The Language Tutor

By Neil A. Hogan

As Principal and CEO of an English as a Second Language Private Tuition Service in Sydney, I get a lot of interesting people through the door. Tiger Uncles insisting on their wards studying 77 hours a week, confused third worlders adamant that no one is behaving the right way and everyone should change their character, judgemental people insisting they don’t get into drama but end up being the most gossips, some desperate to pass an English exam for permanent residency, but never doing their homework or even being on time to a lesson. And then there were the ones from parts of the north, just here for a few years, wanting to improve their English, but already speaking five languages and having a better command of grammar than I did..er..do..have.

In any case, the expectations were high, but being a perfectionist, my standards were higher. Working 150 hours a week at the cost of my marriage, rarely seeing my kids, missing funerals of friends, the lives of my parents and relatives, it’s why they kept coming back. Nothing could stop me in my pursuit of excellence for these people, and they knew it. I would find the solution for their specific pronunciation problem, or grammar difficulty, or psychological challenges with their self-worth. (Invariably, private English tuition lessons ended up being counseling sessions.)

And I loved them all. All their cultural differences, idiosyncrasies, beliefs and more. My collection of various religious texts given to me by a myriad of faith followers were testament to that. Not to mention the stories of experience I had absorbed from yacht captains, politicians, rock stars, surgeons and more.

So, when the alien drifted in one night at 2am and asked for an English lesson, how could I say no?

Of course, it was obvious he was an alien. Displacing the atoms of the wall of the building to shift into my office two levels up from the street, gave it away. His strong metallic smell that followed him, even though he was obviously organic, had me thinking he must have spent many years in something metal. Born in space?

Well, I assumed a ‘he.’ No gonads were visible on his three-foot-tall, grey, naked form.

I quickly set aside the glass, and bottle of wine I had opened to help me get through doing the accounts, and made myself presentable.

He floated over to be in front of my desk.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

If he was surprised that I wasn’t too fazed by his appearance, he didn’t show it. I think the wine helped.

“I rerm Emriff, from oo,” he said.

“Learn English from me? Okay, no problem!” I pulled out a folder of material and began to show him some of the things we do. “Firstly, I’ll start with asking you some questions. I’ll listen to your pronunciation and your grammar, and then we’ll move on to some pronunciation exercises.”

I didn’t get a response so I looked up and met his big-eyed, blank gaze.

“Is that okay? Do you understand?”

“fpeak preafe frower,” he said.

Even aliens had trouble with the Australian accent, it seemed.

I smiled and began to speak slower, explaining the procedure of the lesson and what we could do for him, looking at him for confirmation that he understood. He didn’t nod, but I felt he understood. Somehow.

Years of teaching can give you some things that less experienced people wouldn’t yet have. I could always tell which city in the world someone came from, from the quality of their skin, their scent, the way they dressed, the shape and size of their face and more. The environment and diet added an extra ingredient to their existence that enabled me to define their origin. If they had distanced themselves from their society, the accent still gave their origin away, and the lines on their face usually told me their mother tongue language.

The alien’s face did not show any characteristic pronunciation lines that would indicate the language he spoke. The last time I saw such a lineless face it was a guy from Guandong province who thought everything could be said without once moving his mouth.

Perhaps the alien didn’t ever speak? This could be a problem for pronunciation. He would have a lot of facial muscles aching within minutes.

“Now the ‘th’ sound is the hardest of the sounds in the English language,” I continued. “Perhaps this could be the focus of the first lesson, developing the hard and soft ‘th’ sounds.”

Then I had a thought. I hadn’t heard an attempt at a ‘th’ sound, and he hadn’t made any ‘l’, n’ or ‘s’ sounds either.

Uh, oh.

“Can I see your tongue?”

The alien opened his mouth a little and I could see inside. Walls of wet, greyish material, two ridges where teeth should be…and no tongue.

Ah.

The alien closed his mouth.

“I see, so making the ‘th’ sound might be a bit difficult for you.”

I shifted the pages around in the folder, and began to panic a little. This was outside my field. I wasn’t a speech therapist. I didn’t know how people got around these sounds without a tongue. What could I do? It was rare that I couldn’t help someone. I couldn’t just Google ‘pronunciation problems for Alien speakers of English’ and get a list of techniques.

I took a deep breath.

‘Ummer reffon,” said the alien.

“Other lesson?” I said. “A different type of lesson?”

He took one of his three fingers and placed it on his large forehead. Then he indicated my forehead, then pointed to his again.

“Mind transfer? Telepathy?”

“Eff!”

I placed the folder down and got ready.

“Alright,” I closed my eyes and waited.

“Famkoo,” the alien said.

I briefly felt a touch to my forehead from a cold finger and then it was gone.

I opened my eyes to see the alien drift through the wall, and disappear.

What was I thinking. No selfie, and I hadn’t charged him yet!

“There’s a fee for a lesson,” I called. “You must have just got twenty years of them!”

I couldn’t have an alien take all my lessons for free. He could go out and copy them for others. I’d already had other schools copy my website and plans and end up being direct competitors. I didn’t want whole alien races copying everything too.

Then I raised my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. Working in Sydney had me thinking everything was about money. I just had probably the most amazing experience of any human’s life and I was worried the alien hadn’t paid.

“Come back anytime,” I whispered to the wall.

I looked about the room. There was no sign he had ever been. I checked the security records. The camera showed nothing in front of me. I was talking to the air. And with a bottle of wine and an empty glass on the table, the evidence was damning.

I sat back in my large swivel chair, put my finger tips together, and replayed the moment. I did not feel anything when he copied the information. Not anything at all.

But I felt different. Had I absorbed something from the encounter? I replayed the scene again.

And then I realised. My questions in my memory were not in English. They were in some other language!

He HAD paid! He had given me his entire alien language!

It was in my head. A language full of ‘f’, ‘w’ and ‘k’ sounds.

I sat scanning the knowledge in my head. Understanding new objects and movements and concepts that English didn’t have words for. Words for his energy world, his higher mind ship, his waste power conversion organs.

I sat dumbfounded, playing through months of alien language lessons in my head. Reviewing and learning everything.

It was 5am when I rose from my self-imposed fugue and refocused on the real world. I had had the best language lesson of my life.

But I knew something else. They were coming and they had chosen the best damned language tutor in the area to teach their language. So, I immediately began work on the alien language syllabus. The course would be ready by Monday.

Well, I had a few more hours left in the week. I was sure I could fit it in. The only thing I was concerned about now was, how much would I charge?