An American in Kichijoji- Jim Spence
((( Author's Note: Kichijoji is a sector in western Tokyo where GTO takes place.
This is an alternate reality GTO fanfic, where an American English teacher
joins the Holy Forest crew. The rest of the storyline, however, is unchanged,
and the story starts at Book 2 (printed in 1997), when Onizuka and Azusa go in
together to get a job interview. You will still hear about Onizuka's antics,
but from a more faraway viewpoint. The teacher, Jim, has my name and is loosely
based on me and some of my fantasies, but is NOT me. The main point of this
story is to point out some of the faults in American society, the Japanese
educational system, and humanity in general (Much like Fujisawa-sama actually
does in GTO). There will still be some humor (I'm not THAT serious, you know
^_^), because this is GTO. And BTW, all of the characters and place names in
this story belong to Tohru Fujisawa, except for Jim-sensei, who belongs to
Jim-author.)))
Planting the Seed- Chapter One
There was one thing you could say about that room. It was dark.
Oh, sure, there were plenty of problems with it- the stifling atmosphere, the
intense, permeating heat, the fact that the lights were too bright and made the
young man sitting there look like he was being interrogated. Which he might as well
have been, looking at this lot. Wait. Why are you interrupting? Oh. The idea
that the room was dark when the lights were too bright. Yes, yes, it will make
sense in a second.
The room was a standard office-looking room, with blinding white
paint on walls that took on a bluish or a yellowish hue depending on what time
of day it was, a scruffy, ugly, patterned carpet that tried to pass itself off
as being impressionistic art, and your standard office furniture. You know, those
cheap steel folding chairs with the thin leather seats, the long table that was
probably about five percent wood-patterned plastic casing, ninety-five percent
steel. It was an odd room in several ways, too. The aforementioned chairs, four
of them, and table were the only things adorning the godawful room, making it
look even larger and more looming.
The guy in the chair, facing the three men, had seen it all
before. No matter where you went, the office (or, in this case, school)
furniture looked like it had been designed by monkeys, the carpets had been
dyed by a sloth with two fingers (one on each hand), and the bigwigs tried to
show off their dicks and make you look smaller. That would be a tall order, all
three of them, the guy in the chair thought. The three men on the other side
could not look less like the pretend-bigwigs the guy in the chair had grown so
accustomed to seeing. The man in the center and the man on the guy in the chair's
right looked like clones of each other, huge nostrils, an ever-present frown,
even when they were fake-polite-smiling right then and there, huge
forehead-wrinkles, eyes that showed that they once had the fire in them to get
to the top of their narrow little world. Those eyes were now
dulled by the pull of age and their constant superiority complexes. The clones
were mostly bald, both of them with the exact same pseudo-monk look that had
gone horribly wrong. Both wore ill-fitting suits, although Center Man's looked
a great deal nicer. Center Man wore glasses, while Left Man didn't, and Center
Man had a bandage on his nose that tried to cover up a nosebleed, a dried
stream of which was still visible below his right nostril.
Right Man looked considerably different from the clones. He
looked like somebody had pulled a Japanese man out of the sixties and threw him
into the late 90's. He had a sweater-vest plus tie plus turtleneck shirt thing
going, not to mention his khaki slacks. The hair on his head was combed in a
very retro fashion, with the right part of his hair combed over the part while the
left was combed under, looking like an old tectonic plate diagram where one
plate slid over the other. The look on his face was a copy of the other two's.
That's where the dark part came from. The feeling the guy in the
chair got from the looks on the three men's faces. Those three men were black
holes, their stares capable of stopping youthful enthusiasm and ingenuity cold.
Light could not escape their grasp.
Center Man, whose name was actually Hiroshi Uchiyamada, took a
second look at the guy in the chair. The other two took their second looks, and
even a third. Uchiyamada did not take a third, because he had opened the manila
folder that held all of the guy in the chair's information. The first page was
a personal information sheet, printed mostly in a very clean hiragana. The
guy's name, however, was printed in katakana on top, romaji in Japanese transliteration,
and romaji in English transliteration at the bottom of the little field marked
"Name". Uchiyamada took a close look at the katakana, then looked up at the guy
again.
Ahem. Uchiyamada took a deep breath and rattled off the
katakana.
"Sipensu Jimu-san?" He paused for a moment, looking for recognition in
"Jimu-san's" face. "Jimu-san" nodded. Uchiyamada paused again.
"Do you speak any Japanese, Jimu-san?"
"Hai," the guy in the chair said.
"More than that a tourist would know?"
"Jimu-san" smiled. Then he spoke, in perfect Japanese. "Please
instruct Sakurai-sensei to read off my name in the English transliteration of
my katakana."
The three stared. None of them had ever seen an American who
could speak Japanese without a Western accent. In fact, it sounded more like a
Tokyo accent than anything else. Uchiyamada, still staring at the American,
passed the manila folder to Right Man, a.k.a. Tadashi Sakurai, one of the
prominent English teachers in Holy Forest. Sakurai looked down at the katakana
and the romaji. The first definitely said "Si-pe-n-su–Ji-mu", which was matched
by the first romaji. The second romaji, however, was going to be a bit harder to
decipher. It said "S-P-E-N-C-E--J-I-M".
"Sp-Spay-Spayncay?" Jim nodded "no". Sakurai tried again.
"Sp-Spe-Spence?" Jim nodded "no", again. He had made the last
"e"vocal
instead of silent like it was supposed to be.
"Give me some help, dammit!" Sakurai yelled.
Jim's eyes narrowed. "You're the English teacher. Get on with
it."
Sakurai tried a third time. A fourth. A fifth. The faintest
traces of red were now starting to appear at the base of his stupid white
turtleneck.
"Spence, Jim," Jim said. "It's not that hard. Those are actually
fairly
common names back home."
Sakurai glared at the young man, and then passed the folder back
to Uchiyamada, who just stared. The little red wave had receded back into Sakurai's
turtleneck, but his severe look had not.
The truth was, Jim didn't mind being called "Jimu". It was the
natural way for the Japanese to pronounce it, and sometimes it actually sounded
almost right. He just didn't like the look of Sakurai. Pride goeth before the
fall, yeah, that should be Sakurai's life statment. Jim thought it amazing that
a high-ranking English teacher couldn't pronounce a simple English name. He wondered
what other atrocities this man had committed in butchering Jim's native tongue.
Uchiyamada took a second look at the sheet.
***
Holy Forest Academy
Teacher Application Form
" Interview Questionnaire: Applicant 22"
" Name: Sipensu Jimu (katakana)
Sipensu Jimu (romaji)
Jim Spence (romaji)"
"Age: 22"
"School: Woodcroft College of Visalia" (This was in romaji)
"Major: History"
"Thesis Topic: Rome and its effects on Modern Society"
"Desired Teaching Subject: English 3 through 6"
"Favorite Books: Blue Mars
Lord of the Flies
The Tale of Genji"
"Interests: Manga, Drawing, Writing, Studying Sociology"
"Favorite Films: The Matrix, Princess Mononoke, Star Wars"
"Personal Heroes: Andrew Jackson
Napoleon
Bonaparte
Sun Tzu"
"Reasons for wanting to be a Teacher: Up until my freshman year
in college,
I wanted to be a businessman. However, mitigating circumstances changed my
mind for teaching. An unfortunate incident caused me to lose heart in the
business profession and take up teaching, so I can better the lives of my
students through my work."
"Extracurricular Activities: History Club (President, 3 years)
Latin Club
J/V Wrestler"
"View on School Violence: I believe that the parents are the root
of the
violent behavior of their children. A combination of being spoiled and being
restricted have caused the children to attempt to speak out through a
certain arrogant rebellion."
"Personal Essay: I left America because the environment there was
too
selfish, too greedy. I felt like there were too many people who were trying
to put me down for their own gain. I believe that the core of my
personality, a general unselfishness and world-wisdom, will flourish in a
better environment such as here in Japan."
"Additional Skills: Can also speak French and Latin, as well as English
and
Japanese
Some
woodworking ability
Some
drawing and design ability"
***
Uchiyamada stared. At the paper, at Yokomizu (Left Man), at
Sakurai, a second credential sheet, and finally at Jim. He opened his mouth to
speak, but didn't, for some odd reason. Jim just kitty-smiled.
"Well, gentlemen? Are my credentials in order?"
Uchiyamada cleared his throat. He had regained some of his
composure, but a good deal of his earlier smoothness had been lost. "Well...."
He paused, searching for the name again.. "Sipensu-san. It says here that you
received a history degree, but you still want to teach English?"
Jim kept his smile riding high. "Hai."
"I see." Uchiyamada looked down at the paper. "English 3 through
6?"
"Hai."
"As in, Advanced Grammar through Mastery of Literature?"
"Hai."
"And yet you have no teaching experience, Sipensu-san."
"Iie, Uchiyamada-san. I would have taught history over in the
United States, but, as I stated in my application, I wanted to come here to
teach. English seemed the most natural thing to me, as I only learned a small amount
of Japanese history."
Uchiyamada was struck by the young man's unusual Japanese, the
only mark of his being foreign (well, excepting his appearance, of course).
Some of the words he used were excessively formal, and some even bordered on
being archaic. He seemed to have gotten his sentence structures on perfectly, though.
The boy also did not seem to follow any pattern in his application, either. At
least nine of the earlier applicants had apparently followed some form of
manual on how to write resumes. Others had written very similar passages in
several areas. As a matter of fact, this boy seemed to have written the only
truly original application he and the others had seen all day.
Yokomizu took up the questioning. "What Uchiyamada-san is trying
to say is that how can we expect you to teach a course you don't even have a
degree in?"
The smile dropped from Jim's face. "I took the three-week
training period, Yokomizu-san. As an English teacher. The principal
complemented me shortly before I left, saying that my students were so
disappointed at my leaving that they almost threw out my replacement, that I
had taught them so well that they were lording their newfound knowledge over
their fellows. It's all right there, in the credentials sheet. Besides, am I
not an American? I could speak English better than...."
Sakurai noted the pause, as well as Jim's attempts to keep that
smile from returning to his face. "Better than who, Sipensu-san?" Jim noted
that
Sakurai didn't try to pronounce his name right.
"Very well, since you asked me.... I can speak English better
than you, Sakurai-san," he stopped for a moment. "Aren't you the big English
teacher on this campus?"
That little line of red surged up through the turtleneck again,
stopping about an inch below Sakurai's chin. Sakurai's lips formed a smile
again, though, as the red line receded a little bit. Not that fake-polite smile
from before, but more like a knowing smile. "Alright, then, Sipensu-san. Try me."
Jim adopted the same smile as Sakurai. This was a game now. The
ball was in his court. Little did they know, he had the special foolproof
half-court shot. "Alright, then. I'll give you a good deal of credit, since
your reputation around here is so high. Let's play a little English 6." Jim reached
beside him, and dragged the red, white, and blue duffel bag, a present from his
father, up and set it on his lap. He dug through the contents, and eventually
came back up with a small paperback book.
"You've read Lord of the Flies, haven't you, Sakurai-san?"
Sakurai thought for a moment. Another moment. A little while
longer.
Finally, he nodded. "That's the one about the little English boys who become savages,
right?"
Jim nodded in his turn. "Right. Now do you remember the point
where Jack painted his face and began to act like a savage?"
Sakurai thought for a moment, but not for nearly as long as he
had when he tried to remember the book's title. "Of course."
Jim handed Sakurai the book. "What words in here emphasize the
extent of the idea that Jack's civility had been shed whenever he put the mask
on?"
Sakurai swallowed and paled. He picked up the book and started
thumbing through it. "Page 59, Sakurai-san." Jim's brown eyes had become like
some painted metal, his pupils like turrets, firing beams of paralysis. The
other two educators looked on in anxiety.
Sakurai started reading. He kept reading, but stopped after a
while. "Jack isn't on this page, Sipensu-san."
Leaning over the table, his face dangerously close to Sakurai's diamond-patterned
power-tie, Jim spoke. He said, "That's because that is page 95, Sakurai-san.
That book is printed left-to-right, in the European style."
Sakurai paled even further, then reddened. He flipped through the
book again, finally landing on page 59, and tried to read again. He faltered. Then
he paled again.
Jim glared. "Let me guess. You never said you read Lord of the
Flies in ENGLISH, did you?"
Sakurai's face became a tomato. Jim had never seen such a deep
red on a person, and Uchiyamada had only seen that when he became angry.
Sakurai's face lightened a bit, but it was an angry red now, not an embarrassed
one. "How dare you... how dare you insult my prestige as an English instructor,
you American hack! How dare you attempt to sum up my career in a minor
children's novel! What do you know about teaching?"
Jim adopted a dangerous look, eyes and lips narrowing to mere
lines. "Lord of the Flies has been one of the most influential novels of the
history of English literature. It is an allegory for a political arena that
existed until recently, and raises questions about the whole of humankind. It
is not minor, it is not a mere children's story, and you are just trying to
cover your ass for not being able to teach whatever the hell you're trying to teach!
"How dare you try to insult me and my language when I have
learned yours near-perfectly! I read the Tale of Genji in the original kanji!"
The three educators shot up as if hit by lightning. Which they might as well
have been. Uchiyamada stuttered for a second, but eventually got out:
"W-well, Sipensu-san, i-i-it appears that you have everything you
n-need to start teaching. We will contact you when we deem it... necessary. You
may leave now." Jim stood up, slung his duffel bag around his right shoulder, and
left, not even bothering to pick up his book.
Uchiyamada and Yokomizu stared at Sakurai for a moment.
Uchiyamada spoke. "Hiroshi, if you would?" It took a while for this to register
with Sakurai.
"Oh... right." He stood up, pocketed Jim's book, bowed, and left.
The head of the sociology department, Hideki Kokoro, sat in Sakurai's vacant
seat. Uchiyamada set Jim's materials aside and pulled a second manila folder
out of the box beneath his feet. He looked at the print club sticker stuck to the
picture section of the application. A blonde-haired young Japanese man stared
goofily back at him.
"Eikichi Onizuka, huh?" Uchiyamada planted a grin on his face,
and
whispered, "Well, then, this ought to be interesting..."
Yokomizu shot a quick glance at Uchiyamada. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."