Due to the demands of a trans-continental move, the renovating of a house, and the rearing of an 8 month old baby, the saga of Gerald Thurlington will be suspended for a few months. If you have been following along, thank you so much and please know that in the fall things will start rolling again. If you would like to be notified by email when this happens, please email me at: geraldthurlington@yahoo.com
Have a great summer.
The morning after the staff meeting, an email marked urgent summoned me to the office of Mr. Gardiner. Intrigued, I went directly down. His secretary was not there yet, and the door to his inner sanctum was open. I knocked lightly. Mr. Gardiner’s head snapped up from his desk.
“Ah. Jeremy!! Please come in.”
“Gerry, sir.”
“Of course! I’m sorry. Gerry. Yes. Gerry. Please come in.” Mr. Gardiner poked his head into the hallway and closed the door to the reception room. He then closed the door to the inner sanctum. His manner, jumpy and nervous, was in stark contrast to what it had been the last time I had visited his hallowed halls. His appearance was decidedly different as well. A light bluing of stubble colored his jaw. The knot of his tie was askew and his pants needed pressing. Clearly, all was not well.
“Gerry. I’m going to give it to you straight. Can you take it straight Gerry?”
“Yes sir.”
“They’ve got me on the ropes Gerry and I need your help.”
“My help, sir?”
“Yes. I need all the help I can get and let me tell you, I’m a man who remembers his friends. When this blows over Jeff, I’m going to know who was with me and who was against me and we’ll see what tune the fat lady sings then. Won’t we?”
“I’d be happy to help you sir, but I’m not exactly sure what I can do.”
“I need a man in the field Jeff, a man on the ground. I’ll be frank. Can I be frank, Jeff?”
“Gerry, sir.”
“I’m sorry. Yes. Gerry. Can I be frank Gerry?”
“Please do sir.”
“I need Elaine out of the picture.” With that, he let out a big breath, leaned back in his chair and observed me closely.
“Do you mean literally, or in a more figurative sense sir?”
“She’s after my job Gerry. I came in here and took the job that she thought of as being rightfully hers. She’s pulling a coup Gerry. She’s got all the parents on her side and she’s doing her damndest to smear my good name. I need her out of the picture.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I’m not sure what you would like me to do.”
“I want you to find all the dirt you can on her. I want you to rake her over the coals. Gerry, I want you to humiliate her and make her suffer.” Gardiner’s face was red with malice Look, you know that we are accredited by the Association of American Schools. It’s one of the big reasons why parents send their kids here, in order for them to receive the equivalent of American High School diplomas when they leave.”
I nodded.
“Can I trust you Gerry?”
“Yes sir, I’ve already said that…”
“No, can I really trust you? I mean are you with me or against me on this?”
“I’m with you sir.”
“Well, the A.A.S representative is coming in two weeks to audit the school.”
“Really?” I was beginning to have an inkling of what Dr. Gardiner was after.
“The best part Gerry?”
“Yes sir?”
Eyes glowing, he dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned over the desk.
“She doesn’t know. I just found out yesterday, before the coup. She doesn’t know!” He looked around fearfully, then back at me with a wolf-like grin.
“I think I’m starting to follow you sir.”
“Gerry, your job is two-fold. Firstly, find dirt. Dig dirt. Make dirt. Smear dirt. Secondly, throw as many monkey wrenches around as you possibly can. When that inspector comes, I want this place to be in a worse shambles than it already is. I’m going to be back, Gerry. I’m down, but I’m not out. If you stick by me I can assure you I will remember it when I ‘m back behind the wheel. Will you help me?”
“Sir, I’m ninety percent there. Can I mull it over for a bit and get back to you?” This was major stuff.
“You’ve got till the end of the day. But silence Gerry. For god’s sake silence.”
“Yes sir. You can count on me.”
The staff room was vibrating with hushed rumor and furtive buzz. Elaine had certainly managed to stir the pot. There were a wide variety of new signs (Elaine was always big on the blatant use of the printed word) that festooned the walls. “MAKE SURE YOUR PLANS ARE UP TO DATE.” “SUPERVISION DUTY STARTS AT THE BELL, NOT WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE IT.” “THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS.” “THE LORD HELPS THOSE WHO HELP THEMSELVES.” Etc.. The polarization of the staff had begun. Two camps sat huddled at two different tables, whispering and exchanging pointed glances. At one table sat Mavis, Jamie, Amy, and Juan Ricardo. At another sat Gregorio, Alex, Craig, Steven, and Jade.
I have always felt a strange sense of calm elation when things go awry and chaos rears its head. This was exactly such a time. Feeling buzzed on the general discord, I pulled up a chair and sat down beside Jade at the second table.
“So how’s it going guys?” My arrival was greeted with varying degrees of surprise and distaste. Various grunts answered my question and then an awkward silence fell over the table. The Poet was the first to break the silence.
“So Gerald, have you visited any good prostitutes lately?”
“Why Craig, are you having a hard time finding female company?”
“No, but you are.”
“No, you are.”
“No, you are.”
“What?”
“What?”
“Gerald, you’re a loser. Go soak your head.”
”Gerald, you’re a loser. Go soak your head.”
“You see?”
“You see?”
Craig was turning a signature shade of red, but to his credit he did not get completely flustered by my childish idiocy. He simply got up and left. The rest of the table quickly followed suit, and I was left sitting with Alex, who for once had nothing to say. After an awkward moment in which his tongue failed him, Alex left with a whimper.
“Better go check the music inventory.”
“Good idea Alex. Don’t let it get away on you. God speed Alex.”
“Ha.” One table cleared, I approached the other.
“Dude, what was that all about?” Jade was intently examining the tips of her dreadlocks.
“Just trying to be friendly.”
“Gerry, you’re an ass.” Amy stood up.
“You’re not going to take off on me too are you?” Wordlessly she packed up the rest of her lunch and pushed past me. I sat down in her recently occupied chair.
“So have you heard the latest?” Juan Ricardo was looking at me with a strange expression.
“No. What.”
“The unofficial rumor is that you are going to be suspended…”
“Glory Be!!”
“…with no pay…”
“I’ve got a few pesos put away.”
“…and fined 500.000 pesos for failure to comply with contractual obligations.”
“What? Only me?”
“Yep.”
“Nobody else?”
“No.”
“Why me?”
“The age old question Gerry.” Jamie spoke through a mouth full of mashed potato.
“Don’t be an idiot. You know full well why.” Mavis spoke through a cynical smile, her fierce blue eyes dazzling inside the black areola of mascara.
“It’s only a rumor”, Juan David offered diplomatically.
“One rumor of many. If I were you though, I’d take it seriously. Your attitude precedes you. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to kiss the boss’ ass? Rule number one.” Jamie belched.
“Well, rumors may be flying, but I’ve heard a few things myself.” I was trying to suppress it, but it came out. I always sucked at cards or any kind of secret. Luckily, no one was really paying attention as at that moment, Elaine came in. Her new sense of empowerment called for a new look and Elaine’s hair was dyed a sort of mottled blond/red/marmalade. She was also wearing what appeared to be a brand new muumuu.
“Elaine, I like what you’ve done with your hair. It’s very… now.”
The mole eyes glared at me. “Don’t patronize me Thurlington. My office. Now.” With a shrug, I followed her retreating bulk, the polyester of her muumuu making a soft swishing sound as she waddled.
Well there’s nothing like a fresh scandal to divert unwanted attention somewhere new. I’m no longer the pariah de jour. Today we had a big surprise school meeting. There is always one kind of meeting or another; usually ending with lost in translation/tower of Babel acrimony, but today is special. It is a whole school meeting. The lower, middle, and high schools are all being brought together by Mr. Gardiner to address some concerns that have been brought to light. These concerns mainly stem from the fact that it is being alleged that he is mismanaging the school. Better yet, some parents are stating that he has received his accreditation from a cereal box. A lot of people still avoid me, but Mavis has started talking to me again and as we sat on folding metal chairs in the freezing cold elementary gymnasium the buzz of rumour was all around us.
“I hear that there has been some sort of coup within the board of directors. They want his head.”
“…he never went to college…”
“…they can’t do that….”
“…did you see what he was wearing yesterday? I like….”
“… but his wife is the one who really pissed them off…”
“…I think it’s a beagle…”
“…his head is on the block and he knows it….”
“…I prefer a sharper cheese…”
“What do you think Mavis?”
“It’s not what I think, it’s what is. Here’s the deal. The board that runs this school, runs this school. Period. They’re a hodgepodge of bigwig business people, crooks, b-grade politicos and bored billionaire housewives. For some reason, this school carries some kind of prestige for these lowlifes. It’s like wearing Tommy Hilfiger to them. They don’t care if it’s a piece of garbage; it’s the name, the brand that counts. They fight like mongrels at the dump to be at the top of this shitpile.”
“So what does that have to do with Gardiner?”
“Gardiner threw in his lot with the wrong crew of shitheads. He made the wrong friends. See, they elect the board every two years. He got his information wrong and sided with the wrong team. Now that this crew is in, they want him out.”
“Because he’s an idiot?”
“Come on Gerry. You’ve been here long enough. They’re happy to have a moron as a figurehead.”
“But why axe him then? If you want a moron as a figurehead you couldn’t do better than Gardiner.”
“Vengeance. He was against them. He needs to be axed. Period.”
A squeal of feedback announced Gardiner stepping up to the microphone. He tapped it several times nervously, immaculately turned in cream colored pants, dark jacket, and tie. After clearing his throat, he began to speak, reading with his head down from the crisp pages of a prepared speech.
“Good morning to everyone. I’m glad that you could all be here, even if the reason for my having called this meeting brings me great sadness. Today I am overcome with enormous grief and worry for the way events have transpired at the School and by the people who would have me abandon my position and retreat from the field. As some of you may already know, we face a new and unfortunate threat which has just materialized…”
“We?” Mavis hissed in my ear.
“Yesterday, members of the board of directors and their legal team promoted the signing of a petition by the parents of the school community with their intention being to, and I quote, “to enforce the retirement from his position at the Medellin Academy Mr. Gardiner and as a consequence, to cease payment immediately for services rendered.” In short they want me to abandon you, to leave you alone and at the mercy of a group of people who are hostile to your interests. Let me make it clear. My interest lies in this fine school and in you, the fine teachers we have hand picked for the valuable work you do. Ladies and Gentlemen. I was selected by means of an honest, transparent, and participative process. I was invited to arrive at this school to collaborate in forming a rigorous system of academic achievement, personal excellence, and strong values. I now stand before you, laid low…”
Glancing over at Mavis, her head was down and her shoulders were shaking. It was catching. I felt like I was back in grade 5.
“…I am now being unjustly attacked. I have been smeared and harassed. My integrity has been slandered and my good name raked through the muck. I came to this school with nothing but the best of intentions and the most honorable ideals. Now, it is my darkest hour. I am beset by jackals that are attacking my flanks and nipping at my heels…”
Mavis jabbed me in the ribs, her face red with contained laughter. It was infectious. I was starting to lose it.
“…I implore you, my noble colleagues and most worthy fellow educators, to take the side of righteousness and to aid me in striking down my enemies who would have me destroyed….
By now, Gardiner’s voice was wavering, thick with a torrent of emotion bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t until this point that I noticed his wife in the first row, wringing her hands and beaming up at her man.
“…And light shall prevail over darkness. And with your help I will see to it that the ways of the evildoers do not go unpunished…”
It was around this point that the buzz of whispering and quiet commentary stopped. The room became eerily quiet, except for the reverberating voice of the impassioned and increasingly improvisational Mr. Gardiner, the content of his speech becoming more and more fire and brimstone. Looking around, I saw much the same expression on all of the faces in the room: a frightened sort of confusion. The sort of look people have when a stranger starts convulsing in front of them.
“…And as my witnesses I am here to tell you that righteousness will triumph in this struggle that we face against those who would oppress us. Do not lose heart in these dark times my friends. Together, we shall overcome!!!”
Evidently, this was the finale. Mrs. Gardiner jumped to her feet, applauding wildly. The two hands sounded like a squirrel tap dancing on the roof. The rest of the echoing hall was silent. Gardiner peered up from his stylish black rimmed reading glasses. As the patter of his wife’s applause faded away, he had the good sense to simply return to his seat. The stage was left empty. The staff started whispering and mumbling amongst themselves, nobody sure what to do. The Spanish speaking teachers, having absolutely no idea what had just been said looked worried. For all they knew everybody had just been fired or Iran and Israel had just started World War Three. In the deafening silence Gardiner and his wife got up and hobbled out of the gymnasium by the side door nearest their seats. The staff remained seating, stunned for a moment, and then the hall exploded. The bewildered staff of the Medellin Academy, a confused, disorderly, and highly vocal mob, clamored for the exits.
Mavis and I remained sitting. We didn’t speak until long after the last of the voices had faded from the gym. I was the first to speak.
“That was pretty creepy.”
“Yeah.”
“How long have you been here again?”
“This is my third year.”
“So you came back voluntarily?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
We sat again for a long time, lost in our own thoughts, looking at the empty stage.
“Must have been some pretty big reason to bring you back here.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Something.”
“Can I join you?”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’ll call you later then.”
Mavis grunted an acknowledgement, lost in her own thoughts. The shriek of my metal chair echoed in the empty cavern. I looked over my shoulder at the door to see Mavis, head down, deep inside herself adrift in an empty sea of empty chairs.
All this week we have an “educational consultant” who has been hired by the school in an effort to find out why the scholars that it produces are of such an abysmal calibre. I have no idea what they are paying this woman, but I’m sure it’s a lot. I could have saved them a lot of money by stating the obvious. The students suck because the parents own the school and the school is a business that is making money. And who wants to rock the boat when the money is being made?
Anyway, this woman, Jenny Wobass, is something else. She comes from some pocket in the bowels of the Deep South where vowels are strung together without the frills of consonants, making her words sound like an audible stream of molten cheese. For an educational consultant, she’s remarkably hard to understand. This is compounded by what words actually come out of her mouth. She tosses out terms like “meta-linguistic awareness”, “contrastive analysis”, and “explicit mediation” the way Snoop Dogg spits out “bitch” or “motherfucker.” She also has the unfortunate habit of calling everyone “honey” in a way that drips condescension. She clearly fancies herself quite the mind and is on a mission of mercy here, squandering her pearls on the poor, uninspired, well-meaning but incompetent teachers that we are. The entire English department spent the day with her today in the boardroom, discussing “strategies” for improving the English skills of the kids.
“Aright now, y’all got ten minutes in yer groups to discuss the degree of engagement between the task and the material. Don’t forget now, the domain must be clearly articulated.” With these cryptic instructions, Jenny Wobass left the cramped conference room for destinations unknown.
“I’m not here. This isn’t happening.” Mavis’ hooded eyes were more deeply recessed into her fleshy face than usual. She gave off a faint odour of gin. It looked as though she hadn’t had time to shave this morning and dots of dark stubble poked through from a thick layer of orange-tinted foundation. Needing some extra money, Mavis had applied for the vacant position of English Department Head. As nobody else in their right mind wanted the job, it was hers. As such, she was the liason between a disinterested and demoralized department and the indomitable Jenny Wobass.
“What the fuck are we supposed to be doing?” Jamie looked rough. His purple hair was growing out and a greasy nest of dark roots was at the base of the filthy mess. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.
“This is a fucking joke. Who does this chick think she is? I can’t understand a fucking word she’s saying. Does anyone have any Tylenol?”
I wasn’t feeling too great myself. Even though it was only a Wednesday, I’d been drinking the night before too. Rum and Coke and an endless circling of my available television stations, hoping in vain for something to hook me in besides fake-titted bimbos and badly dubbed b-movies from the states. The whole English department seemed to be hungover. What was happening to us all?
“I think that we’re supposed to be discussing strategies in order to maximize the existent resources of the department while planning for additional support to be implemented in the future. Then Jenny is going to work with us as a group and we’ll get into some discourse analysis”. Craig Donaldson was evidently but not surprisingly the only one in the group who had both the desire and the ability to follow the instructions of our consultant.
“Shut the fuck up Craig.” Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes dripped with contempt.
“Just try and make me.”
With this exchange, a twitter rippled across the table as a collective image of brawny, beef-fed Jamie duking it out with reedy, myopic Craig played in the minds of those who sat around it. Unfortunately, Craig fancied himself a manly sort. He was constantly expounding about his rigorous climbing exploits and various adventures while traveling under constant duress in a never ending list of dark continents and perilous countries. But his endless, danger filled, self praising monologue was at odds with his physical person. Short, weedy, bow-legged and spindly, he looked more like a squinting librarian than a swashbuckling Ernest Hemingway. From behind his thick glasses his magnified eyeballs darted around the room, blinking furiously. To make things worse, Craig was a “POET”. This was another facet of himself that he took great pains to reveal. A passing conversation with him would be littered with names of obscure web-pages and journals in which he had been “published.” He took matters regarding the English language seriously. In fact he pretty much took everything seriously. Very seriously.
With a deep groan and a heavy sigh, Mavis struggled to her feet.
“Okay. Listen everyone. I know that you don’t want to be here. I know that you don’t want to be doing this. But we’re here. So just write down what you have in terms of books and things and if it’s any good. Then write what you would like to have in terms of materials.”
“I’m not sure that’s the angle that Jenny’s fishing for Mavis…”
“You’re mixing your metaphors Craig…”
“Shut up Jamie.”
“Just try and make me.”
A round of laughter. Indignant and red-faced, Craig blustered his way out of the room.
“I don’t care. Just write something. Anything.” Mavis eased back into her seat. I watched the clock above the door. It was only 9:15. We were in for a whole day of this. At first I was looking forward to not having to be in my classroom, thinking anything was better than having to face the animals. I was starting to realize that my thinking had been wrong.
“I’ve got to get out of here Mavis.”
“Don’t we all.”
“No. I mean really. I need to get out of here.”
“Well you’re not going to. You know it. So suck it up.”
“What if I go crazy?”
“You’ll be welcomed to the club.”
“No, I mean really. What if I crack up? Become a total wing job? Start taking off my clothes in front of the class, shitting on desks, that kind of thing?”
Mavis heavily mascaraed eyes rose from the page she was doodling on and met mine.
“They won’t blink an eye honey. And if you do something they don’t like, like shitting on a desk, they’ll arrest you. And you’ve already tried that, haven’t you?”
The door opened and Jenny Wobass drifted back in on a cloud of heavily floral perfume and nicotine.
“How y’all makin’ out? Gittin’ some good stuff?”
I sought mercy from the clock. 9:17. Jenny Wobass caught my eye as it sadly lingered there.
“How ‘bout you, honey? Why don’ yew show me what’cha got?”
“Well, actually I don’t have too much right now; I’ve just been talking, er, discoursing with Mavis about reciprocal reading strategies.”
Mavis shot me an evil look.
“But honey, yew were supposed to be talkin’ ‘bout the engagement with task and material.”
“I know. We sort of got sidetracked I guess.”
“Well, reciprocal reading is a pretty interesting strategy.”
Mavis the department head was seeking redemption for her blank page as well. She waded in.
“I agree Jenny. I’d like to learn more about some reciprocal reading strategies actually.”
“Well, it wasn’t really what I’d intended…”
“I understand, but I think it would be beneficial for our students in improving their language acquisition.”
I rolled my eyes at Mavis and snorted. She kicked me under the table with one of her black orthopedic clod-hoppers.
“Well, maybe if we’ve got some time when we’re finished up here. If y’all are interested that is.”
“Oh we are.” I pitched. “We are.”
Just as I was about to start eating my long anticipated lunch, Maria, the bleeding heart guidance counselor, knocked on my door and entered before I could say go away.
“Hello Mr. Thurlington.” She always called me Mr. Thurlington, never Gerald. The way she said Mr. Thurlington was with a clear note of disdain. A carefully hidden mockery of my name with the stress on the Mr., as if it were a title that I didn’t quite measure up to.
“How can I help you Maria?”
“I would like to talk to you about a few students and their report cards.”
“I’m just about to eat my lunch. Can we do this another time? I’ve got no other break today and I’m supposed to do detention duty.”
“Jane wants me to talk to all of the parents of students who are failing today so that I can phone parents. Sorry. It needs to be now.”
Resignedly, I took a bite of my soggy tuna sandwich. I made no offer of a chair. The bitch could find her own.
“So, first of all I am curious as to why over half of your students are failing.”
I took my time chewing, making sure that I did so at least twenty times. If she wanted to interrupt my fifteen minutes at the trough she could bloody well watch me eat.
“Because they are chronically lazy and don’t do any work. It’s pretty simple actually.” I finished the sandwich, stuffing the remainder of it in my mouth. I chewed with my mouth open, trying to maximize the smacking sounds.
“Well, I think that it is strange that only one or two of these kids are failing in other classes. Yours is the class by far with the most failures. In all of Middle School.”
Opening my second sandwich, I clicked the computer mouse and opened my email account. I took another huge bite and deleted the spam messages from my folder. The tension built in the room. I was being an asshole and enjoying every second of it. I couldn’t help but marvel at this new development. All my life I had assiduously avoided conflict of any sort, and now here I was, hurling logs on the fire.
“Well, do you have anything to say?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were finished. Would you like me to say something?”
Maria stood up. “I guess I’ll just have to tell Elaine that you don’t want to cooperate.”
“I just asked you a question. I’m cooperating.”
With a snort of self-righteousness she was gone. I gulped the remains of my sodden sandwich. I checked the news. Further lies and carnage in the Middle East. Corporate greed scandals, a few token fat cats going to jail. The metallic voice of the bell screamed. The barbarians stormed the gates. Another class was underway.
So the big story on the bus today is that Jade, who teaches grade 4, has been giving the wrong kid Ritalin since school started in August. Apparently Pedro Juan was supposed to get it, but she’d been giving it to Juan Pedro instead. I guess Pedro Juan started doing really well in class and his parents were happy that the meds (that he wasn’t receiving) were doing such a good job of controlling his behaviour. Meanwhile Juan Pedro has turned into a raving nutcase and has taken to eating crayons and stabbing the little girls in his class with scissors. Maybe I can get my hands on some Ritalin. It would certainly make the days more interesting.
The next morning at 6 A.M there was a phone call from the doorman announcing the arrival of “Adela”. Having cleaned the house in preparation for the house cleaner, I was nervous as to how things appeared. I had made sure that I wiped all the pee from the toilets (I had three!) and had hidden the more offensive pieces of laundry under the bed. Now I waited. And waited. More than five minutes passed and I opened my door. Nobody. The elevator lights registered that it was firmly on the first floor and not moving. Where the hell was she? Just then a faint sound drifted into my ears from down the stairwell. A labored wheezing, combined with a slow but rhythmic slapping of flip flops on stone. Surely she wasn’t…? I lived on the eleventh floor! But sure enough, a good five minutes later, one of the tiniest women I have ever seen in my life, ancient and stoop shouldered, conquered the last of the steps and grabbed the railing while she gasped for air.
“Senora? Are you okay? Esta bien?”
“Si….” She whispered/wheezed.
“Adela?”
Again a whisper/wheeze in the affirmative.
“Please… por favor… come in… entrada.” Adela must have been at least 70 years old. She wasn’t more than four feet tall and the second most noticeable thing about her was a profusion of long dark hairs growing out of a tremendous mole on her chin. Adela scuttled past me and into the apartment. She dropped her bag onto the kitchen floor and, still gasping for breath, began filling the sink with soap and water and pulling clean dishes out of the cupboard and literally throwing them into the sink. Conscious of being late for my bus I looked at my watch and saw that I was. Adela’s long arrival had thrown off the precision clockwork of my morning ritual. With a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and lacking the words to give voice to it, I put on my shoes and grabbed my bag.
“Gracias Adela.”
“Si. Si.”
“Hasta luego. See you later.”
“Si. Si.”
The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach only increased as the last thing I heard before the door clicked shut behind me was the distinctive tinkling of broken glass.
When I returned, the first thing that hit me, even before I got my key in the door, was the smell. Burning. Specifically, burning plastic. It was at that moment that I remembered Adela. Until then, the anarchy, riot, and chaos of a typical school day had forced her out of my mind. Nervously, I unlocked the door and opened it slowly. The 70 year old hunchback was perched on my balcony, outside the rail, 11 stories up, washing the outside of the window with one hand while holding on with the other. I had to look away. Nervous that if I startled her, she would plummet to her death, I tried to slip as unobtrusively as possible past the window. She saw me though, and sure enough, she startled, momentarily losing her grip on the railing and only regaining it at the last second before plummeting to her death. I almost had a heart attack on the spot. I’m amazed she didn’t. Maybe her ticker was in good shape from all the stairs she climbed. I felt terrible though, having a great grandmother risking life and limb in order that I might have sparkling clean windows. Venturing into the kitchen, I opened the fridge to grab a beer. The fridge had been completely rearranged, but even after a thorough rooting around, I could not find a single beer. I had bought twelve the previous day. Did she drink them all? Is that what inspired the daredevil window cleaning? More curious than angry, I started looking through the cupboards. Everything was different. Where dishes had been, rice and beans were. Where soap and cleaning supplies had been…. beer was. Twelve cans, all neatly lined up. Twelve very warm cans. I threw a few into the freezer and then cracked one warm. It foamed all over the floor and when I went to look for a rag I noticed the ironing board.
I have never been a huge neat freak. Ironing is something that was done for me as a child, but my pants never saw a crease or my collars a nice neat press again. Until the Medellin Academy. Within the first few days of my being there Elaine had complained about the state of my clothes. As a conscientious and brand new employee eager to please I went out and bought an iron and an ironing board. I had taught myself more or less how to use them, but after a few weeks when I realized that pressing pants and shirts for the Medellin Academy was like washing deck chairs on the Titanic, I stopped and the iron and board had stood unused since. Now however, with the arrival of Adela, the iron was clearly back in service. .
What had once been a green floral printed ironing board cover was now a melted, hardened coating of blackened polyester. The puzzle of the burnt plastic smell was solved. The iron, cord coiled neatly around it’s base, sat on the melted surface, its metal face smeared with polyester, the steam holes clogged with blackened nodules. This discovery propelled me to my closet where no words can adequately describe what I found. I drained the rest of my beer and went directly to the freezer for another.
A strange thing about living here is the blatancy of the class system. In particular, the highly visible servant class who will do pretty much anything you want them to. From hanging your pictures to delivering beer and smokes at three A.M to raising your children; if you want it, and if you have money, there is somebody to do it for you. It is really not too far away from feudalism, which is arguably the most accurate description of the political reality here.
A few days after I was back at school, Catalina called me down to the Human Resources office. When I showed up, her face was an uncharacteristic blank.
“Gerald. Please sit down.”
“Yes m’am”
I sat, reprimanded. As Catalina bent over her desk to organize some loose papers, her blouse gaped dramatically offering a heart stopping glimpse that I dredged up the self-restraint to look away from. She smoothed her skirt and sat down. Something was wrong Maybe the parent council… Shit. I thought I had made it out of the woods with the whole prostitute thing…
“Gerry. You have not yet taken a maid.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You have not taken a maid. It is very important that you do so.”
“You mean a cleaning lady?”
“Yes. A maid to do the cleaning. Is very important you do it.”
“…But why? I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my own apartment.”
Catalina’s face clouded and her cute little surgically sculpted nose wrinkled in disgust.
“That is not right. You must have maid.”
“But I don’t want one. I don’t need one. Why should I have one?”
“Gerald, where you live is important to have maid. Everybody takes one.”
“But I don’t want one.”
“You will take one. It is the custom and is very rude to not make special the custom.”
“Not make special the custom? What the hell are you talking about?” The second it left my lips I was sorry for the insult. Catalina’s response was cold.
“I am sorry my English is not to the standard.”
“No. Catalina. I’m sorry. Your English is great. I’m being a bastard. I just don’t understand why I need a maid. I don’t want somebody in my house. My Spanish is terrible. I don’t want somebody who I can’t understand washing my underwear and cleaning my toilet. It’s embarrassing.” She looked at me skeptically, and then sighed.
“Gerry. I will explain. In my country, it is the obligation for those with the money to make job for those who don’t have the money. It is very rude for a person with the money to no make a job for somebody.”
“I see.” Pondering that for a minute, I found my eyes wandering to Catalina’s breasts. I honestly didn’t mean them to but it happened every time… They lingered there only for a second but when I looked up her large brown eyes were smiling at me mockingly. I turned instantly red.
“Gerry, you are distracted.” Her smile was infectious. I couldn’t help but to smile back while all the while wondering what the smile meant. This woman scared the hell out of me but made me absolutely crazy.
“Of course. I’m sorry. Well, I guess I better get a maid then eh?”
“Yes. Is for the best. Can I help you?”
“I would love it if you would help me.”
“You know that you can always ask me for anything and I will help you.” The teasing smile still played on her pouty lips.
“Anything?” Things were getting unbearable.
“Anything Gerald.” She leaned over the desk and held out her hand. I took it. It was warm, soft, and pulsating with electricity. And then, a switch flipped somewhere and she was all business again. She had me sign a form and briskly ushered me out of her office, her hand on the small of my back, her smell utterly paralyzing. A minute later I was back in my classroom, completely wrung out, confused, oddly frightened, and with the unwelcome promise of a brand new stranger who would be invading and occupying my house the next day and twice a week thereafter.
When I arrived back at school I was given an eerily wide berth. I had been gone for a week. The first few days of this absence was spent at the hospital. The remainder was spent in my apartment. Catalina called it a “time to get cold.”
People would avoid my eye and ignore me in the hall. Overall, it was ridiculous. Basically, from what Catalina and I could put together, during the course of my flight from Alex I had engaged the services of a prostitute. I had then reneged on the deal. The owner of the brothel paid off the police for protection. The police were on the side of the pimp as they were in his pocket. I was therefore arrested. They couldn’t think of anything to charge me with, so after a bit of rough treatment they went through my wallet, figured out who I was, and called the Academy.
The problem was in explaining what I was doing outside of the theatre in the first place. Alex had clearly seen me leave. He was going around and telling everyone that he had gone after me in order to bring me back. Like he was doing a good turn by telling me the error of my ways and trying to bring me back to the fold. Jerk. I can just imagine the kind of oily little worm he would have been in school, the teacher’s snitch, willing to sell out his own for a pat on the head and a cookie.
The official story that Catalina cooked up was that I had gone for a walk and then gotten into trouble with a mugger. The mugger had drugged and beaten me before taking everything I had. Not a bad story and it could have worked.
The problem was that somehow word of a brothel had gotten out. Now the carefully doctored spin was being undermined. It was now whispered and intimated that I had gone out in search of illicit sex while my pre-pubescent charges were left helpless and alone in the theatre.
My new status as pariah and sexual deviant was not without its benefits. Although being shunned by the school population at large was difficult at first, I was left alone by the more obnoxious of the teachers. The kids however, knew that something was up. They as well had heard rumors. They weren’t sure what to believe, but the general understanding was that Mr. Thurlington had gotten himself involved in something nefarious. There were giggles in the hall as I passed and furtive whisperings in the classroom. It made for some miserable teaching. My biggest concern however was with the parent council.
Essentially, the parents owned the school. It was once said by Mavis that you needed a lot of rope to hang yourself at the Medellin Academy. Getting busted while visiting a whorehouse while supposedly supervising young hearts and minds might just constitute enough rope. The parent council was a waiting beast. Mostly comprised of rich women with too much plastic surgery and even more time on their hands, they were quick to pounce on any perceived transgression. They just might be the gallows from which the rope would be hung. Given the statutes of Colombian law, I wouldn’t simply be sent home in disgrace. I would be sent to jail.
“So, like what actually happened to you anyway?” The question in its nasal tone woke me out of an uneasy slumber as our bus lurched down the potholed hill.
“I’m sorry?”
“So, like what happened?”
“When you decided to ask me that question, did you look over at me before it came out of your mouth?”
”What?”
“When you asked me that question, did you see that I was sleeping? That my eyes were closed? That I was unconscious?”
“Well, yeah but…”
“But you just decided to wake me up anyway. What the fuck is your problem? I’m clearly sleeping but you feel that your invasive and insipid question somehow has priority over anything else. If I was awake or if we were having a conversation it would be different. But I was clearly sleeping.”
“Jeez. Soooorrry.”
“You’re not fucking sorry, so spare me the sarcasm. Since you obviously need it spelled out for you, here it is. I’m not interested in talking to you, so shut the fuck up and mind your own business. How’s that? Clear?”
“Asshole.” Red-faced, Jade picked up her beaded bag and other hippy clap trap and moved over to another seat. I felt good watching her do it.
