Gravel Heart(23)
One Sunday afternoon in March, a few months before the examinations were due to take place, when I had made myself completely wretched for weeks with my derelictions, when I was beginning to feel nauseous with anxiety and self-hatred, I decided to come clean. I did not really decide there and then, it took me several days of silent debate before I was able to speak out. It was a warm afternoon. Uncle Amir and I were sitting on the patio after lunch while Auntie Asha was on the lawn with the children, building a tent out of some old sheets.
He turned in my direction at some point and I blurted out: ‘I can’t take the examinations. I don’t want to do Business Studies. It was a mistake. I have no ability for the work.’
He looked at me in surprise and did not say anything for a moment. I was afraid I was going to burst into tears or something stupid like that. ‘Come inside,’ he said, getting to his feet. I followed him into his office and shut the door behind me. There was no need for the world to hear him abusing me. Uncle Amir examined me for a moment longer, frowning, as if he would be able to understand what I said better from my appearance. ‘What does this mean? You were doing well. What’s happened?’
‘I struggle constantly with these subjects. I have no interest in them and I don’t have the talent. I find the work so difficult to understand, so boring,’ I said, hearing the whine in my voice but feeling too miserable to suppress it. So boring, just like a child. ‘I don’t see how I can go on to study this sort of thing for the next three years. I don’t have the skills for it. What is the point of struggling for the next two months to pass examinations that will be of no use to me?’
Uncle Amir stared at me as I spoke, a look of pained surprise on his face. He spoke to me, reasoned with me: don’t give up, unexpected things happen all the time, don’t think they don’t. He tried to cajole me into continuing, flattering my talents and my capacity for work, and then impatience overcame him and he exploded. ‘Don’t be such an idiot,’ he shouted. ‘Of course you’ll take the exams. Do you think life is easy? You don’t have the talent! What is all this talent rubbish? The only talent you need is hard work. We’ll talk about alternative careers later. For now you just stop this whimpering and get your arse in gear. You can’t give up after all this time, after all this expense, after all I’ve done to bring you here and to look after you.’ The room quivered with his indignation. His mouth was opening and closing as if he was gasping for air, as if his rage had taken him unawares. I could not prevent my lips from trembling. It was not from fear of pain but from the tension his rage provoked in me.
‘I won’t pass the exams,’ I said carefully, to disguise the quivering of my lips. Uncle Amir stiffened, restraining himself. ‘I can’t study this material,’ I continued slowly. ‘I’ve been missing classes all term. I haven’t completed assignments for a long time. It’s pointless.’
Uncle Amir looked at me without speaking for a moment, his face slowly swelling. Then when it seemed as if he would start shouting again, he took a deep breath and turned his back on me. They must train them to do that in diplomat school. After a few seconds he turned round and, in a calm hard-edged voice, said, ‘You impudent little shit, you will do as I say, and you will go back to class and revise every day and pass your exams or I will crack your head open. Who do you think you are? You must have inherited some idiot genes from your father. Go up to your room and get started on your revision now … go!’
I went, of course, because the alternative was to leave the house and I had not thought what I would do if it came to that. I had hoped he would listen and get angry with me because that was his way and because I deserved it, and afterwards say to me, all right, let’s see how we can move on with this. For the next several days he did not speak to me at all except to ask me in a bark if I had attended classes, while Auntie Asha encouraged me with little lectures and admonitions. I did as I was told because I had no option. He was my guarantor and my financier and could have had me expelled from the country at will, so I went back to classes and did the assignments as best I could. Auntie Asha asked me questions about my college tasks and must have sent back good reports because after a while Uncle Amir offered me haughty words of encouragement: Keep it up, my boy.
Auntie Asha said to me: ‘Your uncle is doing this as much for your mother as for you, you must remember that. It isn’t only yourself you have to think of.’ When she saw how well her encouragement was working and how dutifully I sat at my desk in those miserable weeks, some of her trust in me returned and she spoke more gently, took pity on me and even brought me a cup of tea now and then. I must have found the self-abasement satisfying in some way because there were times when I offered additional gratuitous cringing when it was not even required. I said one day that I did not deserve this kindness that they were showing to me and Auntie Asha glowed with righteousness. ‘Well, I told you, it’s for your mother as well as for you,’ she said.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, my notes and books in front of me, and Auntie Asha was putting pots and pans away and wiping down the kitchen surfaces while dinner was cooking. It was like an invitation and I could not resist. ‘But you don’t owe her anything,’ I said.
I expected her to see through my probing ruse and change the subject, but after a long considering silence, she made a decision. She came over to the table and said, ‘Well, in a way, your uncle does owe her, I suppose. Do you remember, I told you about that time when we were almost in trouble, when we first got together?’