liar,’ says the girl next to him, Jennifer, if I remember right.
‘No I’m not. Many.’ He shifts in his seat. He’s lying, so I try to help him out.
‘I kissed about five,’ I under-exaggerate.
‘Was it good?’ he asks, leaning forward.
‘It was ok, some better than others. Now shall we get on with the lesson?’
‘We don’t kiss here,’ says a woman on the opposite side of the room to Johnny. She is about thirty, the oldest in the class and one of only two ethnic Indonesians. ‘Not often.’
‘I saw my mother and father kiss once,’ joins in Yenny, a small girl in the middle, ‘but they didn’t know I see.’
At least they’re talking. I close the course book.
‘Only once? Don’t your parents kiss in front of you?’
‘Never. It is bad to kiss in front of people,’ says Yenny.
‘In England it’s OK. Many people kiss in public.’
‘Really. What sort of kissing?’ Johnny is leaning right across his desk now. The students who haven’t said anything yet are sitting more upright and adjusting their backsides.
‘Well, you know, all sorts.’
‘With, with, this,’ Johnny sticks his tongue out as if showing it to a doctor.
‘Tongue. It’s a tongue. Yes, sometimes.’
‘In public?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to go to England.’
The class laugh.
‘What about holding hands in the street here?’ I ask. ‘Is that allowed?’
‘No. Not really. Some people do it now, but many people don’t like it,’ answers Jennifer.
‘It must be difficult for boyfriends and girlfriends’.
‘Do you not think your country is too free?’ This is a new voice, Franz, the other ethnic Indonesian. He is about seventeen and serious.
‘Shut up, stupid,’ says Johnny, ‘if you can kiss when you want, what is wrong with that?’ The class laugh, except Franz and the older woman.
‘Johnny, please don’t be like that here. Don’t call people stupid,’ I say.
‘Sorry sir, but these Muslim ideas are…’
‘Johnny, shh.’ I’m just starting to see the mix of religious backgrounds these students come from: Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, possibly others. As I have none, which according to Kim is an inconceivable idea in Medan, I don’t want a heated religious debate in my class.
‘Too free, no. There are many things in England, Europe and the US that stop us from being free. Also sometimes I don’t want to see young teenagers kissing and touching each other in the middle of a street or on a bus.’
‘They touch each other?’ Johnny is virtually climbing onto his desk.
‘I think it is disgusting,’ says Franz.
‘I think it is nice,’ says Jennifer, ‘to show you love someone when you want. To be allowed to love someone so all can see.’
Other girls in the class nod. Some of the boys’ eyes seem to have glazed over and I wonder where I have sent their fantasies; probably snogging on the top deck of a double-decker with Cameron Diaz while cruising around London.
‘Well, anyway.’ I stand up. ‘We’re here to learn English, not discuss my sex life. What’s this?’ I tap the dolphin on the board.
‘A shark, sir?’ This is a girl whose name I can’t remember, sitting on the end.
‘Yes, thank you. A shark, sort of. Now do sharks, or dolphins, live in the sea?’
I can’t believe I’m actually about to teach this stupid lesson, but the class, or most of them, are with me now. I’ve just given them the slightest insight into another world and they’ve woken up. Now I want to impart all my knowledge of dolphins, aka sharks, and a bit of the present perfect tense while I have them.
—Well done. You’ve just corrupted a whole generation. They’ll all be holding hands and getting beaten by their parents in a week.
I ignore her.
‘No.’ says Yenny.
‘Sorry?’ I say.
‘Dolphins do not live in the sea.’
‘Of course they do,’ says Johnny. ‘Want a kiss after class?’
Yenny blushes and moves her books around her desk.
—Told you, says Laura.
—I miss you, I tell her.
Each present is wrapped in different paper.
‘This one first.’ She holds up one of the four gifts which sit on the bed between us. She hands it to me and pulls her legs up under her, her dressing gown rising up over her thighs. My eyes wander from the present to her exposed skin and my mind wanders a little further.
‘That one first.’ She pulls her gown over her legs, only a little. ‘You can have this later.’
‘OK, OK.’ I squeeze, prod and sniff the gift. It has a familiar weight to it.
‘Open.’
I tear a little strip of paper off and see a small hand inside. A gripping hand. I rip the rest off and he lies across my palm in his khaki camouflage and fuzzy hair: an Action Man.
I look at her and she is smiling, like she’s just been given the perfect present, not me.
‘It’s the right one, isn’t it? Isn’t it? From about 1976. I checked.’ She rocks backwards and forwards with her arms around her stomach. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘How, where did you get this?’ I hold him up to my face and run my finger across his head.
‘It doesn’t matter, but you like it, don’t you.’ This isn’t a question but a statement. She knows damn well I like it.
‘Yes, I like it.’ I’m ten again. He feels so right in my hands. I want to send him on a mission across the floor immediately. Have him climb some stairs and parachute off the banisters. Make him ride the cat and shoot some plastic cowboys.
‘I used to have six of these, real Action Men, with life-like hair and gripping hands, not like the crap these days.’
‘Yes, I know. You’ve already told me.’
‘It’s
