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Happy American English Camp, Kyoto.Gave my first English Conversation lesson two days ago to a woman who, while not mute, would not speak. 46 minutes into the 50 minute lesson, hoarse and sweaty, I have extracted her name and a description of her lunch that day: a potato, boiled and with salt; rice; a piece of whitefish that she believes had been steamed. We spend the last 4 minutes silent, smiling across the table at each other in the tiny room with its speed-chess clock and poster of Las Vegas, contemplating just what it is that we are doing with our lives . Happy American Camp’s owner, Sumiko, is a svelte and stylish Japanese woman, polished, 50, jaded and no doubt a beauty when younger, whose primary occupation is outfoxing the aging process. For the first 10 minutes of the interview we both wear sunglasses; mine are prescription and replacing my regular glasses, which I have temporarily lost. Not clear on her excuse until she tells me that she herself had lived in Los Angeles for 15 years. It was there that her marriage unraveled and she tells me that what she misses most about LA is “all the shrinks and that here in Japan it is hard to find a shrink” and what she really needs is a shrink. What she doesn’t need is her skirt being any shorter; what with all the broken English chatter and posters for 8-year-old American movies plastering the walls I can barely concentrate as it is. I manage to work into this (and every) interview that I had known Sharon Stone and she gets excited about that then tells me how she used to wait tables in Woodland Hills and was in acting class with a guy who is now on “Melrose Place” and that he’s a nice guy and they have even talked since he has become famous. I tell her about my acting class and some ideas I have on how acting techniques can be applied to teaching English, which gives her time to inhale, nod, and continue on that she used to be a model and might have some catalog work in Kyoto and that she heard about a film coming to town and means to call someone she knows who knows someone involved because there might be something in it for her. Except for the broken bits of language going on in the BG being Japanese not Spanish, I could have just crawled in from any freeway off-ramp in Los Angeles. Like
two
people
on
a
first
date
they
both
know
will
end
awkward
and
sexless,
the
job
is
not
meant
to
be,
but
I
have
since
been
accepted
by
Berlitz
Japan
to
undergo
one
week
of
full-time
training
in
order
to
join
their
Kyoto
branch
as
an
English
Instructor.
Training
begins
Monday
morning
at
8:30
in
Osaka,
which
means
I
have
to
get
up
at
about
Friday
to
start
catching
all
my
trains.
But
wherever
there
are
people
hungry
for
the
Gospel
according
to
English,
I
shall
do
my
part
to
spread
the
word,
whatever
my
sacrifice. Winter
is
here
and
double-paned
windows
are
not,
so
it
is
cold
inside
and
out.
I
look
across
the
room
and
see
that
the
steam
from
the
rice
cooker
has
thawed
out
a
huge
wasp
who
knows
its
days
are
few
and
is
looking
to
take
someone
out
with
him
when
he
goes.
I
open
the
window,
head
out
to
the
rice
fields
and
wait
for
it
to
die. Bye-onara. |
