4

He has black hair. Black eyes. Black jacket. In short, he looks like Darth Vader in Star Wars. The only thing he is lacking is the toxic breath with which to kill students and colleagues. He can’t figure out what to do, because nobody gave him any lesson plans, and Prof Argentieri’s cell is off. Argentieri has a cell phone and she doesn’t even know how to use it. Her kids gave it to her. It even takes photos. She doesn’t have a clue. She finds it useful only for communication with her husband. Yes, because Argentieri’s husband is ill. He has a tumor, poor guy! So many people get tumors. If you get it in the liver, there is nothing you can do about it. You’ve really got to be cursed. And her husband has been struck right in the liver.

Argentieri has never spoken to us about this. Nicolosi, the PE teacher, is the one who told us. Argentieri’s husband goes in for chemotherapy at the hospital of Nicolosi’s husband. Wow! What rotten luck Argentieri has! She is boring, nitpicks to death, and is obsessed with that guy who talks about the fact that nobody can bathe twice in the same river, something that seems so obvious to me. … However, I feel pity for her when she checks her cell to see if her husband is trying to reach her.

Nonetheless, the sub tries to give us a lesson, but, like all subs, he can’t manage it, because, of course, nobody lets him. Actually, this is the right moment to raise hell and to have a good laugh at his expense. At a certain moment, I raise my hand and ask him, with a straight face, “Why did you decide to become a teacher … ” adding, under my breath, “ … a loser?”

Everybody laughs. He doesn’t bat an eyelash, “It’s my grandfather’s fault.”

Now, this guy is really way out there.

“When I was ten, my grandfather told me a story from A Thousand and One Nights.”

Silence.

“But now let’s speak of the Carolingian Renaissance.”

The whole classroom looks at me. I am the one that started this, and I must finish it. They are right. I’m their hero.

“Prof, excuse me, but the story from A Thousand and … you mean that one?”

Someone laughs. Silence. A silence from a Western film. His eyes on mine.

“I thought you didn’t care about learning how one becomes a loser … ”

Silence. I am losing the duel. I don’t know what to say.

“No. In fact, we are not interested.”

In reality, I am interested. I want to know why someone dreams of becoming a loser, then works to make it happen. He even seems happy about it. The others are giving me dirty looks. Not even Silvia approves: “Tell us, Prof, we’re interested.”

Abandoned even by Silvia, I sink into whiteness, while the prof begins his story, with the eyes of one possessed:

“Mohammed el-Magrebi lived in Cairo, in a little house where there was a garden with a fig tree and a fountain. He was very poor. He fell asleep, and he dreamed of a man soaked with water, who was pulling a gold coin out of his mouth and saying to him, ‘Your fortune is in Persia, in Isfahan. … You will find a treasure there. … Go!’ Mohammed woke up and left in a hurry. After a thousand perils, he arrived in Isfahan. Here, while he was looking for some food, dead tired, he was mistaken for a thief.

“They beat him with bamboo canes and almost killed him. Until the captain asked him, ‘Who are you? Where do you come from? Why are you here?’ He told him the truth. ‘I dreamed of a soaking-wet man, who ordered me to come here in search of a treasure. Nice treasure I get! Some beatings!’ The captain laughed and told him, ‘Idiot! And you believe in dreams? Oh … I dreamed three times about a poor house in Cairo, where there is a garden, and beside the garden, a fig tree and beside the fig tree a fountain, and under the fountain an enormous treasure! But I never moved from here, idiot! Go away, you credulous fool!’ The man went back home, and, digging under the fountain of his garden, unearthed the treasure!”

He tells the story with all the pauses in the right places, like an actor. My classmates fell silent, with the pupils of their eyes dilated, like those of Curly when he takes a drag of weed: a bad sign. Just what we needed! A mesmerizing storyteller! I greet the end of the fable with a snicker.

“Is that it?”

The substitute stands up, silent. He sits down on the desk.

“That’s all there is. That day, my grandfather explained to me how we are different from the animals that do only what their nature commands of them. Instead, we are free. It is the greatest gift we have received. Thanks to that freedom, we can become something different from what we are. Freedom allows us to dream, and dreams are the blood of our life, even if it often costs us a long journey and some beatings. ‘Never give up on your dreams! Do not be afraid to dream, even if others laugh at you.’ This is what my grandfather told me. ‘To do so would be to deny yourself.’ I still remember his bright eyes underlining his words.”

Everyone remains silent, in admiration, and it bothers me that this guy here is at the center of attention, when it should be me who is at the center of attention during sub-time.

“What does this have to do with teaching History and Philosophy, Prof?”

He stares at me.

“History is a big pot full of projects realized by men who became great because they had the courage to transform their dreams into reality, and Philosophy is the silence in which these dreams are born. Even if sometimes, unfortunately, these dreams of men were nightmares, especially for those who had to pay a steep price. When dreams are not born in silence, they become nightmares. History—together with Philosophy, Art, Music, Literature—is the best way to discover what Man is. Alexander the Great, Caesar Augustus, Dante, Michelangelo … all men who put their freedom at stake for something better, and, changing themselves, they changed the course of history. In this classroom, perhaps, there could be the next Dante or Michelangelo. … It could even be you!”

The eyes of the prof shine while he speaks of the deeds of small men who became great, thanks to their own dreams, their own freedom. This throws me for a loop, but it upsets me even more that I am listening to this fool.

“Only when Man has faith in that which is higher than his own limits—and this is a dream—does humanity take those steps forward that help it to believe in itself.”

As a line, it’s not bad, but it looks to me like the typical sentence of a young prof who is a dreamer. One year from now, I want to see where you and your dreams will be. This is why I have dubbed him “The Dreamer.” It’s great to have dreams, great to believe in them.

“Prof, to me this is all talk.”

I wanted to understand if he was serious or had simply built his own little world, in order to hide his loser life. The Dreamer looked me in my eyes, and, after a moment of silence, said, “What do you fear?”

Saved by the bell! Just when my thoughts had suddenly become mute and white.