A place to be me, p.27
A Place to be Me, page 27
“Okay,” he said solemnly. “How do you spell the word?”
After writing down the correct spelling, I watched him leave the room looking forlorn. I wondered if I’d made any headway or just exacerbated the situation. I quietly closed the door.
“That was great!” cheered Chill, loudly, causing me to jump. I spun around to face her.
“In what way?” I asked, curious about her take on the meeting.
“You didn’t scream at him. You didn’t get angry. You just got him to think about what he did…what he said. I like this approach. I never thought about doing that before.”
“It doesn’t always work, Chill, and sometimes I do have to scream. But the goal should always be for the students to learn how to change themselves—not for us to force them to change,” I explained. “But I’m glad you thought your visit was fruitful.”
Just after dinner, still feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I dropped in on Ida, who was on call in the duty office at the Boarding House, wading through a stack of student files.
“I hope I’m not interrupting, but have you had a chance to meet our new student?” I asked, dropping down on a chair in front of her.
Ida removed her glasses. “You mean our pretentious Saburo?” she quipped.
“Yes. I’m afraid I almost lost it with him today in my English class. Any suggestions on how I might temper his attitude? Harris told me the Huang twins like him. Do you think a romantic tryst might soften him up a bit?”
“It might, but it’s too late for that now. The Huangs are no longer interested. Like everyone else who comes in contact with Saburo, he rubs them the wrong way. The only one who’d talk to him was Thomas, but he’s gone.”
“You heard what happened, right?”
“Yes, Harris told me. That mother is out of her mind. She has no idea how good Thomas had it here.”
“I know,” I said, feeling another knot in my stomach as I recalled the events of the morning. “Anyway, getting back to Saburo, I asked him to do a little research on the word empathy.”
“Not a bad idea. But we’ll still need to immerse him in some real-life situations if we truly want to help him understand how his attitude and behavior affect others.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Funny you should ask. I was just looking at his file. He has an uber-wealthy father, his mother passed away when he was a baby, and he was raised by his grandmother and her hired help. I’m guessing he grew up getting whatever he wanted. We call it ‘Little Emperor Syndrome.’ But that’s not exactly a clinical term,” she smiled.
“That explains a lot. I know you’ll keep an eye on him, but I’d like to spend some time getting to know him as well. What room is he in?”
Ida glanced down at a clipboard. “Room 204. Unfortunately, right now it looks like he doesn’t have a roommate, which is not ideal for someone who has EQ challenges.”
Thanking Ida for her insight, I climbed upstairs and wandered along the long corridor that connected the boys’ and girls’ sections. The lights had been dimmed and Prep was in session, as soft yellow glows from desk lamps cast shadows on the hall carpet. I stopped at Room 204 and saw Saburo bent over his desk, diligently writing. I tapped on his door before asking, “How are things?”
Saburo looked up, then stiffened when he realized it was me. “Fine…thank you, Mr. Gower. Just reading about empathy.”
“Good. We’ll talk more about that tomorrow.”
My eyes were drawn to a haphazard pile of glossy magazines balancing on the corner of his desk. The shiny covers were splashed with photographs of luxury cars.
“You like cars?”
“Yes. I really love cars,” he replied, perking up. “My father says I am allowed to get my driver’s license if I want. Do you know how I can do that?”
“Let me look into that for you,” I said, realizing a potential opening to connect.
While tiredness had badgered me all day, by the time I retired to my suite that evening, I was no longer sleepy and firmly back on Taiwan time. Sitting down on my couch with a bottle of red wine as company, I was still anxious about whether the story would get printed. As the night lingered and the contents of the bottle dwindled, my jet lag eventually returned with a vengeance. It wasn’t until I was awakened by the ringing of my cell phone that I realized I had slept through until the following morning.
“Hello,” I responded groggily.
“Phil, it’s Christine Hendry. Sorry for the early-morning call, but I’ve got an important update for you.”
“Okay,” I said tentatively.
“Relax, it’s all good. I just heard back from Mrs. Kang’s lawyer in Macau. He has been instructed by Mrs. Kang to withdraw all claims as well as the request for a refund. Also, he was able to contact the reporter just before the story went to print, and it is my understanding the story won’t be running.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “Anything from Mrs. Kang?”
“No, but I’m sure the revelation of who Jake Zhou really is will come as a total shock to her. I’d give her some space.”
“Fair enough. Christine, thank you for your prompt attention to all this.”
“I think it’s your friend, Mr. Ma, you should be thanking. He prevented a mini-disaster from occurring.”
I couldn’t have agreed more with Christine’s sentiments, and as soon as I made it over to my office, I phoned Digby.
“I’m so relieved for you, Phil. You didn’t deserve all that rubbish,” said Digby on hearing the news. “Let’s stay in touch. I’m more than happy to help you and your school any way I can.”
“Digby, you’ve been a godsend.”
“Let’s see how you feel after a few more months with Manfred.”
As I laughed back and hung up, Koji walked through the doorway carrying a newspaper. My adrenaline started to surge. I flipped quickly through the paper, scanning each page and every story. There was nothing about Cothbert. I could literally feel the stress exiting my body.
Chapter 32
For the first time since we’d returned to school, I finally caught sight of the Major, who was leaving her office, followed by her sister, Millicent. As I tried to stop her in the hall to update her on the Kang situation, she brushed me aside and stormed out of the School House, clearly in a huff about something.
“Is something wrong with the Major?” I asked, as Millicent walked by.
“There’s always something wrong with her. She just can’t accept reality,” said Millicent offhandedly, disappearing down the front stairwell.
With the Major out of sight and Millicent unwilling to explain, I pushed the matter aside for now. The day wasn’t slowing down. As I entered the reception area, Koji was just hanging up the phone.
“Koji, I need you to look into getting Saburo his driver’s license.”
“Why?” he asked, looking perplexed.
“We have to guide this boy. He loves cars, and his dad’s given him permission to get his license. I thought it might be a good way for me to connect with him in a more meaningful way and help him with his personality issues.”
I could see Koji processing what I was saying.
“Okay. Makes sense, I guess. I’ll check for you,” he said.
Later at lunch, Koji slipped up beside me, placing his food tray on the table.
“I already looked into the driver’s license for you. Pretty easy to do. But Saburo should go to driver’s school before taking the test.”
“That’s what I thought. Are there any driving schools in the area?”
“There is one in Squamish. But they aren’t taking new students until January—after Christmas break. But the good news is the driver will come to our school to pick up Saburo.”
“Okay. Good. Can you book him in for one of their January classes? I’ll let him know the good news.”
I’d asked Saburo to meet me in the Dining Hall after English class to review his homework assignment. I thought a less intimidating environment might help him relax and speak more freely.
“I understand what you mean,” he said before I could even begin.
It took me a second to realize what he was referring to.
“In Japanese, we call empathy kyōkan.”
I smiled, then said, “Saburo, there is a proverb … or a famous saying … that our First Nations people have.”
“First Nations?”
“Native North Americans…”
“You mean Indians?”
“We don’t call them that anymore. We call them First Nations People. Anyway, their proverb says you should never judge another man until you have walked a mile in his moccasins.”
“What is moccasins?”
“Shoes. Soft shoes sewn out of animal skin.”
He paused for a moment and then said, “Oh, I understand. Walking in their moccasins means understanding them. Right?”
“Yes. I think you say things to hurt people without realizing how they might feel and without getting to know them properly.”
“Saburo’s eyes watered slightly. ‘I have no friends. No one likes me here,’ he said, wiping his tears with his sleeve.
I hesitated, thinking back to my own struggles with being misunderstood. “I’ve been there,” I said quietly. “I know what it’s like when people don’t understand you. Sometimes it’s very frustrating. But the thing is, it’s not about being liked by everyone—it’s about understanding how your words and actions affect others.”
Saburo looked at me, unsure, but there was something in his eyes that made me feel like he was listening.
“Given the way you spoke to me yesterday, I didn’t like you much either. But I can see you are a good person deep down. You just need to stop and think before saying something. You can’t expect everyone to be like you or to know what you know. Listen, I’m here to help you, and I think I might have some good news for you.”
“What?” he asked, sniffling.
“I’ve booked you in for a driving course in January.”
“Really? You did that for me?”
“Yes. As long as you remember what we talked about today. If you want people to like you, you have to start treating them more sensitively. I saw you liked cars and found out you’d like to learn how to drive. So, I’m helping you because you’re feeling down. That’s called empathy.”
“Okay. I understand,” he said finally, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back his emotions.
The following day, just before finishing my Boarding House duty, the phone rang. It was Harris.
“Hello, Phil,” he gushed over the receiver, sounding much more upbeat.
“Where the hell are you?” I blurted out. “I thought maybe you’d eloped with a nice Japanese lady.”
“Let’s not talk about Japan, shall we. Now, before I tell you about my excellent trip, where are we with the Kang situation?”
“We’re in a very good place, finally,” I said, relaying in detail the roller-coaster ride of events that had transpired during the past twenty-four hours.
“Wow. It’s actually over,” cheered Harris. “Well done, Phil! So much for that headhunter back east who accused you of not being tough enough.”
His comment jolted me, but then I realized he was actually right.
“Thanks. But, you know, I still don’t get why Zhou wasted my time with his whole monk spiel.”
“These psychotic types like to befriend their victims to make them believe they are trustworthy. He was certainly able to win over Mrs. Kang.”
“True. But I think he actually believes he has healing powers.”
“Which he can share with his fellow inmates when he ends up going to jail. Anyway, I don’t care about the reason. I’m just happy it all worked out. Too bad about Thomas, though.”
“Yes, he was the biggest casualty in all this.”
“So, what I’m hearing from you is there is no pressing need for me to return.”
“If you’re thinking about extending your tour, don’t! We’ve got end-of-term exams coming up and then Christmas departure.”
“But I kinda like it here. I am presently lounging beside a pool at the Shangrila Hotel in Central Hong Kong, talking to you on Grandmother Lam’s cell phone.”
“I take it the hotel is a step-up from that other place you were staying in—the Tokyo something or other?”
“Ha! The bathroom here is bigger than that whole place combined. Anyway, seriously, though, I’m not sure Japan is a huge market. I did meet some interested families, but they’re looking for a few years down the road. From what I gather, if you’re a decent student in Japan, you don’t usually study overseas. Those who do go away are typically shipped off to avoid disgracing their families.”
“Meaning?”
“They can’t cope with the regular school system… for whatever reason.”
“Hmm. And what about Hong Kong?”
“A completely different story. Grandmother Lam held a reception at the hotel for me, and ten really interested families showed up—all ready to enroll in September.”
“Wow, that is great…”
“Oh, and you can tell the Major her partner-in-crime will be loading me up with two canisters of Moutai to bring back for her.”
“Yes, well, she could use them. She seems particularly grouchy these days for some reason.” I purposely avoided mentioning Millicent’s name, given how upbeat Harris seemed. “So, when exactly are you returning home?” I added.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a couple of days. I’ve already arranged for Frank to pick me up.
“Well, happy travels then. And enjoy the pool while I slave away here,” I said, hoping to guilt him into feeling sorry for me.
After checking in at the Boarding House, I was about to go home when Pancho came bounding into the lobby, setting off Tofu’s high-pitched yapping.
“Hey, Phil, we’re having an impromptu late-night coffee house. The jazz band’s playing. You should come and watch. They’re really good, you know.”
Myrtle stepped out of her suite, clearly interested in what all the noise was about. “What’s going on?” she asked, bending down to quiet Tofu.
“I was just telling Phil about the Coffee House,” said Pancho. “That he should come and see the band play.”
“Oh, yes, Phil. Pancho’s right,” Myrtle agreed, bouncing back up. “You must go. They are quite remarkable. I’m letting everyone stay up late so they can watch.”
“Of course, I’ll go,” I smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The tables in the Dining Hall had been pushed back when Pancho and I arrived, and a selection of musical instruments was carefully arranged in front of the fireplace. Byung-ju’s tripod was already in place to film the event, while a number of students were sprawled across the floor, enjoying each other’s company. I could see that, in lieu of coffee, Peg and Janice had prepared hot chocolate and Nanaimo Bars.
“Hi, Mr. Gower,” the students called, realizing I was standing over them.
I looked down, joking with them, before pulling a chair from under a table and sliding it to one side. A few minutes later, with the hall now almost full, Ida and the jazz players walked in, proudly modeling their new burgundy uniforms. After taking a couple of bows to raucous cheering, the recital began.
The focus of the concert was mostly well-known pop songs, and with each set, I became more and more spellbound by the sheer talent of this little group of musicians. There was Aki and Stanley, joyfully swinging their saxophones in unison; Manfred, bursting forth with a rapid-fire trill on his drums; and a confident Portia Lu blowing her bright, brassy trumpet, a dramatic contrast to that totally devastated student I had to comfort the night of the ghost incident.
I joined Ida after the concert, watching as she was encircled by enthusiastic members of staff.
“I almost cried, Ida,” rejoiced Myrtle, giving her a hug. “So moving! So moving!”
“Yes, really awesome,” added Koji. “I move too.”
“A truly remarkable show,” I finally piped in. “You’ve accomplished miracles. Do we know if Saburo plays an instrument?” I asked coyly.
Ida winced and then stopped herself. “Good question. Let me look into that. You might be onto something there, Phil.”
The Major, who I noticed had been sitting in the back, cautiously strolled over to join us. “Nice tunes, eh, Philly?” she said, leaning on her cane, looking a bit more upbeat than when I’d seen her in the School House but still not totally herself.
“Lots of talent, Major. Lots of talent. As you can see, education is not all about books.”
“How’s the new kid, Subaru?” she replied, her tone sharp, quickly shifting focus.
“You mean, Saburo.”
“That’s what I said.”
“There are some issues, but I think he’ll settle in eventually.”
She didn’t respond immediately, glancing around the room with a tight expression. “Let’s hope so. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”
She turned back to me, her voice suddenly brisk, almost forced. “We need the revenue.”
“I understand. By the way, Mrs. Kang has withdrawn her claim for a refund.”
The Major’s posture stiffened, and she gave a quick nod, but there was a slight edge to her voice as she repeated, “Good. We need the revenue.”
Chapter 33
The day before the students left for the Christmas holidays, Timberlane Lake was blanketed by one of the biggest snowfalls in its history, and Cothbert House School was miraculously transformed into something resembling the whimsy of a Grandma Moses painting. Minions of all sizes and ages, each wearing white-trimmed, pointy-red caps generously gifted to the school by Violeta, frolicked in the snow, pitching snowballs, rolling snow men, and sliding down the hill from the School House on large plastic bucket-lids commandeered from the kitchen.
