The New Samurai (12 page)

“I’ve kind of got used to it,” she said, smiling at Sam. “You will, too.”

Sam smiled back, then reminded himself of his self-imposed no-women rule.

The fourth teacher who accompanied Sam that first evening was Yoshi – a happy-go-lucky university graduate from Hokkaido, the northernmost island in the Japanese archipelago. He wanted to improve his English and job prospects by spending as much time with native speakers as possible. But between Tara’s Aussie vowels, Paul’s New York twang and Helen’s Welsh lilt, he was finding it harder than he’d anticipated. Sam’s softer, more neutral accent was a relief to him.

He questioned Sam relentlessly about his life in London, his work, his family and the inevitable question,

“Are you married man Sam-san?” said Yoshi.

Sam shook his head.

“Girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“You like Shinjuku, maybe?”

Sam had no clue what that meant, but the looks on their faces and the way Paul choked on his beer gave him a clue.

Whilst the others were still laughing, it was Helen who took pity on him.

“Shinjuku is a part of Tokyo that’s known for its nightlife – and especially for its gay bars,” she explained.

“Oh,” said Sam. He gave a half-smile, remembering some of the uncalled-for things Jerry had told him.

“Nobody here cares,” said Helen, patting his arm. “The Japanese have a surprisingly tolerant attitude to homosexuality – providing you don’t flaunt it.”

Sam blinked. “No, I mean, I don’t… I’m not…”

Tara raised her eyebrows. She seemed to be suppressing a laugh at his discomfort but was kind enough to change the subject.

“So what did you make of Frau Brandt?” she said.

Sam had been met at the airport by a driver sent from the language school who, ironically, spoke little English. Then he’d been escorted to see the school’s formidable director, a woman with iron-grey hair and a no-nonsense attitude. Sam had liked her straight away.

“We’re delighted to have you here, Mr Patterson,” she said in heavily accented English. “You’ll find we are a good employer and look after our teachers. We have reserved a room for you at a local hostel where several of our teachers reside, although if you choose to live elsewhere, that is entirely at your discretion. We have opened a bank account for you and this is your alien registration card – please do not lose it. Here is a copy of your schedule: you will have three days to acclimatise and then you will start your teaching commitments.”

She went on to explain that Sam would work three days a week in a state high school – pupils from 14 to 18, two afternoons and evenings a week at the language school, plus alternate weekends, where he would be teaching adults.

“We have one other rule which I must explain to you, Mr Patterson, one which is rigorously enforced: we don’t allow liaisons between teachers and students. In fact, we prefer our teachers not to socialise with students at all, even the adults. I’m sure you can understand our reasons for this.”

Sam nodded, “Of course.”

The same rules applied in the UK and it was pretty much what he’d expected anyway.

“And finally,” continued Frau Brandt, examining him over the top of her steel-rimmed spectacles, “we do expect our teachers to attend Japanese language classes. These are provided for you free-of-charge but are required. Other language schools,” she frowned, “do not consider it necessary, but we feel that it will broaden your experience as well as your knowledge. Being a student makes us all better teachers.”

Sam’s schedule showed that he was expected to attend Japanese language classes for two hours every day, on top of his own teaching commitments. It looked like he was going to be busy. But first he had three days off to explore the city.

Sam’s Blog

Freeway overpass – Blossoms in graffiti on

Fog-wrapped June mornings
.

Hi everyone!

Ok, so this haiku is about June – I couldn’t find one for April, but I’ll keep looking. Maybe I’ll have to start writing my own.

I’m staying in a hostel in Shibuya which is a bit like being in Soho, so pretty handy for bars and shops. The room is small and they don’t have beds, only futons, but it’s clean and cheap. Probably just as well it’s a roll-away futon, because there wouldn’t be room for a bed and a desk in here. But I don’t really need much else. There’s a swimming pool in the basement, which isn’t a bad size. And I’m quite near a park so I can go for a run when I have free time – doesn’t seem like it’s going to be that often: home from home! The only other people I see jogging are other gaijin (foreigners). It seems like staring at foreigners is a national pastime.

Keith – I found the perfect place for you! It’s called a Neko bar and it’s one of the weirdest places I’ve ever been (and since I’ve been in this city, that’s really saying something). It was on my second day here and I saw a sign saying ‘Biru’ (beer) so I thought I’d chance it. All the waitresses were dressed in cat suits: literally, including the ears, tails and whiskers. (Yeah, Keith, I know!) But even stranger is that the place was full of cats – real cats! Creepy pedigree ones with no fur or really long fur and squashed faces, and the customers were encouraged to pet them. When the cats got fed up of being stroked, they escaped up a sort of tunnel to another room and you could watch them on CCTV instead.

Apparently these sort of places are popular because not many people have got the space to keep a pet, so it’s sort of designer bling if you can afford a cat, let alone a dog.

But it was definitely hands-off and sort of innocent really. (Sorry, Keith.) There were lots of schoolgirls coming in and the coffee was £5 a shot, so I headed out soon after that. And it turns out that the word ‘biru’ means ‘beer’, but also means ‘building’. This place is
so
confusing! I make an arse of myself on an hour-by-hour basis, but I think that’s about average for new arrivals. Although it could be just me.

The guys at the hostel seem pretty friendly, but they’re already working so I’ve only seen them briefly. Only one of them is Japanese – Yoshi – and I think he’s going to be an interesting person to know. He reminds me of your little brother, Wayne!

Then there’s Helen, who’s a sort of den mother – she’s decided I need looking after. Does that remind you of anyone, Sylvie?! She’s been here a year now and her husband is planning on coming out in a few months.

There are quite a few Aussies here so I might be able to sort out a game of rugby, although American football is much better known among the locals. The guy in the room next door, Paul, is from New York so he’s itching to get a game going.

My job starts tomorrow, and it’ll be really interesting to see what it’s like teaching in a Japanese school – I have a feeling it’ll be a lot different from Kidbrooke.

That’s all the news that’s fit to print.

Fi, give Rosa a hug for me. Sorry I can’t Skype – I’ll get a laptop as soon as I get my first salary cheque – assuming there’s any money left after paying for rent and food!

Julie, say hi to everyone at school (and, by the way, you are
not
going to win that bet!).

Sayonara!

Sam woke up early on his first day of the new job. It was still dark outside as he peered through the small, curtain-less window. Below, the streets were already busy, although in truth, they hadn’t really quietened much during the night. It didn’t bother him: he was a Londoner and used to sleeping through the noise of traffic.

He trudged down to the basement and was pleased to find that he had the pool to himself. He swam steadily for half an hour, planning how he’d start with his new pupils, trying to frame some polite introductory words in Japanese. A quiet splash made him realise he was no longer alone.

“Hey, Sam,” said Tara. “Couldn’t sleep or early bird?”

He smiled. “Bit of both. First day and all that. Plus they’re sending me across the city – er… Ueno?”

“Yeah? That’s supposed to be a pretty nice area – I think you’ll be okay,” she said.

Sam tried to ignore how good she looked in her two-piece costume.

They chatted for another minute before Sam looked at his watch and decided he’d better get a move on.

“Good luck!” she called after him.

He smiled and waved, heading for the showers.

The subway journey was worse than anything Sam had experienced in London. Uniformed officials shoved people onto trains with no respect for personal space. It was organised mayhem and not unlike being in a scrum, except everyone was very formally dressed. Sam was glad he’d worn a white shirt and dark tie for his first day. He’d abandoned his jacket before he got on the train and now it was looking very rumpled, squashed against a short salaryman with a briefcase.

A lot of commuters stared openly at him – Sam found it unnerving.

He had to listen hard to the train announcements to make sure he got off at the right station. But it was difficult to make out the words and Sam was afraid he’d miscounted the stops.

He had decided to try asking the young woman standing next to him for help; she stood with her eyes riveted to a manga magazine. As he glanced at the pictures, he realised that they were extremely violent, if not downright pornographic. Sam changed his mind and asked a man who had been texting silently for 20 minutes.

“Sumimasen. Ueno desu ka?”

Sam repeated the question but the man blinked and ignored him. Instead it was the woman who answered.

“Yes. Ueno is the next stop.”

“Thanks,” said Sam, feeling relieved. “Arigato!”

She smiled and bowed politely, despite the lack of space. Sam nodded awkwardly and forced his way through to the train doors.

It felt good to be outside again after the crush of the train, and Sam loped the last quarter of a mile, carefully following the street map and directions that Frau Brandt had given him. He was aware that if he made a mistake, there was no way reading the street signs would help, all having been written in tangled scrawls of Japanese writing.

The school was grey and concrete and looked more like a car park than a school. Sam stared at the building doubtfully, but when several uniformed students passed him in their smart blue sailor suits, he figured it must be the right place after all. He wondered if there was some universal law that decreed all secondary schools had to look like prisons. Maybe it was some sort of atavistic architectural memory.

He followed the signs round to what looked like the main entrance. Several students stopped to stare at him and two girls, who looked about 15, giggled behind their hands.

Great. More giggling girls.

“Patterson-san?”

Sam looked round to see a severe-looking female almost glaring at him.

“Er, yes. Hello. How do you do? Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

“My name is Amori. I will take you to Tanaka-san, our Head Teacher.”

Sam followed the woman in silence. Unlike most of the Japanese people he’d met, she obviously felt no need to make him feel welcome.

He was ushered into a small but smart office. A thin, bespectacled man rose to meet him, bowing formally.

Sam copied him, remembering to bow more deeply to show that he understood his own relatively lowly status.

“How do you do, Mr Patterson. Please sit.”

The Principal waved to a hard, wooden seat and handed him a sheet of paper. “This is your teaching schedule. This morning you have three classes of seniors. Each class has between 32 and 35 pupils – small classes.”

Sam was taken aback. He hadn’t expected such large classes: it changed the way he’d have to teach. Probably.

“Each lesson is 50 minutes with a 10 minute break between,” continued the Head. “Teachers move from classroom to classroom whilst pupils remain seated. This leads to a minimum of disruption.”

After the regular change-over scrums at Kidbrooke where limbs could be lost, Sam could see how that would be an improvement.

“Lunch is from 12 till 12.30. You may collect a bento box or bring your own lunch. Teachers eat with the pupils: it is ‘a living curriculum’. This will also be opportunity to interact with pupils on more informal level. You are language assistant. But you also qualified teacher, unlike most language assistants. Although you are only here three days a week, you will adopt role of homeroom teacher: an informal counsellor is way to explain role. Naturally you will report important conversations. There will be no problems: students have mastered daily routines and behaviour is acceptable.

“In afternoon, you will teach three lessons to junior students. Here are textbooks to follow. I advise you spend 50% of each lesson on grammar and 50% on language.”

Sam nodded slowly. He’d expected it to be a more prescriptive teaching style than in Britain, but not quite this regimented.

“You will find that students expect quick and constant correction with teacher-led curriculum. Some language assistants find this difficult transition.”

He paused.

Sam tried to look alert.

“You will find students introverted and dislike speak in front of peers. You will find ways to encourage.”

Sam tried not to grind his teeth. How the hell was he supposed to teach English if none of them wanted to speak it?

“You will find in reading classes students will read new words aloud, imitating you. You will explain sentence by sentence, analyse grammatical structures, rhetoric, and style. You will find students prefer visual learning: please no kinaesthetic methods.

“A student from each class will escort you to next classroom at end of lesson one week only.

“Hmm. We practise earthquake drill every month: your responsibility as homeroom teacher is explained in memo. Please learn well.”

Sam was silent. Earthquake drill. Ring of Fire. Right.

The Head stared at him without smiling. He didn’t ask Sam if there were any questions. He stood up.