Foreign Student (955 Words)
I could feel someone standing there.
I wasn’t used to being disturbed. I like this café because, for central London, it’s not that crowded. It’s also comfortingly cavelike, there are plenty of other women, and the sirens are muffled.
“Do you mind?”
Something about the voice, or the emphasis, suggested she was foreign. Probably why she’d chosen to sit at my table when there were still empty ones. But I’d already made that non-committal hand gesture that says, sure, there’s no-one else in the seat, sit there if you must, but don’t expect any kind of interaction, OK?
I waited for the zone of interference caused by her presence to fade, but it got worse. I could feel her looking at me, getting ready to speak.
Obviously the book wasn’t enough. Damn. Should have had the laptop out, it’s a much more effective barrier. I bent my head lower, glared at the page, but of course I couldn’t concentrate. When she finally spoke it was almost a relief.
“I would like to ask you something.”
Oh, no, not a god-botherer. Please. Not today. I looked up, bared-teeth smile ready to fend her off, but there was none of that shiny earnest look they get. She had her head tilted a little, and nothing but polite interest on her face. A neat, pale, not terribly noticeable sort of face, although her eyes were a little, I don’t know. You don’t stare into a stranger’s eyes so I’m not sure what made them different.
“Mmm?”
“I am studying this place.”
Ah, a student. Definitely foreign. Well, OK then, if it didn’t take too long. “All right,” I said.
“When I sit down;” she paused, the head-tilt altered slightly, then she went on, “when I sat down, you were uncomfortable. May I ask why?”
I was suddenly embarrassed. Such an obvious question, but I never thought about it. It’s the way you are, in a public place. Isn’t it? “Well, I don’t know you. I thought…um…”
“Please. I am studying behaviour. I would be most grateful if you would explain to me.”
“You’re a sociology student?”
“I am,” pause, head-tilt, “an anthropologist.”
“Oh.” I thought anthropologists just studied Amazonian tribes and stuff, but presumably there weren’t that many Amazonian tribes left, maybe nowadays they had to do normal people. Then I thought how patronising and generally obnoxious that thought was. Damn.
I felt I should apologise for something but instead I said, “Um, OK. Well, I suppose, I’m wary of getting into a conversation with someone I don’t know.”
I expected her to take out a notebook or some nifty little electronic gadget, but she didn’t. “What is it you fear?”
“That they’ll be boring. Sorry.”
“You fear boredom.”
“Yes. I only get an hour for lunch, and I don’t want to have to listen to someone going on.”
“What else do you fear?”
“They might ask me for money.”
“You object to being…touched up? No. A soft touch? Is that right?”
“Well, yes, it’s annoying. I mean, some of them are genuine, but I hate being hassled when I’m having a quiet coffee. And I’m worried that they might get nasty if I say no.”
“Nasty.”
“Yes, you know, yell. Go for me with a knife.”
“Are there other fears?”
“They might come on to me. I mean, not usually, with women, but, you know.”
“A sexual approach?”
“Yeah.”
“Why is this worrying?”
“In case they don’t want to take no for an answer. Make a scene. Or turn out to be a psycho and follow me home or something.”
This was becoming a little disturbing. How paranoid was I, for goodness’ sake?
“Interesting.” Head tilt. “You have had these experiences?”
“Well, I’ve had people ask me for money.”
“Did you refuse?”
I could feel myself blushing. “Yes.”
“And what happened?”
“Nothing. They went away.”
Head tilt. “Sexual approaches?”
“Well, maybe. I wasn’t actually sure.”
“But in any case, you were disturbed by the possibility?”
“Um, sort of. But nothing happened. He just went back to his newspaper.”
“Thank you,” she said. “That is very helpful.”
“So what are you writing about?” I said, wondering if I’d turn up as some sort of case-study, “Subject A,” pinned in words like a beetle under glass.
“Societies on the verge of…” head tilt, “disintegration. Certain behaviours, certain responses, are indicative. Generalised paranoia. Fear that even those who appear to conform to the societal norms are concealing violent intentions.”
“That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?”
“Strong?”
Weird how she could cope with these complicated terms but the simple ones threw her. “Yes. A bit extreme. I mean, it’s just normal caution.”
“For a society in this stage, yes.”
“This stage?” I said.
“Thank you, you have been most helpful.” She got up, and I realised it wasn’t just her eyes. There was something odd about the way she moved, too – not as though she was disabled, but as though she were just put together slightly differently.
“What do you mean, this stage?”
“I must go now,” she said, and headed for the door. The oddity of her movements was slightly more obvious from the back.
I got up, grabbing my coat. “Wait! What stage?”
People were looking up from their newspapers, a swift glance, and back again. Don’t get involved with the potentially crazy person.
She paused, hand on the door, tilted her head. “Goodbye,” she said, and the door closed.
“Wait!” I yelled. “What stage? Who are you?” And I ran out into the street, but I couldn’t see her anywhere, only a lot of people giving me a wide berth and carefully not looking at me as I stood there, yelling, with my coat trailing in the road.
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