Free A King in Hiding by Fahim Page B

French championship first. Then I’ll be selected for the French team and the Federation will send me to the European championships. This is my dream, my secret dream. I never tell it to a soul, for fear it might not come true.

Chapter 9
    EVERYONE’S CONVINCED

    E ven Fred’s optimistic. The tribunal has sent its report, our application is strong, we’re going to get asylum. All the same, Xavier and some of the club members get together to pay for a good lawyer for us. My father is impatient for the hearing. He can’t wait to get his ‘papers’ so he can look for a job and find us somewhere to live. I’m calm and confident: I know everything’s going to work out.

    XP : After OFPRA had turned down his application, which was more or less routine, Nura had to lodge an appeal with the Cour Nationale du Droit d’Asile. I was struck from the outset by his confidence, and by that of Frédéric, the social worker at the hostel.
    It was true that France had everything to gain by granting asylum to Fahim. As Jean-Pierre Rosenczveig, president of the children’s tribunal at Bobigny, told him with a touch of cynicism:
    â€˜If you offer us the prospect of an Olympic medal, even a bronze, but better still a silver or gold, your situation will be regularised within a fortnight. Within a month you will be surprised to discover that your grandfather was French, and afterwards your father as well. Then hot on their heels, you too will become French. France is prepared to sell her soul for a medal!’
    So in order to cover all bases I mobilised the French Chess Federation, which produced a magnificent letter:
    â€˜Fahim plays to an exceptional standard, and he is currently the best under-10 player in France. His undeniable contribution can only enhance the reputation of the Federation. Given his level of attainment, it is highly probable that he may represent France at international competitions such as the European and world championships.’

    The big day arrives: 21 April 2010. I put on my favourite tracksuit, the white one. My father gets dressed up in his best clothes too. The hearing is in the afternoon. Lots of people come with us: friends from the hostel, both Bangladeshis and others, members of the chess club, Frédéric, Marie-Jeanne and even a director of the French Chess Federation. I didn’t know we had so many friends in France.
    â€˜Don’t worry, Nura, it’ll all be fine.’
    â€˜With an application like that, what can go wrong?’
    â€˜Honestly, it’ll be a piece of cake.’
    Everyone is smiling. Everyone except my father, who is overawed. At three o’clock we go into the courtroom. Behind a big table sit three judges, two women and a man. I’m surprised, as I thought judges wore robes and wigs, but these ones are in ordinary clothes. A man reads out from a sheet of paper, then our lawyer speaks. Afterwards, the judges ask my father questions and an interpreter translates. When my father doesn’t understand the question he nods his head, and the judges think he’s saying yes. When he understands he answers their questions, describing our life in Bangladesh, talking about me, about chess and tournaments. He gives good answers. I’m glad that no one asks why I was in danger in Dhaka.
    At the end, one of the lady judges says we’ll be informed of the outcome in three weeks’ time. The judges look happy, and so do the lawyer and my father and all our friends. Everyone congratulates my father. In three weeks his name will be posted on the wall, saying ‘Asylum granted’. And we’ll live in France for ten years, twenty years, maybe for ever. And we can bring over … but I can’t let myself think about that.

    Three weeks later, my father and I go back to the tribunal. In the Métro he’s nervous, and I don’t know how to reassure him, so I keep quiet. We get there just as the names are