The teacher looked down at the textbook on the desk, then spoke to the class. “The next poem in our book is Ibn al-Rumi’s masterpiece on the devastation of war. In this poem, he describes how the Zanj laid waste to the great city of Basra. How the rebels destroyed its schools and mosques. Now, you will notice there is a tension between the beautiful imagery of the lines and the ugliness of the subject matter – which is death and destruction. Consider this.”
The chalk shrieked across the blackboard as the teacher began to write out lines from the middle of the poem. Most of the cadets covered their ears as they exchanged looks of disbelief, as they did during every poetry lesson. Muhsin focused on the powdered words taking form on the black slate.
Exchanged, those palaces, for mounds and hills
Of ash and piles of dirt.
Fire and flood are lorded upon them
And their columns collapsed into nothingness
Muhsin was not aware his mouth was moving until the words were out, “Don’t you mean into total ruin?”
The teacher turned around slowly and stared in disbelief.
Muhsin’s mouth moved again. “Sir, don’t you mean, And their columns collapsed into total ruin?”
The teacher put down the chalk and walked over to the desk. His fingers unconsciously touched the peak of his cap before he spoke. “And perhaps Cadet Muhsin would like to tell us why he is interrupting the lesson today?”
“Sir, if I remember correctly, the last words of the line are into total ruin. I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir.”
The teacher looked at his textbook and then looked up again, the anger on his brow more intense. “If you had been right, I would have forgiven the interruption. But if you look at the textbook, you will notice that the word is nothingness.”
The other cadets glanced at the page and then at Muhsin.
“I’m sorry, sir. But I think there’s a mistake in the book then.”
“And why do you think that?”
“That doesn’t fit the meter, sir.”
The class watched the teacher’s fingers move on a strange abacus as he slowly read the line over out loud.
“No, it scans perfectly. Thank you, Cadet. Let’s move on.”
“Actually, it doesn’t scan, sir. It’s the light meter, correct? Listen.” As Muhsin read the words back to the class, the mistake in the textbook showed itself.
“Total ruin doesn’t only make more sense in the context of the meaning, it actually fits the meter in this case. Sir. And this is a central part of the tension of the poem – using the light meter to talk about such a heavy event.”
Red-faced, the teacher sat down in his chair and closed the book. “You need to learn basic respect, Cadet Muhsin, even when you believe you are in the right. Please report to the Director’s office.”