Jona manages to persuade Luuk to sleep on the bed. Although Luuk acts tough and doesn't let him know anything, Jona knows something is wrong with him.
What Jona doesn't know is, he's about to be woken up by something bizarre.
-Part 1-
"Sensei."
A nudge on my rib.
"Sensei, wake… wake up."
"Professor Smit?" Feeling the right side of the bed, my arm came into contact with his cold, trembling hands. Then I registered his croaky tone.
He was crying...
I opened my eyes. "Professor?" I sat on the bed, dumbfounded. I rubbed my eyes and grabbed my glasses. The bedside lamp weakly illuminated his pale, drenched face. "O que se passa?" [What's wrong?]
"Sensei. Help me." He leaned closer to me, resting his forehead on my shoulder. It was sweaty.
"Help you with what? Sir, did something attack you?" With a pounding heart and an alert mind, I took the flashlight on the floor and flashed it around the bed, in case there were poisonous bugs or a snake.
"Under... Under the bed." He gasped when he flinched as if he was shocked. "There's a... a monster under the bed."
Instinct made me want to laugh before my spine tingled from the look in his eyes. Horror.
"It's here to hide me again." He groaned and gasped loudly. "Feel that?" He squirmed closer to me, whimpering. "Please, don't let it take me away." He held my wrist with a viselike clutch.
Was he having a nightmare?
The base of my feet soaked the coldness of the cement as I stepped on it. He dragged himself to my side of the bed.
"Professor, let go a bit? I'm sure you just had a nightmare. There's nothing under the bed. There's only us in this room."
Instead of answering, he shook his head and whimpered.
I couldn't lie and say I wasn't afraid in the slightest. My heart pounded in my ears. I fear the dark. And to search for something in the dark, a monster under the bed, I almost cried myself. The only thing that drove me to help him was that he needed my help, and I didn't want to disappoint him. So I ignored the squirming in my stomach, got onto my knees, and peeked under the bed.
Nothing.
There was nothing under it, not even cobwebs (and that relieved me tremendously).
Professor Smit sniffled and reached out to me. So I set the flashlight on the bedside table and heaved my legs up onto the bed.
"Sir. There's nothing under the bed." I leaned on the wooden headboard. "It was just a bad dream, OK? Please don't cry. You scared me." My stomach churned from the ominous aura enveloping the cold room. The temperature had dropped a few degrees since the evening. Cold sweat moistened my forehead still.
He murmured something into his palms, something that sounded like: I want my brother. He was everything but a pompous adult at the moment. He seemed like a... child. His tone, his demeanor. If I knew him any better, I would say he was regressing. Because he reminded me of one of my students, Siew. The kid would regress to a three-year-old and hide under the dojo's reception desk every time Noel roared his made-up karate oath of allegiance.
"Professor Smit?" I rubbed his back, and he jolted. "Did you listen to me? There's nothing under the bed. You're safe. OK?"
He grasped my arm with his cold hands. His eyes were pleading. "Sensei. Can... Can you... hold me for the night?" he said in his childish demeanor. "Please."
I remembered asking him the same thing when my legs gave up on me at the airport. He let me hold him for nine hours throughout the flight even when he barely knew me. I could do that much for him. The truth was, his reaction toward his nightmare triggered my heartbeat to pound painfully against my chest. It would comfort me if he held me too.
"Claro que podes." [Of course.]
But to my awe, he hugged me around the arm with both hands, whispering prayers under his breath.
The only man I had ever shared my bed with was Aarón. And it was always him who cuddled me in his arms, not the other way around. Now that the act was reversed, I was not sure what to do. My hands hovered in the air. I squirmed, trying to create some distance, but he just kept on clinging on me.
"Professor?"
He hummed, still snuffling. Then he untied his hair and covered his exposed neck.
"Posso ajudar em algo? O que posso fazer para te ajudar a dormir?" [Is there anything I can do to help? What can I do to help you sleep?]
"I... don't think I can sleep." His voice was barely a whisper. It quivered. I had to lean closer to hear it against the fan's whirl. After several seconds, he added, "Can you tell me about the liberation of the Netherlands? My grandfather was in the Dutch resistance movement in World War II. My father would always tell me the story when I couldn't sleep."
The Netherlands' independence? What kind of kid listens to a war-themed bedtime story?
I forced a laugh, feeling stupid. "I don't even know the differences between Netherlands and Holland. I know nothing about the war."
To my surprise, he giggled. The tee-hee kind of giggle. "You're not so smart for a Stanford graduate! The Netherlands. Every country with a plural name starts with the article 'the'."
Yeah. Even as a child, he is pompous all right.
"Why don't you tell me a story then? It's a good way to distract your mind, don't you think? Tell me anything about... language?"
He stayed silent. Except for the whirring of the fan and his exhalation, the room was hair-raising silence. Just when I thought he had fallen asleep, he said: "Do you know the origin of languages?"
"Un. Evolution and migration?" I decided to rest my right arm on his shoulder when it weighed ten times its initial weight from tiredness.
He hummed and snuggled closer to me.
For the first time in forever, I thanked God there was nothing sexual about his act. No matter how awkward the situation was, I knew it was merely platonic. I was sure he acted this way because I somehow made him feel safe. It was just some kind of a defense mechanism.
"Ever listen to the Tower of Babel fable?" He rested his chin on my shoulder.
I peeked at him. His face was a mere few inches away from mine. I could feel his warm breath on my chin. His hair smelled sweet, like some kind of berries. His eyes gleamed in excitement, but somewhere in them, I could see fear; from the way his smile didn't reach his eyes, and that he still shivered now and then.
I looked away and started scraping a callus on my index finger. I hoped he didn't hear or feel my heart pounding. "No. I... I don't believe I do. Is it a biblical story? Sounds like one."
"É!" [It is!]
"Então é uma história verdadeira?" [So it's a true story?]
"Não é. [It's not.] Not everything in the Bible is a true story. The fable is ludicrous. God is not that petty to do something so underhanded." He giggled. "The Tower of Babel is just an allegory written by a human to explain why humans talk in different tongues."
"What is it about?" I was curious to listen to this ludicrous fable that made him look excited despite his fear.
"You know of the flood?"
"Noah."
He nodded. "Some time after the big flood, several people settled in the land of Shinar in Babylon. Bible scholars say that the people there build a tower on the bank of the Euphrates River.
"Until that point in the Bible, there was one common speech for all humans. After the flood, the people gained the skill in construction again. So they decided to build a city with a tower that would reach to heaven." He rested his back on the board, still clutching my arm.
"According to Genesis, they said, 'Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth.' So God came to see their city and the tower they were building. He knew their intentions, and because God is wise, He knew that the stairway to heaven would only lead humans away from Him. Because the goal of the people was not to glorify Him. They just wanted to build a name for themselves."
"Ah, so they're being disobedient."
"Yes. In Genesis 9:1, God told humankind: 'Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth.' God wanted people to spread out and fill the whole planet. By building the tower, the people were ignoring God's instructions. As a result, He confused their tongues, causing them to speak many languages. By doing this, God stopped their plans because they would not understand each other. He also forced the people to scatter all across the face of the earth."
"Oh. So... that's the origin of languages?" I asked. I realized that he had started to sound… normal again. Talking really helps him feel better.
"Your first answer is right. Language diversity comes from evolution and migration. The story is just a myth. And it tells you how ambitious humans can be, that they would go as far as being disobedient to reach their goal."
I was tempted to ask: Am I being disobedient for holding a grudge against God?
I asked something else instead. "Professor. How many languages do you speak? I've never met a polyglot in my life."
Professor Smit whined, sending shivers up my spine. His hair tickled my neck, so I straightened my back. Stop getting nervous, Jona. It's a wrong time for that.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
"When I was in my teens, people always looked at me like I was an alien, or told me I was lying when I told them I can speak many languages. I don't like it."
"You can tell me about it. I never thought you are an alien," I said in a tone that I used on my students to cajole them to finish their training. The truth was, I was curious myself. I had never met a polyglot in my life. I can talk a few languages myself, but I'm not a polyglot.
He took a shaky breath and nuzzled my neck. "I am fluent in eleven. I can understand others as long as they're intelligible to the languages I'm fluent in. Don't count the others."
"Wow. Eleven? May I ask what are they?" We were not even good friends, but a flick of pride coursed through my chest.
He inhaled. "The five Romance languages... German, Belarusian, Russian, my mother tongue Dutch, Afrikaans... and English."
"Why Afrikaans?"
"Because it's intelligible to Dutch. Easy to learn. When I was a child, one of my housekeepers spoke Afrikaans. I learned from him."
I peeked at the watch he lent me. The illuminated analog numbers showed 3:28 a.m. "You do love linguistics."
His body stiffed up. "Don't speak for me. I don't love them."
"Então por que aprendeu tantos?" [Then why did you learn so many?] I asked before I could stop myself. "Sorry, Professor. I don't mean to be rude."
He pulled me a bit and leaned over. "Já te disse. Não confio nas pessoas." [I told you. I don't trust people.]
"Mas confie em min..." [But you trust me.]
He peeked at me. He stared and stared and stared to the point where I blushed for no apparent reason. Well, I knew why. Because he was too attractive for his own good.
"I do, because you're like me," he said. His voice went down an octave, and I didn't care if he saw me blushing anymore. I couldn't help it.
"What?" I asked. My heart started to pound harder.
He whispered, "I saw it when you had a breakdown at the airport. I saw it in your eyes, sensei. You have a monster inside of you too. You're in pain. So you won't hurt me." Then he shivered.
My stomach churned from what he said.
Now I was sure something dreadful happened to him as a child too.
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