By lunchtime, the numbing effects of shock had worn off and the full realization of just how out of control I was beginning to creep in. I felt like I had been repeatedly hit with a two by four. Back in Toronto when I had done my practice teaching in a tough Parkdale school, I thought that the kids were pretty bad. I was sworn at, kicked, and spat upon, but still felt that I was basically getting somewhere. Now, eating my chicken sandwich, hiding behind my locked door that first lunch hour, I longed for that class of sweet little innocents that I’d had in Toronto. It wasn’t that the children of the Medellin Academy would swear at or kick me. They were far too well mannered and duplicitous for any such straightforward contempt. Instead, I had the sense that any sort of authority or command that I might have initially had began to erode the moment the blue track-suited hordes invaded my orderly little room.
Perhaps the biggest thing was the fact that they did not speak English. They could speak English, or at least a garbled, mutated version of it, but it was more that they preferred to speak Spanish. As soon as I would say anything, there was a flurry of chirping voices, seeming to dissect or ridicule what I had said, but in no way adhering to its wishes. Rather, there seemed to be a running commentary on me and what I was doing. I felt like a birthday clown hired for some spoiled brat party. I had never before felt such an erosion of personal worth and dignity. As I chewed my sandwich and licked my wounds in the corner of my room where nobody could see me through the little window in the door, somebody knocked. I froze, swallowed calmly, and got up to see who it was. Mavis. I let her in.
“So how’s the first day?”
“Terrible. They are monsters.” She threw her head back and laughed.
“I’m serious. I don’t know that I can do this. I really don’t.”
“They got you on the ropes, huh? Listen Gerry. Don’t screw around. You’ve got to sit on these kids. You’ve got to own their spoiled rotten little souls. Scare the shit out of them Gerry. Make em think you’re nuts. Scream a little. Throw things around. Send the ringleaders to my room and I’ll break their little balls. But for god’s sake don’t show that droopy, beaten face to those kids. They’re like dogs; they smell the fear on you and they won’t stop until they’ve got you beat. Last year, the grade 9 English teacher? Went nuts. Had to be removed. The kids of that year prided themselves on the fact that they drove her out. It’s an us against them mentality Gerry, and make no mistake about it, that’s the way it is.”
“Had to be removed? What the hell does that mean?”
“She was playing them easy like you are Gerry, and they drove her nuts.”
“I don’t think I can take this.”
“Well what are you going to do about it?”
“This place doesn’t own me. I’ll leave.”
“Break contract?”
“Sure. I don’t need anything from this dump to get another job. It’s like it never existed.”
“Where’s your passport Gerry?”
“In my house, no wait. Catalina has it. She needs it for a few weeks while they’re processing my internal I.D card.”
“That’s a good one. Try asking for it back, Gerry. See what she says.”
The chicken and mayonnaise curdled in my stomach.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you straight up that you are not going to get your passport back until you’ve finished the first year of your contract at least.”
I said nothing. My face must have said it all. Mavis put her hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, uncomprehending. Or not wanting to comprehend what I was starting to comprehend. Lipstick was stuck to her teeth. She was wearing a shade of brown today. The effect was terrible. The curdled chicken sandwich was starting to rise in my gorge. I hiccupped and tasted it, the sweetness of the mayonnaise, a hot grain of pepper, the acidic sourness of bile. I swallowed.
“They can’t do that. It’s my passport. I’m a Canadian citizen… They can’t do that. Can they?”
“Gerry, they can, they will, and they did. The bitch of it is? It’s 100 percent legal. They’ll never tell you about that at the job fair, but there’s some loophole that the school uses to manipulate some law on the books here dealing with foreign workers. It was written god knows when to deal with migrant workers. Miners, Coca harvesters. Whatever. Anyway, you’re not the first chump to have been sold a bill of goods about working here and then wanted to leave. You waive your rights for a year when you get here. The school will keep your passport. That’s that.”
“That’s complete bullshit. I didn’t sign anything.”
“Yes you did. Probably back in Canada at the job fair. And you signed again for sure at the airport on your way in to this nut ranch.”
An imposing stack of papers drifted back into my memory, signing them was lost in a blur of Catalina, her cleavage, and elation at having been hired. I also remembered signing several important looking documents at the airport under the scowling eye of a pimply youth brandishing what looked like an automatic shotgun, if such a thing exists.
I sat on a desk.
“Well fuck them. I won’t come to work. I’ll sit around for a year. Anything. But I sure as hell won’t come up here.”
“Gerry. Listen to yourself. Do you think you’re the first one who’s discovered themselves in this position? Do you think these conniving bastards haven’t figured out every possible angle? Come on. If you don’t come to work, then you are no longer entitled to your nice apartment. You do not get paid. And the best part? You’re in breach of contract, and even though I’ve never heard of it going this far, they can sue your ass and put you in jail. Think about that. A jail. Down here? No Gerry, they’ve got you; they’ve got all of us, by the short and curlies. But look on the bright side.”
“I fail to see any bright side.” The initial surge of hope, the adrenaline from the fight or flight reflex was seeping out of my pores. I felt like a shriveled balloon found under the furniture long after the party is over.
The bright side is that they’re dumb Gerry. They don’t know of any other way of keeping people here other than putting a gun to their heads. If you play it smart, you can own this place. They want you to jump through a few hoops. Big deal. You make some money. You enjoy the country.”
“Enjoy the country? This place is fucking nuts! And this job? These kids? There are no words Mavis! There are no fucking words!!”
“That’s good Gerry! Keep that! That’s what you need to have when you’re in front of those little monsters. Squash them. Go at them with guns blazing. That’s the one thing in your corner. All of the adults in these kids’ lives cater to them. They’re too afraid of losing their jobs to ever cross them. You can. It shocks the hell out of them and takes the wind right out of their sails. They’re not used to it. But you’ve got to lay it on thick Gerry, give them both barrels. If you don’t get them in the first couple of days, you never will. Be strong Gerry. Just remember, you’ve got the upper hand, but it doesn’t mean shit unless you play it.”
I slumped on the desk, looking at the floor. I wondered if the tiles were exactly one square foot. They looked pretty close to twelve inches. I heard the door open and click shut as Mavis left. My head hurt. I probably needed to drink more water. How high up in the mountains was this school anyway? My thoughts were broken by the brutal clanging of the bell. I closed my eyes and summoned all of my anger and frustration. Throwing out everything that I had learned about teaching children, I prepared to direct their way a stream of vitriol and rage that would wither any living thing. Mess with me, and I’ll fucking crush you. I will annihilate you. Bring it on.
