The flags snapped outside, in the wind. The noise they made sounded like the flags themselves wished for attention.
She let a pencil roll between her thumb and forefinger, absently, idly, until the pencil came into focus and became a symbol of an earlier time.
Her screensaver danced, and she gently closed her computer, though she had the urge to be less than gentle.
Pulling a desk drawer open, she found a small sharpener and sharpened the pencil, with which she planned to handwrite a resignation letter.
“It’s been years…since I’ve seen anyone do that.”
The person that belonged to those words was a custodian.
His presence didn’t startle her, save for the clue that she had lingered in the room far longer than she thought.
“You’re crying,” he said, gently, though he seemed alarmed.
She wished to deny it, but she realized he was right.
“Can I help in any way?”
She shook her head no, but smiled.
He lingered. Some might be put off, but she appreciated it greatly.
She felt as though he deserved an explanation.
“As of this morning I had two advanced, accelerated Mandarin students. Both bright, wonderful kids… teens really.”
The man was silent, motionless, attentive.
“One of them, his father canceled his lessons. He said…he told me that by the time his son entered the workforce that machines would be doing all the translating. That my…my…our…lessons were a waste of time and money.”
The man stepped into the classroom.
His eyes radiated a kindness that could not be faked.
“My other student…a young woman… she dreamt of creating a translator that would soften harsh words, would turn the bellicose into the agreeable. A lovely sentiment, of course, but misguided…disingenuous. Her dreams led her to computer science classes that conflicted with…”
The teacher raised her hand to indicate her classroom as though it was the classroom and not her that did the teaching.
The man shook his head slowly.
“I offered to adjust my schedule, “ the teacher said, “but she declined.”
“I understand them… I do understand… how they think,” she said, her voice rising slightly, “ but truly, none of the machines mattered to me,and only one possibility…”
The two people, custodian and teacher, locked eyes.
He wanted her to finish the thought and she couldn’t stop.
“...That those two children would be able to communicate with other humans in a beautiful language.”
She shook her head slowly, resignedly.
“That’s a shame,” the man said quietly. “I’d love the opportunity to learn a new language.”
The teacher repeated his words in her head.
They were sincere.
She grabbed the nearest chair and pushed it toward the custodian.
“Jiu Zuo.”
The custodian looked over his shoulder, then sat.
The teacher smiled.
***
I’d dearly love for some of your friends to join us. You know there’s a huge archive just waiting for them.
Lovely. Who is teaching who, it goes both ways, yes?
Nice. Points for the teacher AND the custodian.