Don't Make Me Hungry!

Javier is at a bit of a loss. He’s in town for a week from Buenos Aires, our teacher but also our guest. So how does he chew us out?

His English is good, but it has odd gaps. He starts the class by saying good night.

“Good evening,” corrects Sharna, his teaching partner and sometime interpreter.

He repeats after her: “Good evening.”

“Good night!” Sharna demonstrates, waving to us and walking away.

Javier catches on. “Good night! Thank you for coming,” he calls over his shoulder.

He turns back with a sheepish grin. Stands up straight. “Good evening,” he begins again.

And so it goes. Javier speaks. We puzzle out his meaning. Sharna fills in the gaps. I am in over my head. As I struggle with steps and partners, the language burps break up the tension, give me a smile. At times even Sharna is at a loss; it took a conference of three to say the word hinge.
Javier has the normal range of teacher talk down cold, but when he wants to depart from it, he needs a little help. He wants to depart from it now.

“I asked you to show me how you move to the music,” he says. Instead, we have shown him our footwork. Forget the steps! he says. Move to the music.

“You must listen,” he admonishes us. He means listen to the music and listen to him. Sure he’s a guest, but first he’s our teacher. We need to show respect.

We nod, eager to get back to it. We haven’t taken his meaning, not really, and he knows it.

“Listen,” he says in that too-patient tone that screams of frustration. He grins, but there is steel in it. It’s time to get serious. He is just a touch angry and he wants it to show.

Javier prepares to issue a warning. He raises a finger. Stands up very straight. Pauses to choose his words. Fails to consult Sharna. Pitches his voice between and a shout and a growl. Then lets us have it:

“Don’t make me hungry!”