Part Three
Tuane had stepped out to get dog food for his golden
retriever. A fifty-pound bag balanced on his shoulder as he held back the large
hot dog on a leash as he headed back to his rental in Taipei. He had a long,
slow gait that could have challenged John Wayne to a duel. Someone from behind
was calling out in a familiar language.
“Hello, excuse me?” An English voice on a Taipei street?
Strange.
Tuane stopped and turned to look. There, in sunglasses
and L.A. Dodger cap stood a middle-aged white man, not as tall as but chubbier
than Tuane with ear-length brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was
approaching Tuane where he stood.
“I
saw you from behind, your blond hair, and knew you might be American.” He got
close to hand Tuane a business card. “I’m Stuart Millender from Chicago. Glad
to meet you,” he said and extended his hand for Tuane to shake. Tuane was still
using the hand to carry the dog food. He didn’t reply.
“”What do you want? I’m very busy,” Tuane said without
glancing at the business card. The sack of dog food still balanced on his
shoulder. The golden retriever sniffed at Mr. Millender’s pant leg.
“Well,” he said retreating slightly from the dog. “I have
a bushiban up the road here and we need new teachers. Do you teach?”
“Yes, I do,” said Tuane dryly squinting at Mr. Millender
who stood before the west setting sun.
“If you need a job, I have one for you.” Tuane shook his
head and turned to leave. “I have a job already and you’re making me late for
it, but thank you for asking.”
“Wait!” You live in the neighborhood, right?”
“Around the corner I do.”
“My school’s right here, too. You can basically roll out
of bed and be home from work in a minute; no buses to take, no hassles.”
“You have a point there,” said Tuane stopping to listen
and looking at the card. “My name is Tuane, Tuane Gorgonsen. Alright, I’ll
think about it.”
“The salary won’t disappoint you either, Tuane. There’s
no Chinese co-teacher to get in your face telling you how to teach, and I’ll
show you how to use the textbooks; it’ll be a cinch!”
“Now that’s a horse of a different color.” The dog tugged
at Tuane and pulled him toward a skinny tree near the curb. “I have to be going
now.” He put down the sack of dog food for a moment to shake Mr. Millender’s
hand. “Thanks for the tip. Come-on girl,” he said to the eager panting dog and
turned around to walk away, his ground down heels making him seem like he was
limping.
Mr. Millender called out as Tuane was twenty feet away.
“My number’s on the card, and if you decide to come, could you introduce us to
some foreign friends of yours? Actually we need two teachers.”
“I sure will,” said Tuane as he let the retriever pull
him around the corner and off the noisy main drag up the quieter street where
he lived.
The next day, Tuane called Mr. Millender back. The other
school Tuane worked at was far away from home and too demanding, always adding
new responsibilities onto Tuane’s nerve and cramping his style. They wanted him
to follow their curriculum but Tuane didn’t like those restrictions. He took
the job at Mr. Millender’s bushiban and quit his old school just like that. His
old boss was too afraid to argue with him when Tuane demanded his final salary
envelope immediately. In fact, this old boss was happy to get rid of Tuane; he
was afraid Tuane would never go away. He thought there’d be trouble. The
students didn’t like him; Tuane never followed the program or marked papers. He
talked over the students’ heads and was usually late or slow to class.
Tuane had a way of talking to people that scared them,
especially people of gentle Taiwanese nature. His cold large blue eyes,
eye-lids folded under his brow, cut into you like a knife without a sheath. His
straight neck-length dirty blond hair, pushed to the side by an ever-present
hand, racked your brain with his presence. The pores on his cheeks and forehead
and temple, so large and prominent, like looking at his face through a
magnifying lens. One could count the sweat ducts as sure as one could feel the
pain doing him wrong would bring. His smile, insincere and cold, was a grimace
away from a death threat. His teeth, behind muscular turquoise lips, loomed
large and wide and ready to rip into raw steak. His face was large and
ruddy-red like a northwestern lumberjack’s. Tuane was the man you stayed away
from after you became friendly; you stayed away for fear what he’d do to you if
you stayed too long. Yes, you were glad when Tuane chose to leave and wondered
why you’d asked him to stay in the first place.
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