I have returned to the library another day to squeeze out as many words in one hour typing at carpal tunnel speed will allow! Now that I´ve caught you all up a bit about my whereabouts, my safety and the such and such of my arrival here, let´s get on with the show, shall we?
at day one of school, year zero
Huckleberry, unshaven and horsely maned enters the column adorned patio inside the Escuela Oficial de Idiomas, Caceres. Brisk air and the warm breath of plants wake him up just in time to meet all 17 of the english professors at EOI, all at once. It only takes 6 or 7 introductions for him to almost dive at someones face for los dos besos that accompany any hello, goodbye, how´s your mum? or maybe even a nicetoseeyalet´stalksoonokbye scenario on the street.
His mentors roughly inform him, no – wait, inform him roughly – dear god, succumbing to the slippery morasse of deteriorating english has begun! In all manners they inform him delightfuly of his duties in the school, in the fashion that all group organizations seem to work in spain. For example, when I went to the extranjeria to apply for my foreign residency card I was passed around like a soccer ball every 2 seconds between the various teammates or administrative officials until finally, an hour long marathon run later, they finally scored and I left the building exhausted. Similarly, Huckleberry finds himself having a conversation with a polycorporal borglike sentience that is any group of spaniards in one space. How delightful, yes? It is a synchronicity singular to musicals, operas, theatre, and the spanish way of life.
Meanwhile, as the day progresses Huckleberry´s mentors compose a 3 part suite that will ultimately determine where and when he will deliver solo arias to classrooms full of attentive, yet often timid, adults between the ages of 16 years of age to never ask how dare you years.
Their efficient synchronicity blows Huckleberry´s sweet little mind, but he´s got other things to deal with at the moment for here, now, begins the constant onslaught of aggressive parents and their pawns(friends doin´a favor) demanding that he educate their children in the arcane ways of English. Paper after paper, phone call after phone call, <I´ve got this friend, see> et cetera and so forthly so on. Times like these call for that magic potion, the spanish cortado.
Spain 101: A little solace in a cup of jose takes the edge off the brain but anihilates the fronteir of the taste buds. A cortado in Spain could be a Traditional Macchiato in the states with no foam. A cafe con leche is like our Cortados, and a ¨breakfast size cafe con leche¨ is like a flat white..in volume. ahem. moving on.
Huckleberry exhausts his reserves of Midwestern indirectness and redirects his chi through the old spanish veins and circuits built four years ago to decline and nullify the hordes of the requestive folk, however he decides to accept one offer. The family that he decides to teach has three boys and the parents just want him to chill, hang out, play games, and help them build confidence speaking english. Turns out, the elder son speaks almost flawlessly fluent at the age of 12. The middle child seems to understand as much as the oldest but reserves his voice for select moments. The youngest knows more than he lets on, but can´t speak full sentences. What he can do is 1. draw a hand, a watch, a pair of scissors and objects to cut out 2. cut them all out 3. put them all together. Yes, he made a paper watch that wraps around a paper hand that uses paper scissors to cut paper drawings of things..this kid is META.
Whether it be at the school for adults or teaching this three kids, Huckleberry has found himself quite happy in this strange new role as Teacher. Being naively open to the great river has thrown some curve balls, and the changes, he finds, are quite pleasing.
More on the EOI (escuela oficial de idiomas), food, folk, and friends next time on The Adventures of Huckleberry Grimm. Now, to return this computer to the lovely librarian.
