Chapter 51 Fifty Hertens

Gilbert.Joseph looked at me with wide eyes and shouted, "Wait a minute, is that your wedding dress you're wearing?" So I told him: at least I still have occasions to wear such a good outfit. His stupid, carefree expression slammed off his face and hit the floor, making me feel sorry for what I said.His lower lip stood out because of it, and his eyes were sad.I thought about apologizing for my quick talk.But he started hissing again, sucking between his teeth, and tsk-tsk at me like a rogue.So I ignored him. Ah, even the sun is shining.There is only a little bit of faint light, but it is enough to boost my spirits, so as not to let this stupid man's worries get ahead of him.The content of each of my two letters of recommendation would have opened the doors of any school for me.Although I started to teach slowly in the halfway tree gangster school, the principal felt that my teaching skills were not an exaggeration.I found the meaning of proficiency in the dictionary, and I feel honored that the principal thinks I am an expert.Miss Morgan, the formidable headmaster of Teachers College, said I was extremely capable.So I feel like an extremely capable expert.Today is the day I apply myself to the education authorities for a teaching position, and no morose, terribly stupid person can spoil my spirits.

Gilbert spent over an hour explaining how to get to Islington.He insisted that I take notes, and then sent out a barrage of instructions to turn left, turn right, don't wait, go straight.He read it in one breath, and the only pause was when he asked me: Have you written it down?I am not a writing machine.Does this person need to be so fussed when he finally finishes speaking and finds that the only word I wrote on the paper is bus? That's all you wrote? I told him: You speak too fast. With a long and excited breath, he spit out a few words into my face: Come on, I'll go with you.

I heard Gilbert.Anyone Joseph spoke to would know without hesitation that he was not British.No matter how good his suit is, his hair is polished and his nails are clean, he still talks (and walks) with that vulgar Jamaican virtue.And since I arrived in this country, I have been determined to speak as a British person.It's no use trying to speak like people who say I have a lisp, because too many people I've met seem to be speaking Cockney.All the delicate and elegant diction is lost in the vague misinterpretations of the lower classes.no.To speak properly like an upper-class Englishman, I resolved to listen to the most delicate and elegant language.Every day I turn the radio on to the universally known paragon of English. BBC.Lifestyle shows Women's Hour, Mrs. Dale's Diary, Music to Work and of course the news.I read it as I listened, and then said it again.Twice, the clerk brought me what I asked for without me having to repeat it, proving that practice makes perfect.Thanks to the impeccable English on the radio, I was easily understood.

But Gilbert still sucked in air through his teeth, and clicked his tongue every now and then.No matter how hard I try, I can't get him to stop yelling, man.I worry about Gilbert.If Joseph had come any closer to me, the educated and educated of the education authorities might have looked at me with fear.But I have to admit he was right.Holtens, you have to arrive safely, the guidance of the bus is not enough.So I agreed with him and told him: Well, you can go with me. It was an elegant building.All learned dignity in the brown brick and signs of aging.The building stood majestic in the run-down street, just as Miss Morgan stood before us schoolgirls in imperial style.Gilbert walked ahead of me, putting his hand on the gleaming brass door.

I told him: Now you don't have to accompany me. This person looked at me with the same bitter face: What, you don't want me to go in? No, I'm fine. Then I'll wait for you here. You don't have to get the place dirty.I can find my way. What way are you looking for?I brought you here.He is grinding my patience.So I politely told him that perhaps the education authorities would need to show me around the school I would be serving in, which might take a while, and I didn't want to interrupt his schedule for the day.He looked at me for a long time, and then said: Hortens, that's not the English way.I then told him that a teacher like me would not be treated in the same way as the lower classes.He just shook his head at me and said: You just don't listen to me, right?I wait you.Nothing could persuade this man to go down the stairs.As I walked up to the gentleman sitting at the counter, I could still see his smoking figure through the glass door.He did not hide his intentions at all.While I was waiting for the gentleman to finish the paper, he caught me looking at him and gave me a clownish thumbs up.This nasty person has lowered my tone.

I was very touched that the gentleman at the counter understood my request after I asked it once.He answered me right away.Unfortunately, he started to act like Gilbert, telling me how to get to the right place.Left, right, left, right, up, down, turn.There is no slight pause to show consideration.After he finished speaking, he continued to read the newspaper.I froze, not having much choice but to ask: Excuse me, could you repeat the route? The gentleman clicked his tongue, opened his eyes wide, and then yelled like a commoner: Seymour.A tall, thin man appeared immediately.I had to avoid his eyes, because the young man's face was covered with cracked pimples and pustules, and he looked so angry that he had just fought a cat.

The gentleman at the counter calls the shots: take her to the inquiry desk. I said: Thank you for your help.But he had turned his head and continued to read the newspaper, and I had to run after the boy with the swollen face. I walked in the door, and three women sat neatly at the table and looked at me.They all exchanged quick glances like puppets dancing, and then turned to stare at me again. I said: Hello everyone. The two continued to work with their heads down, as if I hadn't spoken, leaving an older woman asking: Yes, what's the matter with you?The woman smiled at me with such a gleam of joy that there was nothing I could do but respond.She had such a huge smile, it was a little hard for me to part my lips to match her pleasure.She let me bask in this greeting for a while before I could catch my breath and answer her.

I said that I am a teacher and intend to continue to explain further.But I found myself trembling under the woman's friendly smile.My voice faltered into a small creak.I took my time and covered my cough with my hands.When I regain my composure, I will continue to speak.I am a teacher, and I understand that this is the place where I self-recommended for a teaching position.From the woman's warm smile, I detected a trace of confusion.She was well-bred and couldn't say anything, but looked at me with questioning eyes, and I could almost hear her shouting from the shape of her mouth.I repeated it clearly, but before I finished speaking, the woman asked me kindly: Do you mean you are a teacher?

I said: I am a teacher.The back of my ear hurts from my own smile, but I do my best to respond gracefully to her generosity.Anticipating their request, I took two letters of recommendation from my bag and handed them to her.She politely reached out her slender hand to catch it, motioning for me to sit down.She did not open the letter, however, but held it in her hand without even glancing at its contents. what are these?she asked, with a smile on her face. These are my letters of recommendation.one is from the principal She interrupted me, her lips relaxed a little before continuing to smile.She asked: Where are you from?Two letters were still hanging in the air I handed her.

I told her: I'm Jamaican. She was silent, and we both opened our mouths to each other politely and smiled.I wanted to bring her attention back to the letter.One of my letters to you is from my previous job.It was written by the principal himself.you will see But she interrupted me again: Where is the principal? I don't know if it would be impolite to ask this hypocritical woman to read the letter in her hand, which might answer all her questions.But I concluded that it was impolite, so I told her: Midway Tree Parish School. Where? In Jamaica, Kingston. She leaned back in her chair and stopped opening the letter. Instead, she played with it, flicking the letter with her fingers.So where did you train to be a teacher?she asked me.

Her pleasing smile belied her impertinent tone.I couldn't help noticing that the smile had faded from her eyes, leaving only a smile on her lips.I attended Teachers College in Eversprings, under the tutelage of Miss Morgan. In Jamaica? yes. Relieved, she turned her head to one side and let out a long breath.I reassured myself that everything was cleared up between us.Until she leaned forward with her most charming charm, told me well, I'm afraid you can't teach here, and returned the unopened letter to me. While I'm not sure where the misunderstanding is coming from, I'm sure there is some misunderstanding here.Maybe I didn't do my best to make her understand me.I said: If you could open these two letters, one would tell you about my three years of teacher training in Jamaica, and the other was about my work as a teacher. She wouldn't let me finish my sentence.She told me: It has nothing to do with those letters, you cannot teach in this country.You are not eligible to teach in the UK. But that's the only sound I can make. She continued: It has nothing to do with you being a teacher in Jamaica, no one will allow you to teach here.She waved the letter at me.Take it back.These letters are useless.I didn't take it, she shook the letter harder.take it.She spoke so loudly that she almost yelled, and her smile was as sour as a gargoyle outside a building.My trembling hand reached out to take the letter. And I can only say: but Miss, I'm afraid you don't need to sit here and argue with me.She giggled.This smug smile appeared at the wrong time, making me speechless.It's not up to me to decide, it's the education authorities' decision.There's nothing I can do to change that either.And, I'm afraid you can't change either.I don't mean to rush you, but I still have a lot of things to do.So thank you for making this trip. Every organ in my body was screaming at this woman: What are you talking about with me? She went on with her business.Now her face has returned to its normal appearance, as serious as Principal Morgan's before.She picked up a piece of paper and wrote something on top.She looked at another piece of paper, then stopped, noticing that I was still in place. I asked her: How long does the training in the UK take? She said: goodbye.Point to the door with one finger. Do I have to go back to school? Seriously, lady, I explained everything to you just now.Do you speak English?Can't you understand me?this is very simple.You don't need to ask me anything else.Now, please leave.I still have a lot to do.Thanks. And she smiled and smiled at me!How flawless it is.I can't stand up, my lower body legs are too weak.I sat for a while to regain my composure.When I finally pulled myself together, I told this woman: I will come back when I am qualified to teach in this country. She said: Well, please do as you please.goodbye. I stood up, and she gestured to the other two women in the office with her eyes.But I ignore it.I adjusted the hat on my head and adjusted the gloves.I opened the door and left and said to them: Thank you.Good day.Each of the women responds with pantomime movements as if something is going on.I opened the door and walked over.Suddenly everything went dark.I stared at the ladder, the mop, the broom.I reach out and touch a shelf full of papers.For a split second, I didn't know how to get out of this mess.Kicking the bucket, I found myself walking into the closet.I stepped in with what little confidence I had as the women looked at me. The three of them giggled as I emerged from the darkness of the closet.One covered it with his hand, and the other blocked it with paper to prevent me from seeing it.The older woman was smiling, of course, but there was a wave of sympathy surrounding her expression.She said: It's that door.Sharp fingers pointed to another open wooden door.I thanked her, wished them a good day again, and walked through the right exit, undisturbed by their cackles of laughter.