero looked through them. The boy had come from the Verga Middle School, the Porta Palazzo school branch. Porta Palazzo, one of the slums of the town. He had passed, but really in poor judgment, and that meant they had just given him his pass, probably for "reached age limits" as teachers jokingly said.
The boy lived on Tre Galline Street... Father's profession, laborer at the Fish General market; mother's profession, housewife. The picture was now complete. And he had enrolled in the Classical High School, the most difficult of high schools! Piero gave back the file, barely holding a sigh, then entered the teachers' room.
"Hi, Cerulli! Did you know that we have an Egyptian boy in our new class?" he asked his Religion teacher colleague.
"Yes, I haven't met him yet, but the headmaster told me."
"He asked to be excused from your religion courses, I guess."
"No, oddly not. But it seems he is not a Moslem, but a Christian... a Copt, I presume."
"Ah, interesting. Do you have any other information?"
"He got his pass for..." the colleague answered but stopped.
"Reached age limits." Piero suggested.
"Yes, more or less. He will be a bad fish to fry..."
"You think so? Why?"
"He has none of the basic elements to continue, he will just lose another year and became even more frustrated than before..."
"He won't be the only one, anyway. You know how badly the Middle School prepares our boys, nowadays..."
"But this... poor boy..."
"We will try to help him. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, of course. But it will be not easy. You know how those Arabs are..."
"No, how are they?" Piero asked, trying to hide the annoyance he was feeling for his colleague tone.
"They are diffident, close..."
"All right. It is up to us to overcome his diffidence, if he really has it, to help him to open up, if he really is close. Don't you think?"
"Well... we can try, of course... poor little thing."
"And for a start let's try not to thing of him as a poor little thing. If he enrolled in a Classical High School, it means at the very least, that he has ambitions."
"Or illusions?"
"Probably half and half. But... we have to try to not disappoint him."
"Sometimes, to disappoint could be a service..."
"I thought I had an ally, in you."
"An ally? For what?"
"In trying to help this Akim."
"But of course we will try to help him, at least on a human level."
"And at least on a cultural level." Piero said, underlining in a clear way the word "cultural".
The new school year progressed, and the first problems started.
Akim wrote in horrible Italian, ungrammatical and mangling the words so that at times it was difficult to understand what he was trying to express. Also, when he spoke, he expressed himself badly. It was evident that he was ashamed of his classmates giggles at some of his expressions. But Piero immediately stopped the giggles, sharply telling the other students they should really be ashamed to ridicule a boy that they should be helping.
He started to correct Akim reports and compositions with particular care, writing on his sheets, explanations of all the points to correct, and asking him to try to write it again. The boy nodded, always with a serious expression, always troubled; but he complied. He was almost always isolated from the other boys, because even during the breaks he remained in the classroom to rewrite his papers, and to study.
And the problems also started with his colleagues. The Mathematics teacher was less of a problem than the others. In fact, he too, had started to dedicate himself to trying to fill up the gaps in the boy preparation; and at a certain point had decided to carry out a remedial program just for the boy. But the other colleagues... they all thought the boy was a hopeless case and that it was useless to waste their time with him, notwithstanding the pressure and insistence of Piero, of the Mathematics teacher Ferrero and of Madam Cerulli of Religion.
The first term ended; and the report for Akim, was on the average under 4 on a scale of ten points, notwithstanding the two five marks given to him in Italian and Mathematics. In Latin the boy got a two mark and a one mark in Greek!
One day, at a teacher-parents meeting, Akim's father showed up. He was a lean man, with just a little thinning at the temples, sturdy but not an uneducated man. Piero learned he had graduated in Egypt in accounting. He spoke in simple and incorrect but understandable Italian.
The father told him that the other teachers had advised him to withdraw his son from the school.
"You think so too of my son Akim, Mister Teacher?" the man asked, turning his beret over in his hands.
"Does the boy want to continue or to withdraw?" Piero asked, instead of answering.
"Continue, continue, him! But I say, I spend the money, I don't complain. But if all say stop, I say, why continue?"
"Because he wants to continue. He could possibly repeat one year, perhaps two, but the boy seems to me clever, intelligent. I believe he can succeed."
"Ah, my son says you good teacher. Says you lose much time for him and you teach good. And also Mathematics teacher is so. But..."
"Listen, Mister Fawzi, want we to help your son?"
"Yes, sure, that's why I here. But I can not pay for other teachers for my son, I have three more children to feed and wife..."
"I see, I understand. But let's try. If Akim really applies himself, perhaps he will have to repeat just this first year; but next year, should have almost no problems, I think."
"Oh, he study lot, yes, very lots and his head fall on books when night. So I send him to bed, and scold because I say health more important than a book..."
"You are perfectly right, Mister Fawzi. Good, we will try to help him. Please, come again to see me, especially if there are any problems."
"Thank you Mister Professor, thank you. You a man who is in God's heart. Thank you." The man said with a grateful smile.
Easter vacation came. On the last day, before leaving school, Akim gave Piero a small sweetbread dove, made by his mother, and asked him, "I can get teacher's address to send him Easter card?"
"Can I, you have to say... Yes, you can find it in the telephone book. There is just one Piero Gribaudo, that's me. But don't waste your money for a card and the stamps, you just gave me your greetings, thank you."
"I not do... I don't waste money, if for you."
Piero smiled but insisted. Akim, always serious, always troubled, nodded and rapidly raced to the tramway stop. Piero took his car and went home. That boy was really progressing in Italian and mathematics. If he was helped in the other disciplines... but how to do it? He was intelligent, and not just normal intelligence. He had an incredible will power, unusual in a sixteen years old boy. But it was not enough.
He parked in front of his house. Walking to the market, he bought something for his lunch and went upstairs to prepare his food. After eating, he put on a gown, a CD in the player and sat on the sofa to read his newspaper. He decided to spend his vacation week at home, because he had in mind a new story and he wanted to write it in peace.
Around four P.M., he stopped reading, and went at his desk. He took out a new folder, a ream of white paper and his fountain pen, sat and started to write. He had filled five pages and was starting the sixth, when the doorbell rang. He went to open it, asking himself who could it be, he wasn't expecting anyone. "Must be the Jehovah Witnesses..." he thought a little annoyed. He opened the door.
"Akim! What are you doing here?"
"I not sent any card as teacher say, but however..."
"However." Piero instinctively corrected him.
"Yes, however I have... have to speech to teacher. If teacher want. If has time for me."
"Come in." Piero said with a sigh but moving aside to let him enter.
He led him next to his desk, gave him a chair and waved him to sit down. The boy sat on the edge, straight, his legs joined, his hands crossed on his legs, serious, troubled as always he was.
"Well. What do you have that is so urgent to tell me?" Piero encouraged him, curious about the unexpected visit.
"I'm not stupid, right?"
"More than right."
"I am not a slunga... slurgadd, right?"
"A sluggard? No, not at all."
"No, sluggard no, stupid no. But I, even if I go a little bester in Italian..."
"Better, you have to say better."
"Yes, better. Better in Italian and also a little in Math. All the rest I go bad. No, wait... in all the rest I am bad." the boy corrected himself.
"Unhappily, that's true."
"Unhappily, that's true. But I do not want be bad in all the rest. I know I can; and I... and if now, I made mistakes in Italian, please let me go... I just know I don't know how to do if no one help me. When Genta teacher and not just he, no, I understand not some words and I... I say sorry I undesta... understand not; but her say, he can not waste time for me and bye-bye!"
Piero listened in silence at the long outcry of the boy and felt tenderness for him. The boy's eyes were looking straight into his eyes, staring, piercing. Piero remembered that he'd heard that the Arabs look straight into your eyes as a sign of sincerity, so he tried not to divert his eyes, not to lower them.
"Yes, Akim, I understand, but I cannot see how..."
"You... you good heart professor, and intelligent, and you a teacher. You must help me to study." Akim said in an almost challenging tone.
"Eh... you see, my boy, I'd do it, I would do it. But you know that as a teacher is forbidden to give private lessons to his students, no?"
"But you give no private class because I ask not for Italian. Yet Italian and Math you help me so much in class. Other studies. And then is not private lesson because my father has not much money and cannot pay and he still knows not I decide to come here. But however if professor Gribaudo help me he lose too much time. So I thought... thinked...?"
"No, thought was right." Piero said with a smile.
"That's it, I thought then, I go to shopping instead of teacher and wash his dishes and shine the floor and made bed... the bed. I know how to do those things. But I pay not money so this not private lesson, just teacher help me and I help teacher. I can do plenty things for teacher. I..." ...and become silent, continuing to stare into his teacher's eyes, and Piero read in those eyes such a sorrowful prayer, so fervent, so touching, that surpassed any words, any speech. And he was so moved and felt he could not refuse. He could not disappoint the boy that was imploring him to be rescued, not to be let drowned.
He swallowed two or three times, afraid his voice could give out his emotion, then said, "Listen to me carefully, Akim. I really would like to help you; but... No, let me have my say about what I'm telling you. Now, you have to give me some time to think about it. You have to leave me alone, so I can think. Come back in one hour, okay? I will give you my answer. Just let me some time to think it over."
Akim nodded yes, always serious, always troubled, but stood up, made a hint of a bow with his head, "Thank you. One hour. It's okay. Thank you." he said and resolutely went to the door.
Piero stood up to take the boy to the door; but he had already left and had closed the door behind him without noise. Piero sat again and exhaled a long and loud sigh. He scratched his head, then took his telephone and called Carla.
"Piero! That's telepathy - I was just about to call you for your Easter greeting!"
"How is the nice mum going? And your big belly?"
"Eh, we are near. It's a matter of few days, now, if not just hours..."
"Poor child..." Piero said in a joking voice.
"What? Why?"
"To be born so near Easter, he will always get just one present both for his birthday and for Easter. He is unlucky!"
Carla giggled, "I didn't think about that problem. Well, I promise you that I'll give him or her always two presents, are you happy?"
"Sure. But now, listen..." Piero told her about Akim's visit, and concluded, "What would you do, in my place?"
"What a question! Tell him yes. It has just to remain a secret at school. And anyway, you aren't doing anything wrong, on the contrary! Just make him swear that he will keep the secret, and tell him yes."
"That's what I thought. But there could be another solution. I can pay for him to have private lessons with another teacher..."
"No... it will cost you a lot!"
"It will cost me a lot anyway, I'll lose all my free time."
"Shut up, silly boy! To help a boy that deserves it, is not to lose his time, but to spend it in a good way. Tell him yes. And then, eventually, when I've recovered from the delivery, I can also give him some lessons, so I'll relieve you a little..."
"Are you serious?"
"Of course. Promise."
"Good, Carla. Thank you."
"Happy Easter, ugly man!"
"Happy Easter, beauty!"
One hour later, right on the real dot (even if the boy didn't have a watch, Piero thought) the doorbell rang. He let him in, sit him down and told him that he had decided to agree to his request, that he would have helped him, but on two conditions...
"All what teacher want, all indeed." Akim declared, prompt and solemn.
"First, nobody is to know you will come here. To avoid any problems."
"Sure, it's right. I want not give problems to my teacher."
"Good. And second, you will not lose any of your time helping me in household chores. I don't need that, and your time is really precious. You will need to use all of your time, and it will be really hard on you."
"Then I will say thank you to my teacher in another way, in another time."
"Your thanks, will be for you to pass. It will be enough. Even if not right this year, but the next."
"No, no, this year pass, if teacher help Akim."
"Well, when do you want to start?"
"Tomorrow morning, for teacher is OK?"
"Tomorrow morning. At nine 'o clock, here. Bring your books and notes. But... what do you think to tell your parents?"
"The truth. I never say lies to dad and mum. But they will be very secret, I really sure. No problem."
"Very good. See you tomorrow, Akim."
"Tomorrow, teacher. And thank you, from my heart."
So the boy started to frequently visit Piero's house.
Akim spent hours at his place and they often ate together. Piero became aware, that in reality, the boy was stealing very little time from him. Because, generally, he studied alone, and just occasionally asked him for an explanation or asked him to revise his exercises or to test him. So Piero could continue to care for his things; correcting school tests or preparing lessons for the following day, write his stories or doing home chores or whatever else he had to do.
So the boy's presence was absolutely not a burden on him. He actually started to appreciate that discrete and silent company, that lean figure engrossed in his studies. At times, he watched him, the boy had his forehead wrinkled, a finger playing with his hair, leaning on his books. He felt a deep tenderness for Akim.
"Professor always study and work!" one day, Akim said.
"Of course, to be a good teacher, there is no other way."
"Oh, professor is a very excellent teacher. Yes, I know that very and excellent not to use together, but in this case is right." Akim said, and for the first time, his face flashed, just for an instant, a naughty smile.
To Piero, it was like he had assisted in a miracle, a revelation, the smile transformed the boy's face, almost transfigured it, made it so wonderful! Piero plunged again into what he was doing, troubled by what he was feeling for the boy. It was not an explicit sexual desire, not at all. But, Piero knew himself well enough, and was also honest enough with himself to know that what he had felt deep inside. A reaction to the boy's smile could easily foreshadow any physical attraction, giving birth to a very strong desire. And he didn't want it! He couldn't allow such a thing to happen. He had to be very, very careful, he said to himself.
The second term ended, Akim's report had an average of 4.76 points on a scale of ten. Both were very proud. During a teacher's meeting, to discuss student's grades, someone had pointed out to their colleagues the unpredictable progress the boy had made in all of his studies.
"A flash in the pan..." the Greek teacher said.
"You cannot say that!" Madam Cerulli, the Religion teacher said, "you, personally, gave him a score of four; instead of your hideous score of one in his first term!"
Piero smiled. In Italian, mathematics and two other disciplines he received a grade of five, (not given, but earned, as the Math teacher had noted). And also, in Latin, a grade of four. The improvement, was in a word, remarkable, and evident in all of his studies, even if the average was still below the minimum six points required to pass.
Akim and Piero faced the third term with renewed commitment.