I was chatting with Ake (whom Lara referred to as Head Ache) on Monday morning before class. “How was your weekend?” That was my standard conversation starter for a Monday morning.
“Dull and boring,” said Ake. “No parties. No booze. No drugs. No girls. No pussy. I was very boring.” His leather jacket creaked with every movement of his arms.
“You mean you were very bored.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “past participle adjective.”
“Maybe you were very boring,” I said as an aside. “So what did you do at the weekend?”
“I went on a trip with my homestay parents to Milford Sound.”
“Well, that should be interesting.”
“No,” he said. “Milford Sound sucks. There’s nothing there.” He waved his arm dismissively, creakily.
“Did you go out on the boat?”
“Yeah, I had a snooze on the boat.”
“People don’t go there to be entertained,” I said. “People come from all over the world to see the scenery of Milford Sound and Fiordland.”
“There’s nothing to see,” Ake insisted.
“The mountains and the fiords,” I said. “People think they’re beautiful.”
“They’re just mountains,” he said. “I don’t think scenery is beautiful. I don’t see beauty in nature.”
“Where do you see beauty?”
“Beautiful girls, beautiful women. I wish there were some beautiful girls here. All the girls in my class are ugly.”
They were all quite plain, I had to agree. No great beauties among them. “What about art?” I asked. “Do you see beauty in art?”
“Some art can be beautiful if it’s created by a good artist,” he said. “Nature is just there. It’s not created.”
“Some say it’s created by God,” I said.
“I don’t believe in God.”
“How did it get there then? Evolved from nothing, by accident?”
“I know you believe in God but I don’t and I don’t want to talk about religion. You’re a good teacher but stick to English. Actually you’re the best teacher here. Better than the women teachers. They don’t know anything about grammar.”
“Some people don’t like grammar,” I said.
“Grammar is necessary to learn a language,” he said.
“Not everyone thinks so, but I think it’s useful. It’s a way of talking about the language and sorting out the rules. Speaking of which, it’s time to get to class. Let’s go, eh.”
“Speaking of which.” Ake repeated the phrase to himself. He seemed to like the sound of it. “Speaking of which.” He had a good ear for language and liked to analyse sentence structures.
Three new students arrived at the language school in the morning: a Thai boy and two Japanese girls. They were all taking a gap year before starting university. Janice did the orientation tour and took them into town to open bank accounts and did all the usual paperwork. After my morning class I put the new students through our placement test. They all had quite good English proficiency and would go into my Upper Intermediate class. Ake would be pleased to have a new friend from the same country and he’d be sure to take an interest in the girls. The girls were very polite, as Japanese girls usually are, and they seemed like serious students. I picked up a bit of what they were talking about in Japanese and they also seemed like good time party girls.
I introduced them to Lara and they went off with her to her Speaking class, Focus on Communication for Fluency, as it was called. Their first class the next day was with me. I did a Writing session, with a strong focus on grammar and accuracy. I set assignments that required writing in different registers: academic, narrative and more personal journal writing. Both girls wrote in their journals that they were happy to be in Queenstown because it was so beautiful. They had seen the Southern Alps from the plane and were looking forward to seeing Mount Taranaki, which they had read looked like Mount Fuji. I learned from Emiko’s journal writing that she came from a background of wealth and privilege but a very dysfunctional family and had suffered some abuse, from a drug addicted father. She seemed to be coping well enough and she was placed with a good homestay family. I gave feedback on writing skills but never commented on content and avoided any personal involvement. Suzanne, our homestay co-ordinator handled pastoral care issues.
*
I used to enjoy going out to pubs and clubs when I lived in Auckland, before my wife left me, and I moved to Queenstown. Here I was more into outdoor pursuits or just spending quiet weekends at home with my books and music. However, I had a night out on the Saturday because Hello Sailor were in town for one night and I went to the gig on my own. I was enjoying the music and the nostalgia of the old, reformed band, and I was having a quiet beer, in the midst of all the noise. There was a good crowd and across the floor I saw Ake and Pong, the new Thai student, sitting at a table drinking beer and Ake was spitting on the floor. I didn’t think they’d seen me and I hoped they wouldn’t. A little later I saw them with Emiko and Nanae, the two new Japanese girls, drinking, chatting, laughing. Then I saw them dancing together, near the stage, Ake waving his arms in the air and grinding his crotch against Emiko. As the band was playing Blue Lady, the house lights faded and the stage lights surged indigo.
On Monday afternoon, in the common room, after classes, Emiko asked me what I thought of Ake.
I said, “I don’t think he’s your type.”
“Do you think I’m his type?” she asked.
“You’re a pretty girl. Any pretty girl is his type.”
“Why do you think he’s not my type?”
“I shouldn’t even be talking about him,” I said. “Just be careful.”
She seemed to be intrigued with the idea of types and asked, “Do you think I’m your type?”
“No, you’re too young for me. Maybe if I were younger you might be my type.”
“Maybe if I were older you’d be my type,” she said.
“Maybe. It’s a nice idea but it’s not real.”
“Unreal present, second conditional,” she said. “That’s why we use the subjunctive were.”
“Maybe you would be my type,” I laughed.
“What type are you?” she asked.
“I’m a grammar nerd.”
“Ake says you’re religious.”
“I prefer to say spiritual.”
“And he says you’re unsociable. We saw you at the club.”
“I’m not unsociable,” I said. “A loner maybe.”
“So, are you lonely?”
“Not lonely. I just like solitude.”
“Solitude?”
“Just being alone.”
“You like to be alone. I should leave you alone then.”
“No, I like socialising,” I assured her. “I just like to get some alone time at the weekend.”
“Why did you go to the club then?” she asked. “It was very crowded.”
“For the music. Hello Sailor. They’re a band I used to like. You can still be alone in a crowd. I usually do outdoor stuff at the weekend, like going for walks in the bush and rock climbing and skiing.”
“Alone with nature. We do this in Japan. Like forest bathing. It’s good for health.”
“Forest bathing. That’s a nice phrase.”
“Have you been to Japan?”
“Yes, I was in Osaka, in town during Golden Week. It was so crowded it was like walking through a sea of people.”
“A sea of people. I like this phrase,” she said. “Did you like Japan?”
“I enjoyed visiting Japan,” I said. I didn’t add that I wouldn’t want to live there. “I especially liked Kyoto, the old historical parts of the city and the contemplation gardens. And there are some nice countryside places.”
“I think New Zealand is the right place for you,” Emiko concluded.
That’s when Ake arrived, annoyingly ebullient for a Monday morning, singing Blue Lady.
I found myself a blue lady
To help me through the night.
Ohh ohh Blue lady.
Ohh ohh Blue lady.
Ake wished me a cheery good morning and said, “How was your weekend?” He didn’t wait for a reply but put his arm around Emiko and resumed singing Blue Lady. Then he said, “I like this song. You like this song, Boss?”
I said I did and he asked me what it was about.
“It’s about drugs,” I said. “The blue lady is a syringe, a needle, you know, for injecting drugs,” and I mimed injecting my arm.
“Really?” he said quizzically. “I think I like this song even more now.”
Emiko glanced askance at me and shrugged her shoulders.
I said, “I’ll see you in class,” and walked off to the strains of Ake singing,
Me and my blue lady
We’ll make this chance all right.
Ohh ohh Blue lady.
Lyrics to Blue Lady by Graham Philip Brazier, 1977