-
How ugly she is, Lynne thought, when Rosie came to see her after
class. Is that grey stuff on her cheeks dirt or old make-up? And why
doesn't she smile, usually they do when they ask favors ....
Rosie
stood still, all quiet, didn't move, until she was sure she had
caught Lynne's eye and that she didn't disrupt her work with the
essays from the students. Her essay wasn't in the pile, she knew that full
well, but what could she do, after all it's impossible to be in two
different places at the same time.
"All
right, Rosie,"Lynne said with assumed friendliness, "You
wished to talk to me so how may I help you?"
Rosie
stood staring at her shoes as if they were very interesting objects
and she didn't have ears to hear what Lynne said. Lynne browsed one
more essay and after a while she heard Rosie say: "I'm sorry I
didn't have time for the essay, but ...."
"All
right," Lynne said, eager to get it over with, "you know
you have to prove your writing and spelling skills. Otherwise I can't
let you pass. After all, people must know that you can what you're
supposed to be able to do as a naturalized citizen."
"Yes,
I'm very sorry," Rosie said, "but this week was impossible
and then I thought that I might give you something else I wrote some
time ago. It's not an essay and nobody has seen it before, but I wrote it
when we read those nice English poets in class."
"Shelley,
Byron and Sylvia Plath?"
"Yes,
those are the ones ...."
"What
do you mean that you wrote them when we read them? Did you write down
what they wrote or what do you mean?"
Rosie
looked at her in disgust. "No, certainly not, but I had never
read English poets before and they inspired me."
Lynne
looked askance at her middle-aged student, at her derelict clothes, her brownish
(dirty?) hands and face. She even took in an unmistakable odor of
dirty, used clothes and a not too clean human being. By doing so she
felt very brave and compassionate, a real humanitarian "social worker".
"Well, woun't you sit down, Rosie
and let me finish these essays. Then we can talk about it ...."
Rosie sat down at once which convinced Lynne about her being as tired
as she looked. Again she looked down at her downtrodden, derelict
shoes.
- Too much, she thought, to be like that, a bum no less.
Soon after having sat down Rosie's eyes closed and it was obvious
that she was about to fall asleep. Lynne shrugged at her small, thin
frame which made her look older than she most likely was.
After
having finished reading the essays, commenting and marking them, Lynne
turned to Rosie. She found her awake, but with a facial expression of
utter exhaustion. When Lynne spoke to her she smiled one of those
rare smiles which Lynne hadn't seen very often. To her horror she saw that
she didn't have any front teeth and always being such a coward in
dental matters she suddenly understood something: This woman, a
refuge from a foreign country, lived a kind of life she herself
wouldn't have been able to endure. All right, she was dirty and
unkempt, but also she attended a night school to better her
situation. Actually, she was more of a heroine than her own soldier
mother, a decorated major, no less.
"Rosie,"
she said, "how do you get food for yourself and your family? Do
you have a job?"
"No,
not really, but I know some shop keepers who let me have some
groceries from the day before if I help them clean the place or fetch
something for them. Then they may also pay me - that is if they don't
forget."
"Tough,"
Lynne said and this time her statement was with conviction and even
regret. She suddenly felt genuine compassion and something bordering on
admiration for this woman and wished she could help her. That made
her think of the papers she had wanted to show her.
"All
right, Rosie, what was it you wanted me to see?"
Rosie
held out some papers while at the same time shyly averting her eyes.
Lynne took the papers from her hand and started to read these
English-inspired poems. The wording wasn't too good, but the poems
themselves couldn't be shrugged off: They were good, maybe even
worthy of publication.
"Very good, Rosie," Lynne said,
really impressed. "Those English poets certainly were of use for
you if they inspired you."
"They
did - and Pablo Neruda."
"Oh,
you know Pablo Neruda? What have you read by him?"
"Everything,
he was a friend of my uncle ...."
Lynne
stared at her student as if she had never seen her before. "Your
uncle?" she stuttered, but how?"
"I'm
a fugitive, remember, and my uncle was a well known politician.
Besides, I too had a life, just like yours."
All of a sudden
this derelict creature sounded exceedingly proud as if she wanted to
compete with her affluent and smart looking teacher. Lynne was
stunned. Were there any similarities between them so that she
connected with this woman in more than an ordinary teacher-pupil
relationship? That couldn't be!
"Yes,
I was a teacher like you, and I wrote poetry and plays before I came here."
This
statement of a lost identity went into the heart of Lynne like a fire
from the angel's Sword of Flames.
- That can't be, she told
herself. From something like my family position to living on nothing in a foreign
country?!! That couldn't happen to anybody. As this thought went
through her bewildered mind Rosie produced a small set of photos from
her handbag and put them in front of Lynne.
In
these photos she saw a happy family, seemingly orbiting around an
exceedingly beautiful, young woman who bore a faint resemblance to
the derelict figure by her side.
"Yes, that's me," Rosie
said as her forefinger found this beautiful woman, "I'm 21-23
here and it was just before we left."
Lynne
looked from her pupil to the photo and back again and she felt like
weeping, however more over Fate itself than over the individual fate
of this one woman.
"All right," she said, "let me
think about the poems and then maybe I can use them for an individual
essay, i.e. an essay on a free subject."
Rosies
face split open into rare, beautiful smile. Her eyes twinkled and the
sudden beauty of her face was just a setting for what lit it up: Her
very soul.
Lynne
whipped out her handkerchief and concealed her tears by pretending to
wiper her nose.
"Rosie," she said, "let me have the
poems for some days and then I shall talk to you again. If possible
they may go as a free essay, but you may have to submit something
more later on."
"OK,"
Rosie said, looking very relieved, "I hope you shall like them."
Lynne
didn't make a reply, but when Rosie rose to her feet and left right away
she knew that what she felt for this student - all the mixed feelings
- might disrupt her judgement as a teacher.
- I don't care, she thought, no, not
in the least, am I corrupted then I'm also challenged by meeting Fate
in the workings.
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