The Long Highway Pt. 19D

Akemi knows about my writing, of course. But she doesn't read much of it, preferring, I guess, to keep our work (her painting) separate. Last night, though, she read a section of a recent chapter I'd mentioned (curious because I said she was featured?) I watched for its effect on her, the visible, like clouds passing an airplane in full flight, and the invisible, wind currents buffeting it.

Akemi's English is improving, and inspired by the progress she saw in her reading she decided to try a new learning technique she'd heard about, one Nelson told her, recommended (When did he? Under what circumstances?)

Akemi repeated some lines of English she'd memorized, four or five, over and over, slowly, as exercise to build her fluency in the language. I wondered if the chant-like rhythm would affect her, she'd be aroused by the time she finished- speaking of cults and the things they do. I tell you, Nelson's presence really has an effect and it isn't necessarily just bad. There's no denying the strength of such a guru-like figure, mentor to me and admired artist to Akemi.

One line, the second, seemed important, repeated the word "pressure" with emphasis. "Do you feel the pressure?" "Can you keep the pressure?" I don't know what that was about. Like a mantra, the whole thing, from Nelson, intending to impress Akemi with suggestions of mysticism, work things so she'd see being with him as a way to improve herself, not the seduction it clearly was but a test of her merit proposed by a great teacher, challenge both spiritual and physical, meeting of the mind and body or somesuch. Akemi isn't stupid, not gullible. I didn't know what Nelson told her or how much of his English she understood, just saw his big eyes on her.

I showed Akemi again the photo of her I'd sent him, the bare-chested one he praised, kept on the wall of his studio. Akemi sat in the dull green crushed velvet armchair before me, having finished her "chanting," and looked, praised the image in turn.

"You're skinny," I said. "No, I mean here. Just right."

I wasn't talking now about the picture but Akemi in the flesh. I touched her midriff, making clear I meant no criticism but praise at least equal to that delivered by the other man. I noted her fine navel in the hourglass-like plane of her belly. She's not thin in a bad sense. Her breasts are opulent. She needed no assurance from me.

Was it possible Akemi could admire a picture of herself, as if it were of a stranger, even be turned on by it?

And then there was the job, seldom easy. In the morning early, before class, a colleague and friend asked me, "Are you okay? Because you look lousy. Circles under your eyes. Color not good. Like you didn't sleep. The boss if he saw you like that might wonder if he'd have hired you had he known this was what he was going to get."

She was half-joking.

"Well, the chest pain I've been having, the pressure is still there."

Ha ha. Pressure from that chant Nelson gave Akemi.

It was true I'd felt heaviness around my solar plexus for the last few days, but I figured it might be anxiety. Of course it could be an incipient heart attack.

On the way to class I talked with a different coworker, confided in her that I'd "run out of ideas" for what to do with the students. That really was the case.

"I've gone through all the stuff I know is good, this good one and this good one and this.. and now I've got nothing left. And there are still three days of class. We've finished the final test. Students aren't expecting to learn more, but they'll want something to fill the hour and a half sessions."

The colleague said not to worry. "You'll be fine. Here." She handed me a book. "Read this. It's full of wisdom."

The book was by a teacher about her philosophy in the classroom. Young heavyset black women whose picture appeared on the cover. Smiling. Calm as milk and honey. In that latter respect she resembled the coworker beside me then. Like that author, she wore a flowing outfit, generous vertical black and white and grey stripes that hid her overweight like camouflage and in manner she all but overflowed with goodwill, which I have to say I didn't take completely at face value. Some smiles hide malice, don't they? Or am I just being cynical?

I took the book but thought, "What use do I have for this? It's full of ideas. What I need are concrete plans. And right away."

The colleague with me in the hall wasn't teaching any longer. She'd moved to administration, where you can afford to deal with abstractions, strategies rather than tactics to be implemented immediately on the classroom battlefield. The administrators looked more relaxed than those of us who worked in the trenches- I mean, at the whiteboard. Better rested. They didn't have the pressure (that word again) we teachers did. I found myself resenting that Pollyannaish coworker proffering advice with a smile. I almost felt she was mocking me.

Then there was the party I attended that same afternoon at the invitation of my boss Ray (who I count as a friend), to-do at the home of a benefactor to the university. The apartment we entered and in which we quickly separated was a rich one on an upper floor of a high-rise. What a place! You feel yourself starved of oxygen for a moment not from the altitude but the shock of such opulence. Walking through the front door, you face brilliance, light, that is, and open space of a kind rare in the city where the cost per square foot is enough to bring on tears. High ceilings, blond wood walls- slim vertical wood panels, Scandinavian style, I guess you'd call that, greeted you- all brand new-looking, clean as if scrubbed daily by a team of servants- and it probably was- wide windows reaching from floor to ceiling with a view, an awe-provoking one of Central Park and its reservoir like a deep blue ocean, and so much space- let me repeat, in New York it translated to a lot of millions. Did the host have any idea she had among her guests a person (me!) way out of his element? Didn't she worry I'd steal something? Any object in the extensive living room where the gathering took place, not to mention others in the apartment, would have brought a hefty price on resale, ha ha!

I spilled something on a sofa, stock from the dish of bouillabaisse I had taken. It sloshed onto the off-white cover, which I then got busy trying to clean with paper towels. You had to work quickly before the stain sank in for good. Add a lot of water was my strategy adopted on the spot.

But that too is another story.

And my armpits stank from sweat after work. I saw I should have brought along an extra shirt but hadn't (another idea that didn't help)

Akemi met me at the college. We were going home together. That helped. Before leaving we hung around in the lobby a few minutes talking to people. Near me by a wall was a baby parked in a stroller. Chubby kid, big for his age, in a blue and white knit jersey- or was it a bib or else some combination of the two? I noted he was still too young to tie his black shoelaces and that in middle age I also was having trouble with simple tasks, if only for want of focus. Would there come a time, I wondered, when I couldn't even tie my shoes? What would the infant think if I told him there was such a thing as "second childhood"? He was at a point, of course, where he cared only about getting out of babyhood and on to independence. He had a willful expression. I can't say I took to his face at first glance- it was annoyingly large, fatty, for one thing- but the more I looked the more I found I liked him, bad personality or noy. My best friend in elementary school had been an awful kid by any reckoning but he and I were inseparable.

I went to the gym and that helped too. All the running on the treadmill at least conditioned me for sex with Akemi.

I didn't know if she knew the challenges I met at work, while she sat at the feet of the wise man Nelson, who lived the stress-free life of a successful artist but was as competitive, aggressive as the rest of us- that was what had gotten him where he was. As I've said, Akemi wasn't gullible, so what gave? I could see through Nelson's peaceful, beneficent mask to the rapaciousness, incredible horniness. Maybe Akemi could too and liked it.