Jalan Jalan (8 page)

‘Around this part of Indonesia it does, apparently. We're albinos to them. All white and sickly and albinoish.'

‘Racist buggers.'

‘Yeah I know, but I bet you're racist to them too.'

‘No.'

‘Confident answer, man.' He scratches the side of his head. ‘So you don't generalise and think they all want to talk about Man United and are all a little simple when they ask “Where you going, misterrr?”'

I pause to think of a response that doesn't confirm I'm something I never want to be. I can't think of one.

‘Fucking racist, man. We all do it. We all are. We all make generalisations about everyone we meet. I bet you even did when you met me for the first time: fucking dope-smoking Californian who says fuck a lot. Bet you fucking did.'

He has a point, but I choose not to answer.

‘And why did you tell him'—I lower my voice and nod towards the chess fan—‘you're Canadian?'

‘Just in case. Americans aren't always popular with these guys. Like I said, everyone generalises. Ethnic cleansing; major bad-ass generalisation.'

I tip my coffee cup up as far as it will go and drain the last of the sweet milk from the bottom.

‘Plus I don't consider myself to be American.'

‘Why not?'

‘I was adopted. Rumour has it I was a Vietnam war baby. Guessing my old man was out there. Met a woman, left me in her, then split.'

Now I see there could be a slight Asian look to Kim. Olive skin, dark hair and eyes.

‘I put up with some shit when I was a kid. Always been a bit bitter about the great old US of A.'

A silence rides the heat between us for a second while Kim stares at the chessboard.

‘So why did you disappear so early the other night?' Kim asks, changing the subject. ‘I thought you were enjoying the music and you were on for some filth with Naomi.'

‘Music was good. But I'm not interested in Naomi. And I'm still tired too. Getting used to the culture change is knackering, I suddenly needed sleep.'

—You wanted to be alone with me, tell him.

I shake my head and hope she'll rattle back below to keep
him
company.

—Alone with me and my sexy little body and not so shiny bright teeth.

‘You guys have a good night?' I ask, ignoring her but also enjoying the thought of her sexy little body. I then fight the bitter sickness that fizzes in my stomach. I can't ever have that body again.

‘Yeah. Jussy ended up with some whore from Top Club and went off to some hotel. Julie did some E and danced like a frenetic chimp all night, while Marty sat and watched her. Naomi and me got a taxi back at about three.'

‘Jesus. Is that a normal night?'

‘Yep. Pretty much. Julie's become a bit of a drug fiend recently and Jussy-boy loves these Indo women. I do too, but wasn't in the mood.'

I nearly ask if anything happened with him and Naomi, but it's not my business and I'm not interested. Kim's opened up enough already. I don't want to get any closer to him. I'm not ready for good friends.

I smile when I suddenly think of my old friends back in England reading books, going to the cinema, drinking Bacardi-and-Cokes and even, in extreme rebellious moments, smoking the occasional spliff. If they saw New Me
now, hanging out with these guys, all of whom seem to be motivated by hidden demons, they wouldn't recognise me. Just how I want it to be.

—Is it?

—Yes it bloody is.

‘We better go, man. Only half an hour ‘til the next class.'

We pay for our coffees, say bye to the chess players and duck out from beneath the canopy and its shade into bright white daylight. The sun lays its weight on us as soon as we're under it. The stench of the piles of rubbish that lie up side streets and on corners is ripe. Exhaust fumes stick to the inside of my nose. We zigzag through the traffic to get across the road and go into the school. Albert is at the front desk. The sweat patches on his shirt are bigger and wetter than ever. We nod at each other.

‘Pak's little ass-licker,' says Kim as we make our way to the staff-room.

‘I did wonder.'

Fifteen minutes later I'm in class looking at twelve students aged between about seventeen and thirty. They are male and female, mostly Chinese-Indonesian. This is a level seven class, second to top because they've completed all of English World's homemade course books. Their English is pretty good when they actually speak. This is my second time with them; the first was long and quiet and painful, but today I have an extra face sitting before me.

‘Johnny, isn't it?' I ask.

‘Yeah. How are you?' asks the leather-jacket-clad Jimmy Dean from my first night. He is sitting slouched in his chair, which is up on two legs and leaning back against the wall.

‘I'm OK. Good to see you.' I stand behind my desk and open my course book. ‘How are the rest of you?'

Silence. I look at today's chapter: Exercise 1 – Reading – Swimming With Dolphins.

Jesus, another long day ahead.

‘Right. What's this?' I draw a rough likeness of a dolphin on the whiteboard.

Silence.

I turn back to the board and sigh.

—Stick with it, numbnuts.

I close my eyes and rub my chest.

—Laura Laura Laura. Not now please.

—Teaching is easy. Make ‘em smile.'

—How can I make ‘em smile when you're talking to me? Please be quiet. Stay down there with him like you're supposed to.

‘Have you ever kissed a girl?'

‘What?'

‘Have you ever kissed a girl, sir?'

‘Oh. Yes, sorry, Johnny, yes I have.' I turn and come back into the room. Every pair of eyes is on me, suddenly interested and paying attention, something that hasn't happened so far. Johnny is still leaning back in his chair, twirling a toothpick or something in his mouth to perfect the image.

‘For how long?' he asks.

‘Sorry?'

‘How long did you kiss her for?'

‘I kissed her more than once, Johnny, and more than one girl.'

He falls forward, his chair banging down onto all four legs.

‘Really?'

I look at him to see if he's trying to wind me up. His face is dead set and eyes wide. He's being serious.

‘Yes, really. Now, this is a dolphin.'

‘How many?'

‘I don't know. A few.'

‘Three? Four?'

‘Maybe more. Why?' I put my board pen on the desk and sit down. ‘Have you kissed a girl?'

‘Yes, of course.' His complexion reddens and he twirls his toothpick between his fingers.

‘How many?' I ask.

‘Many. Many.'

‘You liar,' says the girl next to him, Jennifer, if I remember right.

‘No I'm not. Many.' He shifts in his seat. He's lying, so I try to help him out.

‘I kissed about five,' I under-exaggerate.

‘Was it good?' he asks, leaning forward.

‘It was ok, some better than others. Now shall we get on with the lesson?'

‘We don't kiss here,' says a woman on the opposite side of the room to Johnny. She is about thirty, the oldest in the class and one of only two ethnic Indonesians. ‘Not often.'

‘I saw my mother and father kiss once,' joins in Yenny, a small girl in the middle, ‘but they didn't know I see.'

At least they're talking. I close the course book.

‘Only once? Don't your parents kiss in front of you?'

‘Never. It is bad to kiss in front of people,' says Yenny.

‘In England it's OK. Many people kiss in public.'

‘Really. What sort of kissing?' Johnny is leaning right across his desk now. The students who haven't said anything yet are sitting more upright and adjusting their backsides.

‘Well, you know, all sorts.'

‘With, with, this,' Johnny sticks his tongue out as if showing it to a doctor.

‘Tongue. It's a tongue. Yes, sometimes.'

‘In public?'

‘Yes.'

‘I want to go to England.'

The class laugh.

‘What about holding hands in the street here?' I ask. ‘Is that allowed?'

‘No. Not really. Some people do it now, but many people don't like it,' answers Jennifer.

‘It must be difficult for boyfriends and girlfriends'.

‘Do you not think your country is too free?' This is a new voice, Franz, the other ethnic Indonesian. He is about seventeen and serious.

‘Shut up, stupid,' says Johnny, ‘if you can kiss when you want, what is wrong with that?' The class laugh, except Franz and the older woman.

‘Johnny, please don't be like that here. Don't call people stupid,' I say.

‘Sorry sir, but these Muslim ideas are…'

‘Johnny, shh.' I'm just starting to see the mix of religious backgrounds these students come from: Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, possibly others. As I have none, which according to Kim is an inconceivable idea in Medan, I don't want a heated religious debate in my class.

‘Too free, no. There are many things in England, Europe and the US that stop us from being free. Also sometimes I don't want to see young teenagers kissing and touching each other in the middle of a street or on a bus.'

‘They touch each other?' Johnny is virtually climbing onto his desk.

‘I think it is disgusting,' says Franz.

‘I think it is nice,' says Jennifer, ‘to show you love someone when you want. To be allowed to love someone so all can see.'

Other girls in the class nod. Some of the boys' eyes seem to have glazed over and I wonder where I have sent their fantasies; probably snogging on the top deck of a double-decker with Cameron Diaz while cruising around London.

‘Well, anyway.' I stand up. ‘We're here to learn English, not discuss my sex life. What's this?' I tap the dolphin on the board.

‘A shark, sir?' This is a girl whose name I can't remember, sitting on the end.

‘Yes, thank you. A shark, sort of. Now do sharks, or dolphins, live in the sea?'

I can't believe I'm actually about to teach this stupid lesson, but the class, or most of them, are with me now. I've just given them the slightest insight into another world and they've woken up. Now I want to impart all my knowledge of dolphins, aka sharks, and a bit of the present perfect tense while I have them.

—Well done. You've just corrupted a whole generation. They'll all be holding hands and getting beaten by their parents in a week.

I ignore her.

‘No.' says Yenny.

‘Sorry?' I say.

‘Dolphins do not live in the sea.'

‘Of course they do,' says Johnny. ‘Want a kiss after class?'

Yenny blushes and moves her books around her desk.

—Told you, says Laura.

—I miss you, I tell her.

Each present is wrapped in different paper.

‘This one first.' She holds up one of the four gifts which sit on the bed between us. She hands it to me and pulls her legs up under her, her dressing gown rising up over her thighs. My eyes wander from the present to her exposed skin and my mind wanders a little further.

‘That one first.' She pulls her gown over her legs, only a little. ‘You can have
this
later.'

‘OK, OK.' I squeeze, prod and sniff the gift. It has a familiar weight to it.

‘Open.'

I tear a little strip of paper off and see a small hand inside. A gripping hand. I rip the rest off and he lies across my palm in his khaki camouflage and fuzzy hair: an Action Man.

I look at her and she is smiling, like she's just been given the perfect present, not me.

‘It's the right one, isn't it? Isn't it? From about 1976. I checked.' She rocks backwards and forwards with her arms around her stomach. ‘Isn't it?'

‘How, where did you get this?' I hold him up to my face and run my finger across his head.

‘It doesn't matter, but you like it, don't you.' This isn't a question but a statement. She knows damn well I like it.

‘Yes, I like it.' I'm ten again. He feels so right in my hands. I want to send him on a mission across the floor immediately. Have him climb some stairs and parachute off the banisters. Make him ride the cat and shoot some plastic cowboys.

‘I used to have six of these, real Action Men, with life-like hair and gripping hands, not like the crap these days.'