MISADVENTURES OF AN ALIEN(ATED) LANGUAGE TEACHER

Part 5

PART 5

"This is agent Carter" said the doctor, introducing the man in black.

Carter, good, I like Carter. Mulder would have been too much for my heart, but Carter? I could handle it.

"He would like to ask you some questions. Are you up to it?" said the smiling doctor.

Was he asking me if I wanted to answer Carter's questions? Did I have a choice? Because if I had a choice... No, it was no use to refuse, remember puffy guy. So:

"I'd be glad to. Would you please unstrap me? I'm ok now." There you go, nice and easy, very civilized, cannot get more British than that.

"I'm sorry, we have restrained you for your own protection" he continued smiling.

Bullshit!!!!

"I don't understand" that with the tone of an innocent novice freshly out of the convent.

"Please, be patient. I'm sure once you answer the questions, the agent will let you go home" he said.

More bullshit!!!!

"Ok" and I blushed prettily like some idiotic schoolgirl.

No wonder Harold Pinter wants to show the devaluation of language in his plays. This was the perfect example of the imbecilic and inane use of language in everyday social conventions. The fatuous use of discourse that doesn't get you anywhere and renders the otherwise beautiful words of Shakespeare, useless. Or in other words: total bullshit.

The agent approached the bed, to ask his long longed questions. (No, let's not begin again with the long longed issue, please.)

"We know who you are" said Carter.

Fuck! I knew it! And now what? Come on, wiser self, where are you? I need you urgently. Nothing. Now you go dumb on me? Come on! Nada de nada. (Yes, the Spanish wiser self was also on vacation.)

I gave Carter a blank stare. I couldn't think of anything better. In fact, I couldn't think, period. Next time, I'll have to hire a wiser self that actually wants the job, no matter the nationality.

"You are an expert in symbols", he said.

Huh? I'm what? Expert in what? What? Wh...? W...? .....? Blank stare again. (I'm starting to think that the blank stare is always safer).

Now, wait a second, what did this guy say again? Expert in symbols? Where the hell did he get that idea? You've got it wrong, my dear Carter, very wrong. I'm a language teacher. That means I teach language. That means... no, I don't know how to put it more clearly. You've got the wrong girl! Wrong, wrong, wrong! (Am I repeating the word wrong too much? That's because the Chomskian part of my brain is refusing to generate fresh vocabulary because... Oh, I don't have the cuffs anymore... I've got it! The Chomskian part of my brain got fried with the electroshocks!)

I'm sorry, dear Carter, I can't help you. I couldn't decode a symbol even with an intact fully functional brain. That is just not my area. So, if you want an expert in symbols, my dear Carter, (since when did he become dear to me? I don't know. Fried brain), you should call Dan Brown and he will gladly give you Robert Langdon's phone number. Now, if you are hoping to get Robert to work for you, you will have to offer him spectacular car chases, lots of explosions, lethal viruses' threats, and of course, access to the Vatican library. Your routine of cuffs, leather straps and foul cells will not do, that's too dull for him.

Of course, I didn't say any of these things to him. I was not about to disabuse him when I finally felt I had some leverage. You see, some parts of my brain still function, though barely. So what could I say? What could I do? Blank stare. Always works.

"We have a symbol we need you to decode" said Carter.

Well, obviously Carter, you don't get an expert in symbols to cook spaghetti! Now that I think of it, I can't cook spaghetti, so you don't get a language teacher to cook spaghetti either.

And then it hit me: if they just wanted me to decode a symbol... Why the cuffs, the straps and the cell? Why not just ask nicely? Did he really know what I was and was trying to trick me into a confession? I had to know. So in an act of unprecedented boldness, I quit the blank stare I had become so fond of and I spoke. And these, my friends, were my words:

"Why didn't you tell me this from the beginning? Why are you treating me like a prisoner?"

"This is a matter of national security, madam" he started.

Oh, I was madam now, nice. I would have preferred my queen, but you can't have everything in life, right?

"It was paramount that you helped us, and you were not exactly cooperating" he continued.

Not cooperating? What did he mean? Oh, yes, all the images started to pass in front of my eyes: me declining to go with the men in black that appeared in my classroom, me refusing to give my name to the puffy guy, me meditating to near death... Well, yes, those things could be construed as not cooperating. But, bloody hell! They had no right to force me like that! I'm a legal citizen of this country! Well, not exactly a citizen... and not exactly legal... and I'm not even human... Ok, better not to pursue that line of argument, then. But I had rights, right? (Please Chomsky, help me here. Let's try again) But I had rights, didn't I? (That's better, a nice question tag with a falling intonation demanding agreement). I am a respectable shape shifting alien. And I am very decent, as aliens go. I mean, I don't go around abducting humans and using them for experimentation. (I could never stomach that job, too much gore). So I demand fair treatment, Mr. Carter!

Out loud, I said:

"If it's so important, I'll help you. Let's not waste more time. Unstrap me, bring the symbol, and let's get to work".

Carter nodded to the doctor, who immediately freed me. And that, my friends, is how you use words to get out of a tight situation! (Please go to the dictionary and find the multiple meanings of the word tight, for I'm too tired to clarify. Consider it homework and we will check it next class. Thank you.)

You may be wondering what I will do when he presents me with the symbol. Yes, I am worriedly wondering that too. One problem at a time, my friends. In the meantime, maybe it would be wise to check the window, to see on what floor of the building I am.