The Director

The Director of the study abroad program had a shiny bald pate with a fluff of thin, gray hair around the back of his head. He smiled generously and spread his arms to welcome you into his office. Some of the younger women (his female students) stood back in terror, but the Director reassured them it was only his "personalidad espanol" coming out. When in his native land, he felt a change in himself, a return to his natural way of being.

The female students at Cranely College may have feared an older man's release from his life-long inhibitions but he was not making advances toward them; he was merely showing them how passionate one can be about life. He was encouraging them to discover Madrid and to taste the Spanish culture.

"Pero, no habla engles."

"But don't speak English" he warned them. One could be deported for such a blatant disregard of the rules; Cranely College prided itself as the Harvard of foreign exchange programs and many students from the Ivy League choose Cranely College in Spain for its rigor and strong reputation.

The Director was not merely an enforcer of the rules; he was also a doting husband who gave his wife the position of secretary in the study abroad office. The Director was a family man. He had brought his family to Madrid thanks to the benevolence an institution, that being Cranely College, where he taught Spanish year round except when he took these trips to Spain. In short, the Director tapped the study abroad fund to pay for his wife and kids' vacation.

He had vague plans to steal the money when he was only a professor in the Spanish Department. But now that Linda was helping in the office, he hardly thought of it as "stealing". After all he was getting old and needed his youthful wife to keep him company. He loved her creamy legs, her outmoded, 50's style skirts and her horrible pink lipstick.

Their offices were on the top floor of the International Institute. Linda sat at the secretary desk and played the designated role, shuffling papers, making appointments and organizing things. They worked in their separate rooms but it was futile to hide their affection for each other; Vidal and Linda were overtly sexual beings and had produced four bumptious children in a very short time. Students who came into the office to sign papers or to speak to the Director found their public displays of affection revolting.

At the height of Lethe's ecstasy over meeting the group of Spaniards, he received a phone call from the Director. Lethe was not in his bedroom inhaling endless cigarettes and staring over the balcony in despair, but instead talking to the Senora in what he believed to be lucid, intelligent speech about his recent transformation. "And now I can speak Spanish fluently," he blurted out a rapid string of vowels attempting to prove his point.

"Momento, momento." the Senora stopped him so she could answer the phone.

Lethe lit a cigarette and looked at the Senora with wild, suspicious eyes. Then she handed him the phone.

"Ola." Lethe muttered, losing his interest in the Spanish language.

"Hello, Lethe. You haven't forgotten me I hope."

"No sir, of course not. How's life?"

"Life is fine, just fine. Are you enjoying your stay?"

"Yes sir, rather nice here in the Senora's apartment."

"I'm sure it is, I'm sure it is. I hear from your teachers that you have been taking it easy these days. You haven't been to class in eight weeks, Lethe. What's going on?"

"I'm bored."

"You're bored."

"Yes, my classes are too easy for me. I wanted to really immerse myself in the Spanish culture."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I'm quitting school and I've joined a band of brothers, a group of Spaniards who want to be my friends."

"How precocious of you Lethe, but don't you think it would be better to go home, back to where you're from. Is it Chicago?"

"No, I don't live in Chicago any more."

"Where do you live then?"

"I live at college in upstate New York. If I had to leave Spain, I'd go back there. But I don't see any reason why I'd have to leave. I'm perfectly happy here and the Senora says . . ."

"It's not up to your Senora. The rules say--and I'm reading off the page of the handbook right here in front of me--No student should be allowed to stay with his host family if he is not enrolled in classes at the International Institute. "

"But I hate the International Institute. I really dread it. I can't go there anymore, I can't."

The pungent smell of the greasy chorizo rose into Lethe's nostrils. The Senora was preparing sausage for tonight's meal.

"You need to come to my office right away." The Director continued.

"Where is your office?"

"The International Institute of course."

Lethe sighed and held out the phone to the Senora as if they were done. For another minute, the Senora nodded her head and spoke to the Director in Spanish. Lethe tried to make out their words, but the Senora was speaking too fast.

"He wants me to leave, doesn't he?" Lethe asked.

She reached for her cigarettes and an ashtray nearby. "Don't worry nino I'm not going to kick you out."