Ardent Cure: Lennox and Mielo

 

Chapter 5 -

 

1

                Mielo looked down at the sheet of paper in disbelief. He had already finished answering all the questions with ease, though he still struggled with his spelling, but that wasn’t why he stared at the paper with such befuddlement. The reason was that … the day before, he had already received the quiz on Of Mice and Men… and Lennox said he had missed it, when really, it was the quiz he was going to be doing on Friday? The boy felt his face grow warm when he realized what Lennox had just done. He felt like such a cheater, a fake, a fraud. There was no way he could accept the near-perfect mark he was sure to get, not if he had an advantage-- a handicap.

                He stood up, being the first of everyone else in the class, and walked to Lennox’s desk. “Good sing it vas mein left arm zat is broken, else I doubt you can read mein viting,” the boy mumbled dryly, and quietly so that the class couldn’t eavesdrop. “Not zat you need to read it. I didn’t need zis, I’m not stupid!” He almost forgot to keep his voice lowered when he heard people shift and he felt eyes on him immediately.

                Lennox did nothing but grin up at the boy smugly with one eyebrow cocked, “Well, you could make it easier on yourself and accept my help instead of forcing me to sneak it on you when you least expect it.” The man spoke in a successfully quiet tone, being clear yet inaudible to other students at the same time. There was a strange quality about his voice that allowed him such annunciation which no other man possessed.

                The student wanted to shake his head vigorously at the man, but again, he didn’t want to gain himself unnecessary attention.

                “Vhatever, gruselig,” the boy remarked spitefully, narrowing his eyes at his teacher with more intensity than he meant. Mielo couldn’t help it; he felt like Lennox wanted something from him. It was as though Lennox needed Mielo to be in his debt, but Mielo didn’t want to owe anyone anything. He turned around and headed back to his desk with his head lowered, “Vhy don’t you do yourself ein favour and vipe zat fucking smug smile off your face,” he grumbled to himself to relieve steam, completely unaware that the head of this classroom had ears beyond the workings of human ability.

                “I’ll stop being smug when you stop being so pissy,” the instructor said out loud, extracting with greatest ease a unanimous giggle from around the class.

                Mielo choked, almost stumbling forward. How the hell did Lennox catch that? Did he have sensitive hearing? Even then, there was no way he could have-- the boy barely uttered his complaint under his breath. He looked back at Lennox, over his shoulders, with fear as clear as daylight trapped in his envy coloured eyes.

                He sat with his elbow on his dead and his head propped up on his hand, making the sort of face a benign antagonist makes, the class still laughing at his quick wit. It seemed that Mielo had missed all the demonstrations of Lennox’s superior hearing in all of his absences until now. The teacher pushed up his glasses in a taunting manner and waved the boy’s quiz in the air, “but don’t worry, you still get 100%.”

                Mielo had half a mind to give the man a middle finger, but he thought better of it and decided to sit at his desk. He may as well just take out one of his books he brought from home to read until the end of the period. He pulled up his book bag that he usually was seen carrying over one shoulder, and pulled out a Franz Kafka book; The Metamorphosis-- well, Mielo carried his German edition, Die Metamorphose. It was the infamous story of a man who wakes up one morning as a man-sized cockroach, yet despite his disorientation and hideous appearance, can still only trouble himself with the need to get to work on time.

 

2

                Lennox went back to keeping busy for the next few minutes, paying little attention to Mielo or what had the boy’s attention now. He was extremely content with his work, and the power he’d exerted over Mielo, getting the class to laugh at the situation and send the kid into a frozen rage. He wished the boy would crack already, however, he knew he would get bored of this phase of his plan soon enough, they needed a common ground rather than just a one sided respect--

                There was a rustling of a paper traveling across the room, the tell tale sign of a note being passed, a quick scan of the room revealed the perpetrator. Allan was sending a message via the brigade of student hands to Mielo’s desk. Lennox waited for it to land, and to even be unfolded, then intercepted it.

                “Hey!” Mielo protested, reaching up in a futile attempt to gain back the note, “give zat back!”

                “Oh ho ho, what’s this then?” Lennox asked with a smirk, eyes darting between Allan and Mielo rapidly as he unwrinkled the piece of loose-leaf. It was innocent enough, a ‘wat do u want 2 do 4 lunch?’ thing, boring yet blood boiling at the same time. He crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash can as he glared at Mielo, but something caught his eye. The boy had been contenting himself with a book that was quite familiar to Lennox, The Metamorphosis, the original German version of course. The devil of a man cooked up an idea on the spot, giving himself a good reason to ward Allan off and to keep Mielo after class.

                “This is not social hour, Allan Anderson!” Lennox cawed out, pointing an accusing finger.

                “Sorry, Mr. Lennox.” Allan turned his head away, only mildly annoyed. “It won’t happen again, Sir....” He huffed and put his elbow to the desk, and held his chin upon his palm. His glanced over at Mielo, who in turn looked away coyly. Mielo’s face was clearly going red, was it because he didn’t know what the note said? Did he think Allan was sending him a flirtation of sorts? What was their interaction like when they were hanging out off school property?

                “Oh come on,” Lennox rolled his eyes, “it was just asking about what you were doing for lunch. As if there is anything for sophomores besides the cafeteria.”

                Mielo furrowed his brow, obviously offended. He didn’t say anything, however, and lifted his book over his face to cover it from the teacher’s view.  

                The issue rested until the end of class, from which, Mielo tried to escape unnoticed. It didn’t work of course, Lennox was too sharp and too eager to let him go.

                “Ugh, but I haf to go now, before ze caf closes!” Mielo begged. “It vas just ein letter, it vasn’t like I vas ze von who wrote ze damn sing!”

                “What makes you think I’m keeping you because of the note?” Lennox asked innocently, batting his eyelashes in a comical manner. He loved it when Mielo assumed silly things like this, he got the boy all riled up like this.

                “Vhy else vould you be keeping mich? I vould like to get somesing to eat,” the boy replied in a calm, but stern manner. He was starting to stick up for himself.

                “I noticed you were reading a certain piece of literature that I have quite an affinity for.” The man began in a light tone, hoping that he could successfully find something for him and the boy to talk about that wasn’t school or family issue related.

                Suddenly, a wave of relief seemed to pass over Mielo, the tenseness in his face and shoulders diminished. He looked down at his bag and pulled out the book, “Zis von? Ja, Kafka ist strange, but I enjoy it.”

                “I should have guessed you’d like Kafka …,” the teacher hummed contentedly. He didn’t look outwardly smug this time, but his inner self was cackling victoriously at the power he was able to have over Mielo now. He’d found something he liked! A common ground for them to verbally tread upon! He’d cracked the nut. Mielo liked Franz Kafka. “Famous famous German author … and the motifs he uses-- ah! You should have lunch,” Lennox shifted around and slid some papers away into a folder quickly, “but you’re coming back after you get some! We are going to have a discussion, I want to see how you can talk about a book you’ve read in your native tongue.”

                The boy smiled a bit, thinking that would be fun, “oh, vell, zat actually doesn’t sound zat bad...,” he put his book back into his bag and bowed formally before he turned to the door. Lennox’s heart did all sorts of acrobatic maneuvers at this gesture, sure that it was the first time Mielo actually smiled for him. And that little bow … what an excellent result of European manners! How adorable, what more could Lennox have ever wished for?

“I’ll be back in fife mi--“

                “NO!” Lennox shot up, suddenly having a slight change of heart, “I’ll come with you. Allan is probably waiting, ready to ensnare you with the temptation of frivolity and … AND-- I’ll come with you, I’m hungry too. I forgot to pack my lunch this morning.” It was true, in the bizarre events that preceded Lennox’s morning, he’d completely forgotten to pack his unusual lunch. The cafeteria wouldn’t have anything that would fill him for the day, but at least having a volume of digestibles would stave off his hunger until he was able to eat something more appealing to his tastebuds.

                “Okay …?” Mielo cocked an eyebrow at the man, obviously not having gotten over the impression that the teacher left on him. It was just caution, for Lennox seemed a crazy man to many. He lead Mielo to the cafeteria and went to stand on line next to him, but when he noticed Mielo motioning to go into the seating area, he wondered.

                “Just where do you think you’re going?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

                “I … just need to get somsing.” Mielo began hesitantly, seeming to clam up again.

                “What can you possibly need that can’t wait until we get back?” The big man raised his eye brows suspiciously.

                “Somesing...personal,” Mielo huffed unsurely, looking away from the teacher. Unfortunately, Allan showed up with a tray of two meals, and the German boy’s entire countenance became stark red.

                “Mielo, I got you what you asked for yesterday since-- hey, what’re you doing here Mr. Lennox?” the tall boy with the short but shaggy brown hair asked the English teacher. His tone was friendly enough, without any form of hostility, despite the embarrassing incident with the note.

                “I was just getting some lunch,” the man answered, glaring at Mielo on his last syllable, “and then I was going to take Mielo here back to 214 to assess his comprehension.”

                Allan raised a brow, “really? I thought he was getting better-- and Mimiii, I thought we were going to study together?” he looked over at the blond with playful puppy eyes, and Mielo jerked his head to the side to hide his embarrassment.

                Lennox could feel his right arm twitch, he knew it was visible, and tried to hide it by reaching into his pocket. Mimi? Allan called Mielo Mimi? A flicker of jealousy flashed across his eyes as he felt something poking the inside of his lip. The man as lost control of a reflex he’d previously conquered, his fangs from his true form made themselves known in his mouth as a green fire raged in his gut. All this in but a moment, Lennox needed to keep his cool, but how? What could he say that wouldn’t want to make him pluck Allan from his place and defenestrate him?

                “Oh no you’re not, not with your grades!” Lennox nudged Allan away, appearing perfectly playful on the outside, “Milo Herz surpasses Allan Anderson’s GPA by two points right now!” He then turned to Mielo, a stern look about him, “and he’s smart enough to learn how to mooch! How did you come to get Allan to buy your lunches?”

                “I offered,” Allan answered for Mielo, who was about to say something until he was interrupted.

                “Shh,” Mielo hushed in a snappy tone, “das ist none of his business,” the boy concluded quickly.

                “Sorry, he just asked, Mi...,” Allan gulped, handing the European his meal finally. “Anyway, have fun with your comprehensive learning stuff,” the rich kid then turned until he found his regular group of friends and left Mielo and Lennox to themselves.

                “Ugh,” Mielo shook his head as he rubbed his right temple. “Vhat are you staring at? Aren’t you going to get your lunch?”

                “Yeah,” Lennox began, his glare not wavering, “but now that I’ve reminded myself of how disgusting the food here is, I’ve lost my appetite!” The teacher perked up as he gathered an idea. He snatched the lunch tray out of Mielo’s hand and darted over to the nearest trash bin and shoved the untouched lunch down the hatch.

                “Hey!” The blond protested, running after Lennox, “Allan got zat for me! You vasted it!”

                “It’s not like he doesn’t throw away his money anyway,” Lennox rolled his eyes, warranting a reaction from the boy.

                “Vhat Vhy vould you say zat about your own student?” the boy asked, then shook his head when he realized he didn’t really care for the answer, “nein, vhat am I going to eat NOW?” the boy’s stomach made an audible agreement.

                “We are going to go feast the way intellectuals feast. We can’t discuss Kafka over cardboard pizza and grease soup, now can we?” Lennox smirked, “follow me!” He cheered as he took off.

 

3

                The boy got out of the car, barely even remembering when he got into the vehicle. This all seemed so unreal to him, like time was passing the way it did in a dream. What was he doing? Was this allowed? It had to be, the teacher himself was conducting this activity of theirs in the first place. Besides, this was America and they did strange things here.

                They stepped into the restaurant and the blonde suddenly felt a strange sensation of unease bubble inside his stomach.

                “Zis is hardly appropriate, I sink,” the boy muttered to the teacher, stopping to hold his tummy.

                “How so?” Lennox raised his eyebrows at Mielo challengingly, “It’s no less appropriate than having your arm broken and not doing anything about it.” He took a seat at an outside table in heavy shade. Mielo noticed something different about the teacher while they were out here. He seemed stiffer somehow, no less animated, but it was as if he was enduring some physical discomfort of sorts. He sneered nonetheless at the comment.

                The student took his own seat, carefully dragging the chair out from under the table, “So, vhat is your favourite Kafka story?” he asked, deciding to get straight to the point of conversation before he felt any more uncomfortable.

                “I’ll give you a hint …,” Lennox began, looking at a menu leisurely, “why was Allan buying lunch for you?” It was hardly a hint, though it could have been.

                “Is it Ze Hunger Artist?” Mielo asked testily, hoping that his eccentric instructor was simply being fresh.

                “We’re not going on with this until you tell me why.”

                “Vhy do you haff to get involved? Allan vas helping me, it vasn’t like ve vere dealing drugs,” the boy scoffed. He couldn’t believe this guy, acting like he should know absolutely everything that went on in his life. Was Mielo not allowed to have any privacy from this guy? Since when did this Lennox guy think he owned him?

                “Now the question remains … why does a child of wealth and prestige need help from the money of a more modest family like the Andersons?” The spectacled man peered over his menu defiantly.

                “Because, I--I dunno,” Mielo hid his face with the menu, then decided it probably would be a good idea to pick something before the waiter arrived. He crossed one leg over the other, which was practised for obvious reasons, deciding he wouldn’t answer the man.

                “Your father has cut you off, hasn’t he?” Lennox offered after a moment of silence, Mielo didn’t get a chance to answer, for the waiter showed up to take their orders. They seemed to order opposites, the blond getting a vegetarian sub, and the teacher getting the meat lover’s special. They continued their staggering conversation after the waiter left.

                “So vhat of it? Es ist nussing of your concern, don’t trouble yourself vis it,” the boy barked, narrowing his eyes at the teacher. “Ze point I try to make ist I do not vant your help, but alas, it flies over your head as readily as ein frightened bird.”

                “The only frightened bird here,” Lennox began smoothly, “is you. Only, you are not the sparrow one might take you for. I find you to be quite the peacock.”

                “Excuse sie mich?” the boy almost stuttered, “vhat ist ZAT supposed to mean?”

                The teacher smirked as a coffee was brought to the table for him, “it means you are a proud foreign creature. In a strange land, one must do strange things to get along. Have you not been reading what I wrote on your cast? I don’t know what kind of school your elitist father sent you to before you came here, but I can tell you plenty about this school.” The man paused to take a sip of his coffee, into which he put nothing to soften its bitterness, “a kid like you ought to accept help from a system that cares, from an educator that cares.”

                “Vell now you know vhy Allan vas helping me, so can ve please drop it?” Mielo took out his book and slapped it on the table, not wanting to go any further with this discussion. “I vas...,” the boy looked down at his knees, “I vas looking forward to talking about zis book, but if zis ist some … ploy of yours to ‘help’ me more, zen forget about it. I do not need mein only ozzer arm to get broken as vell, Lennox.”

                “Speaking of which, it’ll heal much faster if you’re being fed right-- ahh!” Lennox’s face brightened up as the sandwiches were placed on the table before them. “I assure you once again, Mielo, there are some things to resist and some things to accept. There are two primary authority figures in your life right now, one of which is driving you into a hole, the other is trying to take you out of that hole and fill it with cement so that you can never fall into it again.”

                “Hmph, zat almost sounds romantic,” the boy suggested, smirking with sarcasm.

                “Oh Milo, don’t be obscene!” Lennox chanted with a laugh, “you’re a child of wit if nothing else!”

                “Heh, I know somevon who ist more vitty zen I,” Mielo snickered, “he ist cute too. But eh, I do not have time for somesing like zat. Anyvay, about Kafka...?”

                “Hmph, you are an excellent mood killer.” Lennox raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips slightly. He took a bite of his sub and nodded approvingly, “and yes,” he said after he’d finished his bite, “it is the Hunger Artist, though The Metamorphosis may as well be tied with it.”

                “Interesting,” Mielo almost giggled, finally feeling better now that they were at last focusing on one of his favourite authors. “Vhat is it about Ze Hunger Artist zat you like? Or Kafka in general? I like how Kafka is ready to write how ugly ze people of zis vorld are. I feel like he knows vat life ist really like.”

                “Oh, I think that’s part of it …,” Lennox began, ignoring the part concerned about himself, “but I believe that there is a more personal connection that you have to Kafka’s body of work.”

                “You sink so?” the boy wondered what Lennox meant, but it wasn’t hard to figure it out. Mielo lacked a mother and had a horrible domineering father, which seemed to be one of the main motifs in Kafka’s works. The boy hardly realized it until now, but he didn’t want to say anything on the matter … for some reason it made his stomach turn.

                “We read what appeals to us,” Lennox explained, “especially when we’re young. What’s your favourite Kafka story?” His eyes seemed intently fixed on Mielo, as if he didn’t want to miss every time the boy blinked even.

                Mielo answered by touching the book he placed on the table. It was an older edition that looked to have been read over a dozen times. He then leaned back and placed a hand on the ankle that lay daintily on his knee.

                “Ahhh, his most timeless piece.” Lennox almost swooned, “did you know that the true metamorphosis is not when he becomes a cockroach?” The man cocked an eyebrow and smirked, but it was a genuine smirk this time, not his usual taunting grin. It was the sort of expression that offered a juicy morsel of knowledge that he might receive praise for.

                “Nein?” Mielo’s green eyes widened with attentiveness, truly curious about what Lennox had to say. “Vhat is it?”

                The teacher raised his hand and held it in the air with an elegant gesture, “if you’d recall the scene towards the end where Gregor hears his sister playing her violin for the lodgers, did he ever give a care for it before?”

                Mielo thought for a moment, picking apart the question carefully and then answered, “nein, he vanted to send his sister to schule, but he did not sink anysing of her music before zen.”

                “Right! Because he was so busy paying off his father’s debt!” Lennox became animated, leaning forward in his chair and gesticulating with great vigor, “he’d never been touched by music before in his life. I think you’d agree, that music is one of the things we have that makes us most human. Music and our ability to be touched by it. This is the irony of the whole story, Gregor was less human before he was a roach. He was a mindless victim of his father’s mistake, he’d lost himself to his circumstance. And then, as a vermin, he finally has time in abundance and no other care to spend it on, than to listen to his sister play her violin, the only joy he had left in the world. So in essence … in order to gain his humanity, he had to loose it first.” He concluded with a strong and simple note, then leaned back in his chair, seeming satisfied with himself.

                Mielo  nodded as he listened to the teacher, then looked up in contemplation as the man finished. The boy couldn’t disagree with Lennox’s theory, it somehow seemed to make sense. Mielo thought if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep his father off his back while simultaneously struggling to pass his classes, maybe he’d have time to enjoy music as well. In fact, he didn’t remember the last time he willingly decided to listen to music on his own, instead of just listening to whatever was playing on speakers in groceries stores, the busses, or the nearest person who was blasting their ipods, zunes, or whatever small gadgets were out now.

                “I find Kafka to be very introspective into the human soul, it’s not just a highlight of the ugly side of humanity, it’s rather an exploitation of it.” Lennox smiled, seeming more like a teacher than he ever had since the first day of school.

                “Ja,” Mielo smirked at Lennox, who seemed so proud of himself. He didn’t think America would even be interested in such a paranoid and troubled Author, a German one at that. But the man was right, Kafka’s work was not for light thinkers, otherwise his story would lack the deeper, truer meanings intended. It was nice to hear a more intellectual opinion of the dead Austrian’s writing, “I am glad Brod never burned ze man’s viting, elsevise it’d be a vaste.”