A cappella

Chapter 26: International relations

"When do you come back, Max? Can't you come spend the Christmas holidays with us in Vienna?"

"Look, Mom, I don't know exactly, but yes, probably ..."

"The little ones ask for you! And then it might be important to decide which master you are going to do ... I can take care of the admission papers but give me an idea of what you might be interested in ..."

"Actually, I think I'll go for a master's degree in finance or ... in marketing, but in a curriculum in English, not in German, of course. I want it to be international."

"How about international relations? Wouldn't that be good? ..."

"Yes, if they accept me ... There is an entrance examination, only the best go through."

"I see... well you can take part in it and then we'll see, right?"

"Uh, yes ... Oh, sorry mom, but I have to go. My next course starts in 10 minutes. We can talk about it tonight, give me time to think it over."

Max slowly put his phone back into the pocket of his leather jacket. Difficult to project oneself in the future, even the very near future. He felt as if he was already immersed in the Basque Country, in a particular universe which it would be difficult for him to leave. 

Even this university ground was now familiar, and he flattered with a friendly hand the trunk of the plane-tree which he had leaned upon during his conversation with his mother, with the vague desire to engrave his name on it.

The tree had no leaves at all, and stretched out its thick branches like tragic stumps towards the gray sky. Winter was approaching.

As Max pushed open the glass door of the main building, the headmistress stopped him and asked him to come and see her after he was done with his next class. She was rather smiling and direct, nevertheless Max worried about what she might want. 

His employment contract ended in about twenty days, and up until that moment everything had gone well. He still had to do the end-of-term checks and bulletins, and then say goodbye to his pupils, Sonia, Kevin and Hélène, hoping he'd taught them something.

Max himself felt like another person after these few months of teaching. But that day, Kevin had not done his presentation, he had forgotten, he said. He, however, who pretended to love music, had not even taken the trouble to choose a song to introduce it to his comrades. Max felt anger, but chose not to express it. He wanted to interest them by involving them in activities and exercises that go out of the ordinary, to open them a little to the world and to other cultures, however, the chance was missed.

" Very well, take your book then, page 36. Who wants to read the dialogue?" He remained distant, addressing his students all the time politely and impersonally. He wanted to throw the book out of the window and leave, slamming the door behind him. He resisted the French accent of Helene without saying a word as she read the text with good will. But his heart suffered from the systematic massacre of the Shakespearean language. 

The hour passed without pleasure and without effect. The teacher's relationship to his class was changing, unpredictable, with moments of grace where Max believed he had found ways to do, and then days like that day where everything seemed vain.

"Sit down," the headmistress offered, a little later. She had the accent of a women of this region, and more than just an accent, the voice itself, a rocky voice, which strongly emphasised the the r, without however rolling them, and which really gave away which region she came from. Every time he entered her office, Max felt uncomfortable, a stranger.