Desire in Any Language Read Online Free PDF

face because he answers me with a rush of words I can’t understand, pointing to the paving.  I smile instead and shrug my shoulders in apology.  Finally, I settle for a thumbs-up. 
    “Okay,” I say.  It’s the universal language, complete with the gesture.
    “Okay,” he repeats, holding his thumb up to me in return. 
     
    “Mira?”
    I shift uncomfortably in my seat.  It’s not often that she visits campus because she is adjunct rather than full-time, and her high school teaching takes priority.  Usually. 
    “Please explain why you missed class yesterday afternoon.”
    Instead of the crowded office that many of the teachers share, she’s taken me into an empty classroom.  The empty teacher’s desk stands solid and grey against the green background of chalkboard.  I sit in a student desk and rub my finger against the small swing-out platform we use for writing.     
    “Pedro said he would tell Lee Sonsengnim…”
    “Please answer the question, Mira.”
    In school, it’s Mira-ssi.  With her, it’s Mira. 
    “I don’t like conversation class?”
    It’s taking a risk, but a calculated one.  And it works.
    “You promised me that you’d bring up your grades this term.  It took a lot of negotiating to take out your records from the last one.”
    Some things are more important.
    “Mira, you know what we agreed last term.  Can you please tell me why it shouldn’t happen?”
    “Can” is not the same as “will”.  I shake my head, and at her sigh I push my chair back to stand up. 
    “Wait please,” she says, and I stand in front of her desk while she leaves the room. 
    Without thinking, I put a hand on my bottom.  Wince.  Wonder if I am making the right decision.  As she returns empty-handed and quizzical, I quickly stand at attention. 
    “Mira-ya.”
    I place my hands on her desk and start to bend over the way she showed me long ago, but her fingers reach around my elbow to pull me upright.  I draw my mouth muscles in and squint at her.  Does she want me to hold out my hand?  How will I write afterward?
    “I met Lee Sonsengnim in the hallway.”
    Oh, no.
    “He says to apologize to you.”
    No.  This is not happening.
    “I’m going to ask you this again.  Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
    I say the only thing that comes to mind.  “I’m an irresponsible student who skips class.”
    This time, though, the distraction is unsuccessful.  She nods toward the student desk for me to sit down, and she draws up the big wooden teacher chair next to me. 
    “I asked you a question, Mira-ssi.”
    “Yes, Sonsengnim.”  The response is automatic, as is the shift in posture.  Eyes cast down, back straight, and shoulders ever so slightly shifted forward.
    “Answer, please.”
    “Yes, Sonsengnim.”
    She waits.
    “I, um, couldn’t answer Lee Sonsengnim’s question.”
    “Mira…”
    “I haven’t been studying hard enough, and I didn’t understand the lesson.  I was wrong.  I’m sorry.  I’ll work harder.”
    It is the correct formula.  I was wrong.  I’m sorry.  I will work harder . 
    “Mira-ya…”
    It’s a way to address children, the “ya” after the name.  Teachers don’t use it to address their students.  Usually.
    “Mira-ya, Lee Sonsengnim says that you were crying.”
    I don’t answer. 
    “He thought you didn’t understand the question because the level three class is hard for you.  He didn’t realize it was an awkward question.”
    I throw my head back.  “I didn’t understand.  I told you already, I was a bad student.”
    She adjusts her glint-gold glasses.  “I won’t tell anyone about your family situation.  But please don’t leave class because you’re upset.  You’ve already lost your chance for this month’s scholarship.”
    Every month, the top-rated students in each class who have perfect attendance are eligible for a partial tuition scholarship.  Even being late once, however, is enough to become