At school, aside from a few isolated incidents, I was making headway with my tough soviet line. My avatar of a heartless Vladimir, raised in the tundra by a pack of wolves, was proving a strong ally. Especially with my Year 9s.
I had finally met the notorious Mehdi Mazouani. He hadn’t shown his face at school since the beginning of term.
Then the deputy head, Monsieur Diaz, pinned a message on the noticeboard: ‘Mehdi Mazouani will be rejoining us at the end of October. Champagne.’
It didn’t take me long to discover the reason for his sarcasm.
I asked Diaz where this student had been for the past two months.
‘Look, his father’s… one of a kind… so he sent his son back to the old country to tighten a few loose screws. Those are his words.’
At 15 and a half, Mehdi Mazouani is the oldest and tallest in his year group. When he walked into my class for the first time, he had a defiant look in his eye, a cigarette wedged behind one ear and the beginnings of a beard.
He sat at the back of the class, dumped his backpack on the table and started tagging with Tippex.
If you analyse where students choose to sit in class it can 157lead to some highly deterministic conclusions. At one level, they’re already choosing their standing in the world.
Luckily, there are always exceptions to the rule.
I asked the other students to recap what we’d studied so far. As usual, Sarah Zerdad, one of the front row faithfuls (and the big sister of Asma, the little asthmatic girl in my Year 7 class) was the first to raise her hand.
‘We looked at how to construct an argument, sir!’
‘Yes! And can you explain what an argument is?’
‘An argument means explaining and giving evidence to support an idea…’
‘Excellent, Sarah!’
Mehdi Mazouani raised his eyebrows without bothering to glance up from his Tippex work of art.
As long as he doesn’t disturb my lesson, I thought, but realised how cowardly I was being. So I went for it.
‘Mehdi, we’re re-capping on the lessons for your benefit. Please sit appropriately, put your bag on the floor and take off your jacket!’
He did as he was told, without batting an eyelid.
Once he was sitting properly, he broke into a sneer. ‘Like, do I even givva-shit? This is bare long, innit.’
Armoured vehicle. Tank. Armoured vehicle.
‘Kindly change your tone of voice when speaking to me.’
‘Why? Who even are you man? What’s your life to me, wesh? You aint my dad, innit, so don’t talk to me, yeah.’
‘I’m your French teacher and you’re to speak to me with respect, is that clear? To start with, you should be addressing me as ‘Sir’!’
‘Or what? You think I’m scared of you? Come outta my way, man, like it’s not so deep.’
‘If you continue like that, I’ll have to report you to the Head.’ 158
‘Go on then! These roolz are wack anyway, innit? Like ’low it, man, I swear. Do I even givva-shit?’
He was making chewing-gum out of the words ‘givva-shit’.
‘Don’t bust my balls, wesh. I’m here already, innit. Tfffff. Who are yoouuu, fam?! Raaaah, I swear, is this guy for real?’
Immodium. Immodium. Immodium.
I’d have given anything for a talented film director to intervene.
Cut! CUT! We’ll do a retake, okay! This isn’t working, kiddos, let’s try again! Mourad, sweetie, I didn’t believe in you! Stand your ground, be authoritative! We need to sense you holding it together – you were too fragile there, lovey… Right, let’s go again, and this time show us your tough side. All right, poppet? You’ve got to be a wall, I want a wall in front of me! That’s the idea! Think Berlin Wall, think breeze-blocks, think bricks and mortar, okay? Mehdi, darling, perfect, don’t change a thing, so raw, the tough kid with no scruples… genius! Do exactly the same again, I love the emotion you’re giving it! Make-up, can we powder a few faces before they start going shiny! Thank you! Right! Can someone get me a coffee, for fuck’s sake?! I’ve been asking for the past hour! Where did that intern go…? What’s his name again? Amadou? Amadi? Kid like that should jump at an opportunity like this. All right, everyone ready? Let’s go! Lights… Camera… Action!
But Mehdi carried on tagging his backpack with his wretched Tippex tube that was at the end of its life, squeezing it every which way to extract the final drops.
While the other students were enjoying the show, I was picturing them turning their thumbs down to signal I should be put to death.
‘You’ll stay behind at the end of class, Mehdi, I’d like a word with you in private.’ 159
‘Yeah, yeah… whatevva… like do I even givva-shit?’
Sarah’s eyes, big and shiny as two moons, met mine. In them, I read the despair of the good student. I recognised her exasperation at having-it-up-to-here. My own eyes were filled with that feeling too, at the same age.
I tried to finish off my lesson as best I could by ignoring Mehdi’s multiple provocations.
Aladji, one of the jokers in the middle rows, read out a text about a sailing resort. He said ‘yacked’ instead of ‘yacht’, which got a laugh from the five intellects in the class.
When the bell finally rang, it boomed inside my ribcage in Dolby surround sound.
The students filed out of the classroom in clusters of twos and threes.
As for Mehdi Mazouani, he stood out as a lone wolf. They’re an odd species but I can spot them straight away. I’m similar, but in the lamb version.
Of course, he made a show of leaving. He walked slowly, knowing I’d call him back, banking on it even.
‘Mehdi, you’re staying with me for a minute!’
He was staring indifferently at his fingers, which were covered in Tippex.
‘I’ll level with you: I don’t want to carry on like this for the rest of the year.’
‘True dat. Don’t wanna be here neither.’
‘Really? So you want to leave school?’
‘Yeah, fam. This place does my head in.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘Dunno. Man aint decided yet.’
‘Well, I think it’s stupid.’
‘You calling me stupid?’
‘I think it’s stupid throwing your life away like this.’
‘Like do I even givva-shit? S’cool, my life’s trashed, wesh.’ 160
‘What makes you say that? You’re only 15!’
‘You for real, sir, with all the questions?’
His use of ‘sir’ hadn’t slipped my notice.
‘Yes, I’m for real.’
‘You blatantly have not met my old man.’
‘No, I haven’t yet had that pleasure.’
Pleasure? Raaah! I’m not here to tell you my lifestory, you get me. So, you gonna rat on me, or what? I’ve seen the bigman four times since Monday so, like, do I even givvashit?
‘No, I’m not going to report you, but we’re going to make a pact, you and I. You may not want to be here, but plenty of students are keen to attend my lessons. So from now on I want you to behave calmly in my classroom, please, and then I won’t ask too much of you.’
‘Yeah, yeah, calm.’
‘Agreed? Can I count on you?’
‘It’s caaaalm, man. Hey, your whip gets ratings! C Class, sir! Leather seats! That is claaass.’
I thought of the expression, ‘Necessity knows no law’.
If I ask the minimum of him, and this leads to peace, perhaps he’ll want to give a bit more?
We’ll see what happens, I reflected, but for now… like do I even givva-shit?