At 7pm the sirens sounded.
That is, the sirens in my head.
This particular pupil was annoying in that he was erroneously misinformed that I was nice. Generally, in the hazy melodrama of being a teacher it is important to maintain some sort of bland decorum, in order to maintain order in the ranks. This can be accomplished by coming across as a serial killer on coke who has been clean for three years and just got his first rush. This makes them scared,very scared. Which is good.
So, the fact that this child had suddenly got the idea into his head that I was nice was unnerving. I was going to have to ease myself into dictator zone, which is not something I generally like to do.
Creeping his little urchin head around the corner, I heard 'Alan' say 'Hi Mr Ariev' in the most chirpy and fearless tone that Bambi would be proud of. I gave a curt nod. In the usual order of things, I began to explain about this chord and that chord and Alan was bobbing and swinging his little head in appreciation.
My mind started to wander at some point, maybe at 7:18 and I thought of something funny. I started to giggle. Children like stability. And when Alan noticed that his learned teacher was giggling like a deflating chipmunk it didn't go well with him. He looked up and gave a slightly uncomfortable smile, with the knowledge in his mind that his parents had warned him about these 'teachers'. I giggled more as the situation was becoming untenable, and Alan made the decision to edge his chair back slightly, closer to the accessible phone.
I explained to him, that sometimes teachers find things funny, and this is perfectly natural. He nodded and smiled with an even more worried and concerned look on his face. So I decided to reincarnate myself as Mao for the last 8 minutes of the lesson. Children need guidance in times of uncertainty.
'Turn to page 82'
'But, but'
' I said..'
'But there is no such page as 82'
'Turn to page 82'
'Hmm now i would like you to play Chopin dance minuet in Fm'
He could play 'Mary had little lamb. Just.
Trembling, he reached for a note he could find, any, as long as this crazed revolutionist emancipate him from the iron reign that had befallen this lesson,
When it had ended, I was approached by the male parent who was interested in his other child being dragged in chains to the 'free' Republic of Avrom II. I entertained him with the idea that there were other instruments available for tuition in my regime and he particularly liked the sound of the long horn with buttons, the clarinet. But his wife didn't. He inquired as to the ins and outs of the air in the horn, and when he was fully satisfied that it made a good sound he confirmed he would like his child to be indoctrinated.
There is one point to mention here. The Male parent was of frog-eating origin. So am I, but I have a rule. I never, on any occasion let my fellow frog eaters know my humble green origins. This is to ensnare them into thinking they are perfectly safe to switch to a frog Tongue of their own in times of danger. And they fall right in, most of the time.
So, the male-parent said something about something and giggled to make chairman Avrom feel comfortable and said he would consult 'wife' for confirmation of entry into Clarinet labour. I told him that there are other choices too apart from the black horn. Nevertheless he cooed up to his wife, in French.
'The man says that clarinet is easy' I said no such thing.
'He believes clarinet will take our child to the upper realms of heavenly musical creativity' Oooohhhh.
Enough was enough. I nodded and smiled accordingly and left. Later, I sent a message to Female parent.
'Dear Alan's mum.
Clarinet is a very difficult instrument. It can take many years for a child to master the various blowing techniques, never mind the mental and emotional challenges along the way of learning to play such an instrument. It may take him years before he can blow out a single note'
Later I received a curt reply. 'Husband dead'.
