Chapter Nine
From the Palm of his Hand
From the palm of his hand Chung withdrew a sliver of thin clear plastic, long and seemingly endless, it emerged through parted flesh.
“Richard, I’m getting fed up with people, especially Dean, asking when’s the wedding. I’ll explode,” he starts as the class begins. His volcanic temper has been temporary kept under control, revealed only through his tongue and inflamed eyes, as Tricia’s arms have begun to calm him. My mind, my intuition, is telling me something’s different this time and feel the group’s silence is positive. Chung’s more open and mature, and has something others haven’t.
“Chung what would you do if I brought a member of staff into the group and put my arms around, if I found myself falling in love with her?”
“But you’re married.”
“Chung ....!”
“Oh, you mean like a divorce?”
“Yes, some people do, don’t they?”
“Chung, what would you feel?”
“I’d feel angry.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d be excluded.”
“Right. Maybe Dean, Paul, Lee and the others feel excluded. They haven’t got what you and Tricia have. Chung, do you know what you and Tricia have?”
“Yes”, says Chung directly and sharply affirmative, his head looking straight forward, his eyes proud, “love and caring.”
“And friendship. Someone you can turn to and talk about the world. Someone who can help you when things go bad.”
I wonder loudly, whether Dean, or lost Paddy, have the love and affection they need. I ask Chung if he thinks they’ve special friends to depend upon.
“They don’t, do they?”
“But you have a special friend. I wonder if they feel jealous. Do they Chung?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wonder if it’s time for you and Tricia to help us. Do you think we could talk about what’s special in your relationship?”
I’m asking his help to lead a discussion, challenging the undermining “we’re boys and girls” self image they have. But I’ve lost the thread, unable to come up with the right lines. I’m faring no better than Chung confused with the weight of responsibility I’ve placed upon him. The subject’s sinking from view, important matters tossed about with insufficient focus. Maybe they’re tired, perhaps I’ve been too personal, preferring to keep parts of me hidden and private. Possibly Chung and Tricia are not keen to reveal the depths of their intimacy. Why should I have one rule for me and another for them? The class breaks leaving me feeling nothing but doubt.
I talked to Chung afterwards and tell him I don’t plan to continue our sessions next term. He seems upset. “Can’t we talk about feelings again?”, he asks.
“Do you think college would allow us to continue working like this instead of normal work?”, I ask him.
“Well, you could ask”, he replies.
“I can ask if I could split the group, one half continuing group work, the other written work.”
I’m pressurised by another factor, staff criticism of their relationship, more specifically their hugging and holding each other in public. A meeting’s been arranged with the counsellors to discuss how they could become more involved with special needs students. I see this as an opportunity to talk about Tricia and Chung, making them more conscious of open hostility from certain members of staff. I begin by asking, “What happens when they’re approached by Emrhys again? I object to him telling me I must control the feelings of my students. I don’t think their actions are wrong at all.”
The counsellors say they’ll support me if there’s further trouble from Emrhys. The test for this offer of support is soon in coming, on a Wednesday, forever to be my unlucky day. I receive a call from my faculty director to meet him in his office. “There you are Richard!”, he says as we bump into each other along the corridor leading to his room, “can we talk?” I feel honoured to be sought out by an old style educationalist I greatly respect.
“I’ve had a complaint from a member of staff about two students of yours, Tricia and Chung.” Oh God I think, as my happiness quotient plummets below zero. Alex is senior management and I need to watch what I say, listen intently, and not be abrasive which is how I feel when Tricia and Chung are criticised. I’ve got to put my views across calmly even though I’m intimidated by him. I don’t want to curtail what the couple have. I’m not a moral policeman, but here I am beneath vulture Alex circling me, ready to swoop, pecking me into line. I’m being scrutinized. Christ have I got to justify them - and myself as well - what kind of adult education college is this?
“Richard, I received a call from Emrhys about your two students literally an hour ago”, he says, beckoning me to sit down, though remaining standing himself. “Emrhys asked the two students to stop kissing and behave in the appropriate manner. Can you go and tell them not to behave like this.” My mood sinks deeper, my breath forced from me to conform to what I don’t accept, stop affection and its public display. I remain deliberately silent, passive hostility oozing from me. Alex shifts about the room and tells me he’s seen more compromising behaviour at staff parties, I’ll bet you have, I think. “Richard, I know you care for your students, but Emrhys told me they verbally abused him, and I can’t allow my staff to be spoken to in such a manner.”
“But”, I continue, summoning up strength, “this isn’t the first time disagreements have occurred between them. Emrhys regularly makes hostile comments to them. I think the relationship is important to them and for other students too. I’ve already had a meeting with student services about it.” But I can’t add we decided the problem is Emrhys can I? I’m floundering trying not say the wrong thing without getting tongue tied and bursting out, “go away and leave them alone will you. Give them a break”. I can’t say that. In the face of Alex’s insensitivity I remain calm. Then he adds, “it’s against college policy for this type of behaviour. This is a public place. We have students aged sixty and over, coming into this building. What do you think the effect is on them? Richard, go and tell them to stop their behaviour.”
Joe and Joanne Hendon, the couple atop the 303 bus circling the estate with its impersonal concrete blocks, are avoiding college portals, fearful of meeting couples embracing and muttering sweet nothings.
“Alex, we discussed the whole subject last week and I’ll have to talk to my colleagues and student services about our discussion”. I’m shaking inside as I leave. I won’t act the moral policeman, I storm around the college building looking for the couple, but they’re nowhere to be seen. They must be outside. I go upstairs to talk with Alan, but he’s not around. I tell one of the counsellors the whole story, seething anger as I do.
“I’m sorry for burdening you with this, but it’s upsetting me. I’m supposed to be dealing with adults, helping kids come to terms with themselves,” I tell her. And Alex, I think to myself the philosopher of education, argues self learning is the most effective way to develop. “Listen,” I conclude, “when Alan comes back can you tell him I’ll be downstairs in the gym.” Within the hour we meet up.
“Richard, I’ll have to talk to Alex and get this sorted out as soon as possible,” he informs me leaving immediately from the sweating echo of the gym. I’m luckier this
time in my search for the two criminals.
“I want you to do something for me immediately. Go the library and write down what happened earlier. Be detailed, write the time, where you were, what you were doing, what was said - and be honest. Remember everything, talk about it together. And do it now!” The urgency in my voice didn’t even prompt a simple “why?”. They turned and vanished along the corridor to the library. I search for my acting manager, but he’s no where to be seen, I find Carol instead and talk to her about events.
2
The group session begins on Thursday, a little loose and ragged. Michelle’s been stalking me. I’m changing tack with her. Her increasing integration into the group and growing confidence means I can adopt a more direct approach. Though she’s full of self doubt I can take chances with her. I make her the centre of attention in the group telling her she has to make choices. No ifs or buts. She chose to come to college full time, so there’s no alternative. She has to think what’s in her best interests and be more confident. She’s to respect my wishes when I ask her to leave me in peace. Her written work is coming on apace, topics on Berlin, the Himalayas, and herself on holiday, but she must stop leaving private messages on my desk signed with “love from Michelle”.
In response she wants to say something to the group, I ask her to speak up and face them. She begins by saying everything’s getting her down and she can’t cope, the usual global complaints lacking focus. I ask her to be more specific. “No, no, speak up Michelle, we can’t hear you!” I look at the group reminding them over the term how we’ve all helped each other. “We’ve all said things we’ve not talked about before, we’ve all been honest and with guts expressed our feelings without embarrassment. I want you to help Michelle.” There’s agreement, now Michelle must talk. Her head slumps on the table as if decapitated from her woollen covered shoulders.
“Michelle we need to hear you speak. You have to tell us what’s the matter before we can help.”
“I’ve seen my doctor.”
“And? What did she say?”
“That I’ve to have an operation.”
“Yes?”
“And I might not pull through.”
“Is it serious then?”
We wait, but there’s no answer to Dean’s simple question. The silence grows. The group’s restless. “Michelle, you have to help us, you have to open your mouth. None of us can help if you sit in silence. We all need to open our mouths to let thoughts and feelings out.” Silence. “Who else has had surgery here?”
Paul reveals he’s had seven major operations, necessary ones to keep him alive. Tricia similar life saving ones, but only six. Lee, he of the voice becoming loud and frenetic
energy, has had numerous operations on his club foot. Even Dean joins the chorus telling us of a visit to the dentist to have teeth removed.
“But I won’t pull through,” she exclaims emphatically.
“But we’ve all survived haven’t we?”, I add.
Paul grins his eyes made large through thick lens.
“But I won’t!”
“Can you tell us why?”
More silence. Followed by more. Tricia’s getting angry, the group losing patience.
“If you won’t tell us we can’t help you.”
“Shall we break for twenty minutes?”
I find Gill in the staff room.
“Richard, can I have a word with you.”
“Sure.”
“You know Emrhys’s looking for you.”
“Why?”
“About your two students. Do you want me to talk to them about their inappropriate behaviour?”
Gill really thinks she’s helping me.
“No”, I tell her quietly as she changes tack to admits that, “Every time Emrhys becomes involved in anything it’s the kiss of death.”
“I understand how you feel Gill, but I don’t think I can tell them what is, or is not, appropriate behaviour,” and inform her of my discussions with student services.
“It sounds as if you have it worked out.”
“Yes”, I repeat, “we’ve discussed it.”
“But beware of Emrhys.”
“Thanks Gill.”
I’m furious again. Mike arrives in the staff room, and I quickly update him on the situation, when Dean pops his head around the door to shout, “Come on Richard, we’re waiting for you!”
“Dean, give me a few more minutes will you.” Well, now seems the time to raise what I missed with Chung earlier. I start the group, but I’m lost for an opening gambit. They’re becoming restive and quickly uninterested as I fumble my lines and ask them to bear with me. “It’s important”, I try to convince them. Michelle’s sitting with her back to the group. I tell her to move into the group and show the same respect to them as they’ve shown her.
“What would you do if I brought a member of staff into the room and kissed her?”, I repeat. I explain Chung asked me to raise this and tell them I was unable to. I ask Chung to hold his response for the time being, instead asking the group, in turn, what they think. “Well”, says Paul, smile beaming beneath blue eyes, “I wouldn’t object, it’s your life.”
From around the group each gives an opinion, apart from Chung. All in favour. I ask the group what they think Chung’s response was with me. Dean bursts in, “He wouldn’t like it!”
“That’s right, isn’t it Chung. Dean, can you tell us why you think this?”
“No, I can’t!”, he blurts promptly shutting up.
“That’s o.k.”
I continue. “Chung, can you remember the word you used to object?”
“It was jealous.”
“Yes, and another word. Can you remember?”
“No!”
“I’ll remind you, it was ‘exclude’, wasn’t it?” I’m on firmer, safer ground now, and over my embarrassment. I ask the group what they think Tricia and Chung share, and if they’ve ever had a special friend. The group reaches out in support.
“They care for each other.”
“They love each other.”
“They can talk to each other.”
“That’s right, they have each other when things get tough. They can talk together can’t they to make life easier. When Chung admitted to feeling excluded did anyone else feel the same?” Sunil feels a little out of it, and says so, becoming less shy about his feelings. The rest admit they don’t. “Does anyone feel it’s wrong to show affection the way Tricia and Chung do?” They seem surprised at the question, commenting it’s perfectly natural.
Over the past week or so Dean’s been kissing Sunil on the cheek, so I ask them if they think this is wrong. Sunil objects strongly to the group and calls Dean a “poof”. Paddy gets aroused by this and for the first time says something, “It’s queer”, he shouts. Nice to see you’re still here Paddy. “What would you do if you saw two men, or two women, come to think of it, embracing and kissing.”
“I’d say something to them”, ventures Sunil.
Chung and Lee say that in France and Russia men kiss each other openly, “and sometimes in Italy too”, Chung adds for good measure.
“Sunil, would you say anything to Tricia and Chung kissing each other?”
“No!”
“So why would you dare to make comments to two men, or two women?”
“It’s queer!”, shouts Paddy again.
“Oh shut up!”, replies Tricia.
John looks around the group and smiles, “Well, I wouldn’t object because it’s their life.”
“That’s right. It’s their life. Who knows the age of consent in this country?”
“Sixteen.”
“That’s right. Who knows what it was in a hundred years ago?”
“Fourteen”, bursts forth Paddy.
“That’s right. So, you can decide at sixteen to make love. Who knows the age of consent for two males?”
Nobody does.
“It’s eighteen. Sunil, why did you object to Dean kissing you?”
“I didn’t!”, laughs Dean, then quacks.
“Duck off will you Dean”, a voice answers.
“I don’t like it!”
“That’s o.k., but why?”
“I don’t like it,” asserts Sunil.
“Maybe because you didn’t consent, and it was done against your will.”
“That’s right!”
“But if both partners agree on it,” says Tricia, “and they’re old enough to make their own choice, it can’t be wrong can it, because they’re consenting adults.”
With discussion now well lubricated by student outrage and controversy I need to tell them what’s happening outside our cosy and safe room in the corridors of power, abuse and uncertainty.
“Listen, I think this morning we’ve made clear what Tricia and Chung do with their lives is a choice only for them. If Dean, or any other student, wants to date someone of their own sex that’s their choice too. If that’s where they get affection and love that’s also a matter for them, isn’t it. We all support Tricia and Chung, and this morning we’ve told them so, and from them we’ve learned the importance of having a loving relationship, or a special friend.”
3
The second years, having self-selected themselves down to seven, are moving with haste on their sponsored table tennis game. They’ve used reprographics facilities and covered the college with posters advertising the great event. Nish suggests we call into the estate’s community centre to seek sponsorship money. The group agrees, though Chrissy’s very reticent, pacing up and down the class room saying she can’t go, becoming more agitated each step she makes. We have our sponsorship forms, so off we go.
The pensioners remember us from our previous visit, young faces they won’t forget. I buy a mug of tea and ask the group to home in on the tables and get as much cash as possible. Chrissy’s agitated. “Go ahead Chrissy, just ask the nearest person.”
“I can’t! I don’t know them!”
“That’s true,” I tell her. “Before you came to college nobody knew you, did they? But now everybody really knows you well. Just approach the kindest looking person and see how it goes.”
“I can’t! I don’t know them!” She continues to pace agitatedly, so I leave her alone.
Peter’s a true businessman, his sponsorship form quickly filling as my mug is slowly drained. Nish likewise, and even Harry, though looking his usual lost strangeness, is making an effort. Mohammed’s coming forward and hands his cash to me. A woman beckons Chrissy over to her and asks what it’s all about. Chrissy, lumbering over, half woman, coy, shy, half girl, explains the purpose of her visit. A few moments later, as another mug is emptied, she comes to me handing over £2.50p, she’s scored and beams confidence.
We cross the Concourse to visit the disabled day centre opposite the community centre. I explain the purpose of our mission to the officer in charge, who, as a one off, agrees to the request. Mark, suffering total confidence collapse waits outside in the cold. But nobody enquires inside as to where he is, they’re all too busy. I just see his over coated shape merging with the sky and concrete grayness, his wild hair adding a mousy glow to his cold and pinched face.
Back in the base room we count out £25 and the group’s over the moon. We split and throughout the remainder of the week money’s thrust into my hands and new sponsorship forms requested. We did the same thing the following Wednesday, this time booking the mini-bus, and visiting the other two college sites. I’ve no need subsequently to tell Chrissy what to do, she goes right ahead and does it. Some of the first years’ are getting in on the act requesting forms. Soon the cash donated is touching £100, with more pledged on paper.
One of Emrhys’s colleagues comes into the staff room saying she’s totally peed off with him. He’s becoming obsessional about Tricia and Chung wanting to protect them from original sin. She says a male colleague and her conspired to canoodle in the corner of their staff room to wind Emrhys up - all hell was let loose when they did. I ask why she thinks he’s worked up about it. “Is it because she’s disabled, or is there another reason?”
“No, he’s genuinely against sex before marriage.”
Meanwhile, Alan has decided to go above Emrhys’ head and raise the issue with the vice-principal to get the matter clarified once and for all.
