I Love I Hate I Miss My Sister (8 page)

“You mean my scarf,” I say.

How could I have been so naive as to imagine for one second that my decision would be without consequences? I guess I didn’t want to think about it. I thought my good faith would speak for me. Also, they know me at school: they know I’m not here to proselytize. I believed that after a few whispers, my head scarf would go unnoticed.

Was I fooling myself?

“I don’t understand, Ms. Chebli. What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

My cheeks are still red-hot, but I look straight into the teacher’s eyes.

“We’ve already discussed this very topic in class. Have you forgotten the Afghan women who are prisoners in their burkas? Don’t you feel a responsibility toward them and all the women of the world?”

Ms. Lombard has raised her voice. She’s getting carried away. She’s not really expecting an answer from me. All she wants is a sign, a gesture of agreement. But what kind of answer can I possibly give to such a closed-minded and intellectually dishonest question?

“I really don’t understand you, Sohane!” Ms. Lombard goes on. “You’re a brilliant student. You’ve never tried to make yourself conspicuous. You’re a hardworking girl. You
can’t jeopardize your future because of such a stupid decision!”

I do not flinch. I do not respond.

“Ms. Chebli, I’m asking you for the last time to remove your veil. In the name of freedom, I cannot tolerate this in my class!”

If I weren’t so nauseated, I would snigger at this last declaration.

Never mind. I haven’t taken my books out of my bag yet. All I have to do is put my jacket back on and leave.

The teacher bites her lip.

“Sofia, please accompany your friend to Mrs. Desbeaux.”

I am almost at the door when Sofia catches up with me. I open the door and go out. Sofia shuts the door behind us.

Our footsteps echo loudly in the deserted corridor. We hear the voices of teachers, a cough, a laugh. The chief educational advisor’s office is in the other building.

“You should think about what you’re doing, Sohane,” Sofia says.

Sofia has accelerated her steps to keep pace with mine. She puts her hand on my arm.

“Sohane …”

I stop and look at her.

“Yes, Sofia, I’m listening.”

“So?”

“So, I’ve already thought about it. I’m Muslim.”

As I say these words, I realize how sudden and stubborn my decision has been. But I do not want to justify myself.

Sofia does not reply. Her hand is still on my arm. I wish I could thank her.

Mrs. Desbeaux’s office is only a few feet away.

“You don’t have to come with me, Sofia. Don’t worry, I’m not going to flee or go home without permission.”

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

Sofia turns around while I hold my breath. It will surely be easier for me to face the advisor without a chaperone.

I knock on the door.

“Come in.”

I enter. Mrs. Desbeaux is sitting behind her desk, filling out papers. She does not look up right away. I wait.

“Ms. Chebli?” she finally says. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve been expelled from French class, ma’am.”

Mrs. Desbeaux immediately sizes up the situation.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised, Sohane,” she chides me. “You are aware of the law, aren’t you?”

Her tone is patronizing and humiliating. It’s barely eight-twenty, less than an hour since I got to school, and no one has really taken an interest in
me
. I’m merely a head scarf. Where is Sohane Chebli? She has disappeared; she no longer exists. Instead, everyone sees only a teenager seeking attention and scandal. Overnight I have become the symbol of a population born of immigrants. I’m suddenly adrift—the victim of the rise of fundamentalism. It’s possible that some girls started to wear head scarves just to attract attention, or because they were manipulated. But why is it that
no one bothers to talk to me without assuming that my choice is stupid or that I just want to antagonize everyone? “I am Sohane Chebli!” I feel like shouting. “Look at
me
! Look at Sohane Chebli.”

But it is useless.

“I suppose Ms. Lombard asked you to uncover your head and you refused?” Mrs. Desbeaux asks, seemingly resigned. It’s as if she’s been expecting to deal with this kind of problem for a while. And she has a strategy at the ready.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

She takes a pen and scribbles a few words on a piece of paper.

“Go to study hall until nine o’clock. What’s your next class?”

“Econ with Mr. Roussin.”

She nods. “I’ll take advantage of the next thirty minutes to talk to Mr. Roussin. I’ll let you know what we decide. For now, a meeting with the principal seems a must. Do you have anything to say to justify your attitude?”

I shrug. My attitude seems obvious, but to explain it in words …

“I just want to be me. I don’t want to be ashamed of being Muslim and of practicing my religion. I’d like people to accept that. I don’t intend to harm anyone.”

I blurt all this out without taking a breath and try to keep my eyes fixed on hers.

She sighs.

“I’ve made note of it, Sohane. You can go.”

Study hall is almost empty. The supervisor puts Mrs.
Desbeaux’s note on her desk without even reading it and tells me to sit down.

Everything feels unreal—and yet so real at the same time.

I can’t believe this is happening. They can’t do this to me. They’re bluffing—just trying to scare me. But deep down I know that’s not true. I’m going to be expelled. They’re going to get rid of me as if I have a contagious disease.

Strangely enough, time goes by quickly.

At nine, Mrs. Desbeaux walks in and comes straight to me. She looks somber.

“I spoke to Mr. Roussin,” she says. “He insists on abiding by the law and backs Ms. Lombard’s decision. He will not admit you in his class as long as you wear the head scarf. Have you given it more thought?”

I hold my breath before answering. “I want to keep my head covered.”

Mrs. Desbeaux rolls her eyes. “I didn’t think you were so stubborn, Sohane. I can understand your desire to cover your hair—after all, it’s your business—but you cannot do so at school. The law is the law. Wouldn’t it be enough to wear your head scarf outside?”

“That’s not the way it works.”

“Do you realize that you’re putting your future at risk?”

I can’t help thinking,
You’re the one putting my future at risk, not me
.

“And Mr. Lhermitte?” I ask. She must have spoken to the principal as well.

“You’ve got to understand, Sohane. Like us, the principal
is obliged to follow the law. What’s more, he fears that your attitude might incite others. He’s afraid other girls at school will decide to follow your example. He can’t risk having to deal with this problem on a large scale.”

A contagious disease. I was right.

I’m scared now. Terrified. They are going expel me for sure. I still have time to back down, to accept Mrs. Desbeaux’s suggestion that I remove my head scarf. I open my mouth. Suddenly I regret ever having decided to cover my head. I have a grudge against Djelila without knowing exactly why. All it would take is one word to rewind everything. I can continue to divide myself, playing different parts: Sohane, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Chebli; Sohane from the Lilac housing projects; Sohane, senior at Racine High School; Sohane the Muslim; Sohane who wears a head scarf and who removes it.… But why?

“It’s a matter of respecting others, Sohane,” Mrs. Desbeaux says.

And what about respecting me?

No. It’s too late to renounce my beliefs and desires. I cannot deny my true self.

“What happens now?”

“You’ll stay in study hall until the end of the day. We’ll call your parents this evening and ask them to come in.”

“Can I go to the library instead?” I ask.

“You may.”

She agrees willingly. She knows that if I stay in study hall I’ll come into contact with lots of students. In the library, there’s less chance of my contaminating anyone.

I decide to sit in a remote corner of the library. Ms. Fleury has obviously been made aware of the situation. She doesn’t make any comment. She doesn’t even say hello.

I take out my economics book as well as my notepad. I’ve got an essay due next week. It doesn’t matter that I’ll no longer be here; I have nothing else to do. It will make the time go by faster.

I give a start when Sofia sits down next to me. I glance at my watch. Twelve o’clock.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

I fill her in, telling her what Mrs. Desbeaux said. Sofia doesn’t comment.

“Everybody is talking about you, of course.”

I shrug. “It’ll pass.”

“Maybe, but right now you’re the most popular person at school!”

I don’t even want to know details. I just think that if everybody is talking about me, then Djelila must know what has happened. She hasn’t come to see me.

“I have to go,” Sofia says. “Do you want something?”

My stomach is crying out for food, but I shake my head.

Sofia leaves. I’m grateful that she didn’t try to make me change my mind.

“Hey,
psst!
”

I turn around. It’s Djelila. She’s hiding behind the shelves and signals me over.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I just heard about you.”

“I guessed that. Why are you hiding?”

“I was afraid they wouldn’t let me talk to you.”

I smile. “I’m not under house arrest yet,” I tell her.

Djelila takes two apples, three pieces of cheese, and four or five slices of bread out of her jacket pockets and deposits them on the table. From where she stands, Ms. Fleury can’t see us. Fortunately.

“I thought you’d be hungry, so I picked this up in the cafeteria,” Djelila says.

“Thanks.”

“You’re not too afraid?”

“Actually, I am.”

Djelila hugs me and puts a hand on my scarf. I almost forgot about it.

“Can you still meet me at four?” she asks.

“Yes, four o’clock at the Hanky. I’ll be there.”

Djelila winks. “Good. And I’ll visit you again later on.”

“OK. But don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you, Sohane. You’re my big sister.”

I, too, was worried—worried about you, Djelila.

Your friends haven’t left. I can hear them whispering on the landing.

I have not moved.

Maybe because I can’t move anymore.

My mind is swimming with memories that weigh heavily in the pit of my stomach and prevent me from moving. My arms, legs, head—my entire body is as heavy as lead. I could stay here. I could stay here forever.

There was a period when you were about eleven or twelve when you were often sick. Never anything serious, but with a high-enough fever to make Mom keep you home. At night, you coughed and I would get up to hold you in my arms. You nestled against me. I would put my hand on your forehead.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” I would say.

Before bringing it to your lips, I would press it against your cheeks to cool them.

“Thank you, Sohane,” you managed to say before a new coughing fit started.

I was scared for you. When you dozed off, I tried to stay awake to check on your breathing, but I ended up falling asleep too.

In the morning, you were calm. Usually you were asleep when I left for school. I knew that Mom had already used all of her sick days and couldn’t stay home anymore. She had to go to work. She wasn’t absent long, just between eleven and three o’clock, for her job at the hospital. So I would come back home at lunchtime. I devised a system so I could sneak out of school without being spotted. At twelve sharp, I dashed out of class so I’d be the first to reach the cafeteria, but I didn’t eat. On my tray, I put things that would fit easily in my pockets—bread, cheese, fruit—and then I slipped out and ran as quickly as possible away from school. It wasn’t too difficult, because at that time of day the supervisors were busy checking on the cafeteria and schoolyard. I ran all the way home. I was out of breath. You were waiting for me. You knew I wouldn’t let you down. We ate together on your bed and I told you what had happened at school. You laughed and coughed. I put my hand on your forehead, just like Mom would have done, to make sure your temperature hadn’t spiked. I gave you your medicine, and then I ran back to school
so I wouldn’t miss my first afternoon class. We never told anyone. It was our secret.