A King in Hiding by Fahim Read Free Book Online Page B

Champs Elysées.
    Along the way, I tried to tell them about some of the major events in French history: the Napoleonic victories symbolised by the Arc de Triomphe, the guillotine that stood on what is now Place de la Concorde, the Palais Royal that used to stand in the Tuileries. I began to realise what a vast cultural gulf lay between us: neither Fahim nor his father had ever heard of the French Revolution or the rights of man, nor of major figures from outside France such as Hitler and Stalin.
    At the end of the afternoon we stopped for a while beside the Seine, worn out. Ignoring all our difficulties in communicating with each other, I just went for it, and promised them that I would never let them down, that they could always count on me. When things have got tough, I’ve often thought back to my ‘Eiffel Tower oath’.

Chapter 7
    SPRING, SUMMER, SETBACK

    M y second day at school and it’s all gone wrong already. The morning drags on for ever. At lunchtime all the others go off to the canteen. I’m on my own in the covered part of the playground when the ‘weirdo’ in my class turns up. He shoves me up against the wall and tries to choke me. He’s raging and screaming at me. I have no idea what he’s on about. I pretend I don’t care and just shrug my shoulders.
    Then after a bit I’ve had enough. Now it’s my turn to lose it, and I throw a punch at him. A direct hit! He’s down! To make sure he doesn’t get back up I sit on top of him, but then he starts to yell and I’m worried about getting into trouble. So I get off him and head for the canteen. Then he jumps me from behind and knocks me over, the coward. He’s stronger than me. In the end I give up. He says sorry and we go to the canteen together. After that he respects me; he even becomes my friend.
    It’s my first fight. My first proper fight. In Bangladesh I’d had a few scraps with my friends, but only in fun. I had an enemy, but we’d never had a fight. Luckily no one’s seen us, so I don’t get punished.
    My third day, and school closes for the ‘February holiday’. Yay! I’ll be able to spend most of it playing chess and football. Unluckily, during a game of football one of the big boys at the hostel kicks my foot instead of the ball: I feel a terrific pain and instantly the trainer on that foot starts to shrink. My father takes me to hospital, where we have to wait for ages – in France you always have to wait. I have an X-ray, and the doctor tells me I’ve broken my foot. I get an awesome plaster, which is hot when it goes on and really tight. I have to drag it around for the whole of the holiday, which means I can’t run. And it makes my foot shrink: when it comes off my trainer is far too big.

    Back to school. The teacher, Mme Faustine, shows me things and teaches me their names: cheek, ear, mouth and eyes, cat, dog and bird. Then it’s my turn to say things: trousers, jumper and sock, table, chair and exercise book.
    Mme Faustine is strict, and she’s always getting cross. One day, when she finds out that Lujai the Sri Lankan boy hasn’t done his homework, she’s so angry that she knocks his table over. None of us makes a sound. No one dares to move. I never get into trouble. I’m good: I don’t muck about or talk in class. I don’t speak French, in any case. None of us talk in class because none of us can speak French.
    We are all given different work to do. Since I’ve already been to school, Mme Faustine gives me exercises to do on my own. Some of the others have never been to school before coming to France. For them it’s hard. It takes them ages to pick things up. Some of them smile a lot, some of them are sad. Some try to speak, but most of them don’t say a word. Some of them are even frightened: you can see it in their faces.

    I learn French quickly. It’s easy.
    I learn to say my name and