#90 The French teacher, Natasha and the pervert

I was teaching in Gothenburg Sweden for two months around the time that the Berlin Wall came down.  The school I was working for provided accommodation – a beautiful, large, two bedroom apartment smack in the middle of downtown.  Unfortunately it came with a downside – I had to share it with the other guest teacher.  A frail little porcelain doll from France who came with his Russian girlfriend Natasha.  Natasha’s only purpose in life that I could discern was to flatter her boyfriend.  Every morning I would emerge from my bedroom to see the Frenchman going through his stretching routines while Natasha sat and drank tea while praising his fluid moves.  They lived by lots of rules and stuck to their rules rigidly.  Awake at this time, then breakfast at such and such time, exercise for precisely one hour, etc., etc., etc.  Meals were planned to the ounce – just the right amount of calories and the right amount of nutrients.  They also weren’t big on using electricity – so I was constantly running into furniture in the dark.  Not only were they wonderful at running their own lives – I got an endless series of lectures on how I should live my life their way.    I retreated to my room where I listened to music and knitted – a shawl for my grandmother – a sweater for my father.  I got a lot of knitting done.

The director of the school invited the three of us out for an evening of theatre and cocktails.  We went to a production of Sweeney Todd.  It was fun – particularly because I couldn’t understand a single word the cast was saying.  All I was hearing was –vashupa, shupa, shupa, shupa, shupa, shupa, shupa, shupa, da Sveeny Todd.  After the performance we went to a popular hotel bar nearby.  Once our drinks were served, the director asked the Frenchman about his life in Paris.  His reply? – “I dance.” Nothing more.  So she prodded him for a bit more detail.  “I just dance.”  She turned to Natasha and asked her what she did.  “I live, I breath.”  Well, that’s a talent if I have ever heard one.  The director looked across the table at me with her one eyebrow raised.  I pursed my lips in a desperate attempt to not burst out laughing.  Natasha and the Frenchman were only scheduled to teach one month – so when it was time for them to go – we did a little farcical dance.  Natasha dramatically wished me well and hoped that I wouldn’t be too lonely without them and their guidance – I assured them that somehow I would be fine.  I waited until I heard the elevator doors close before I turned on every light in the place and danced for joy.

For two glorious weeks, the apartment was all mine.  The director came to me one afternoon and explained that their videographer was arriving from Stockholm and that they usually put him up in the apartment where I was staying.  Would I mind if he stayed with me for a few days?  No problem.  When I finished my classes, I headed back to the apartment.  The living room was filled with electrical and video equipment and my new roommate was happily cooking his dinner in the kitchen.  I sat down and talked with him for a while and then excused myself, saying that I was retiring for the night.  I was laying in my bed reading when the door burst open.  My new roommate stood in the doorway dressed in a towel.  He jumped from the doorway onto the bed and the towel flew off.  I was in total shock.  It’s not that I haven’t had strange men make a pass at me before.  It was just that I was in my mid-thirties and this hadn’t been much of a daily or weekly or monthly occurrence lately.  I nervously laughed and pushed him out of the door and promptly discovered that the door had no lock on it.  I pushed every available piece of furniture up and against the door and spent the entire night sitting in the bed and staring at my blockade.

I realized that I had a bit of a problem.  I couldn’t go to the director.  That foreigner versus native thing – someone they had history with versus the new kid.  Luckily there was a teacher Albert, at the school who was from Pennsylvania– and not just anywhere Pennsylvania.  His family lived in the same little town that my grandparents did – Bloomsburg.  If fact, Albert and I figured that we had probably run into each other as kids at the annual Bloomsburg fair.  Small world.  Anyway – back to the pervert problem.  I went to Albert and told him about my situation and asked if I could stay at his place for a couple of days – at least until my new roomie left.  He said “No problem.”  Less than fifteen minutes later, the office secretary came to the studio to tell me that I had a phone call.  I hadn’t a clue who would be calling me in Sweden.  It was a fellow dancer from Toronto who was traveling around Europe and auditioning for companies.  She wanted to know if she could stay with me for a couple of days while she auditioned for Gothenburg Ballet.  We had never been close.  In fact, we didn’t share many interests but in a moment of crisis – I felt as if my best friend had come to the rescue.  I enthusiastically invited her to stay with me and I went down to the train station to wait for her.  She got off the train and as we walked back to the apartment, I filled her in on my roommate problem.  I have to admit that she was a really good sport about the whole situation.  The two of us put up a united front, though I have to admit that we still moved some of the furniture in front of the bedroom door.