The Teacher

Awesome 10 year Anniversary Review done by Jeannie Cheering for Martel on August 26, 2022. Thank you!

His deep aquamarine eyes expressed so much tenderness that you were drawn to him like a magnet. His eyes almost wept tears of unconditional love yet he was just another ordinary man walking down the street, to my house, in the small town of Canoas, in Brazil. I watched him approach my house from behind the thin white curtains that were floating softly over my head. It was a warm Friday afternoon. I had a feeling that things were about to change for the better.

The moment he shook my hand, my heart stood still - the world's color became an off white; life changed meaning. Nothing else mattered but him, looking at me, with his pretty blue eyes. He seemed like a rainbow, flashing multi-colors all around him. My rainbow. His tall demeanor, and manners were so different from the Brazilian men; he was so soft spoken.

I fell in love with him even though being married for 11 years. All those married years vanished, disappeared. It was all about my life after I met him. It was love at first sight. My world completely changed when I met him.

"Hello, Mrs. Marisa. I am Mr. Taylor. John Gott Taylor. Do you speak English?" Oh. What a gentleman! Look at that. I was so very lucky he was at my doorstep. My legs melted and my heart skipped a beat when I heard the tone of his voice that day - like melted caramel in the air. Oh so sweet. I told him I spoke some English still as I had studied English as an au pair student, in New Jersey. He smiled, and it lit the living room like sun-rays reflecting on a crystal chandelier, and my body was on fire. He was so very handsome.

"I understand that you'd like me to teach English as a Second Language to your 9-year old boy, Paulo. Is that correct ma'am?"

Ma'am? Why was he calling me that? I was still so young and beautiful. As a matter of fact, I was a Beauty Queen in my town years ago. Well ... never mind. I asked him to come in and sit down. His hair was blond, long, covering his neck and part of his shoulders. White skin, as white as snow and pinky cheeks. An angel. Strong arms and long legs, and he made you feel somehow comfortable around him. I told him to call me Marisa, not Ma'am. He smiled again, agreeing with a nod. His hair fell over his eyebrows. I wanted to fix it. Folding my hands on my lap, I explained my son's problems with the English language skills, his school grades, and school books. He needed help or he'd fail the school year. He liked English but was having a hard time with the Past Participle, and the Irregular verb tenses. He smiled again. I noticed a dimple on his left cheek. Was it there before? Did he have another one on the other side?

"Would it be okay for me to come twice a week for two hours per day to start with?" I agreed, immediately. I was told by the other mothers that he was wonderful with young children, and I was lucky to have him. I asked him when he could start and he laughed - it was like heavenly music to my ears. "I'd like to meet your son first. I need his approval."

I asked him to wait a moment. I wanted to stay in the room with him but went to look for my son. I thought that he was looking at my slim, sensual body while I walked away. Shortness of breath. Nervous. I hurried. I called Paulo, and told him his English teacher wanted to meet him, and he was at first surprised, then so happy. I combed my son's soft light brown hair and looked into his hazel-greenish eyes and said that everything was going to be okay now. I caressed his silky soft cheeks. Paulo ran out of the room. I heard him say hello from the living room, and giggle. I went to the kitchen to get some passion fruit juice for us to enjoy it in that warm afternoon.

I found them sitting together on the sofa and laughing. Best friends forever. Paulo's English skills were not good and he was struggling to make sense but whatever he said Mr. Taylor laughed, and understood. I noticed how careful he was with Paulo - keeping a respectful distance and making him feel at ease. Teachers can be intimidating, I know that from my very own experience. Once, a Geography teacher had hit my hand so hard with the ruler that I could not move my hand for three days.

"Paulo and I think that twice a week is fine and also a two-hour class. If he feels tired we'll stop. We start next week. Tuesdays and Thursdays." What a miracle. Paulo hated private classes, extra classes, studying at home, learning another language, and doing homework. I was pleased. So pleased. And enamored with this different, unusual man. What a good day!

Before he left, Mr. Taylor gave Paulo a gift - a Rubik's cube, and said that he would teach Paulo some tricks. Paulo was excited and ran back to his room with his most precious possession, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Mr. Taylor came every Tuesday and Thursdays. They sat at the dining room table with his books and workbooks spread all over the table and they spoke only in English. I was delighted and happy as Paulo was, and to receive him at our home. I even bought new dresses for each day. I changed in many ways. I wanted to please him, make him want me, make him happy; I wanted him for myself. He came to my house for the next 4 months and I was flying high up in the skies.

Paulo's accountability in school skyrocketed because of Mr. Taylor's dedication, devotion and care, but especially trust. Paulo was so very lucky to have him. He was patient and calm, adorable and loving; so intelligent. He never ever made a pass on me and even my husband liked the "Gringo" teacher. He and Mr. Taylor had once watched a soccer game after Paulo's class and they drank a beer together. He told me that Mr. Taylor said he was from Australia, from a city called Adelaide. A very far away place. Very far away. He was divorced, no kids, and an adventurer, loved to travel, and always wanted to come to Brazil, and to Canoas. Here; out of the blue - right here.

But Mr. Taylor did not show up for Paulo's class one Tuesday afternoon. Nor did he show up for the other students' classes. What happened? He was so punctual. This was not like him. He loved the kids and gave them toys, small stuffed animals, little cars and chocolate. What was going on? Not a word from him. Nothing. Some parents went to the Police Station, others to the hospital. It was there that they found him, in a coma. A car had run over him, and his bicycle, and the person that hit him, a man, had left the scene of the accident. A hit and run. No information on the driver or license plate number. He had been in a coma for two days already, and the hospital didn't know who he was as he had no ID nor a Driver's License on him. We could not believe this was happening to our beloved English teacher. We just knew him as Mr. John Gott Taylor.

I went to the hospital with my son. I walked slowly into his cold, quiet room. I wanted to run up to his bedside but couldn't. I wanted to hold his hands but couldn't. I wanted to caress his handsome pale face but wouldn't. I wanted to cry but wouldn't - not in front of Paulo. My son walked up to Mr. Taylor's bedside and whispered into his ears, "Wake up, Mr. Taylor. Wake up, please. I love you." And he cried for me and for all the kids in town. It was a tough, sad day for the community, and for my family. He was so very lucky to be loved by everybody.

The doctors and nurses were trying to find out Mr. Taylor's next of kin. No information in his house - it was full of toys and tiny gifts, and his destroyed bicycle by the front door, and many, many English books and children's story books. The Cat in the Hat, Pippa Pig, and Doctor Zeuss among others. So, the hospital called the Police. Nothing. The Police called the Federal Police. Nothing. The Federal Police called the Australian Embassy. All this was ongoing while he laid in bed in a coma, a head concussion with a deep nasty cut on his forehead, and broken ribs. Curiosity. Mystery. Angst. Worry. Prayers. Flowers and handwritten cards were scattered around his room from "my children" as he called them fondly. Balloons and gummy bears on his night stand. The Brazilian Federal Police came into his room - requested by the Australian Consulate and took his fingerprints in order to find out this adored man's information and locate a family member. Teddy bears and toys scattered everywhere. It was heart breaking; and sure uncertain moments for all of us.

Then Whammmm. A "tsunami" hit us hard in our guts, and destroyed our lives forever. Exactly one month after the accident, the hospitalization and coma, on October 12, Children's Day in Brazil, Mr. Taylor came off from the coma to find his hand handcuffed to his hospital bed. Two Federal Police officers together with two Agents from the Interpol, as well as two agents from the Australian Embassy were staring angrily at him; hate dripping from their eyes. Fear in Mr. Taylor's eyes; the sudden shock of being discovered? They pointed at him, and rudely asked about the three dark blue triangles, tattooed on his hand. What did they mean? They knew what it meant already, but they wanted confirmation. He was clearly very nervous. He had his secrets. He thought he could get away with it - again. But he had a certain type of - disorder, and due to his constant desire to please people ... he told the truth. "It m-means that ... I l-love b-boys. He yelled. "Yes. I love boys. I am attracted to b-boys! So what? What's the problem."
One of the Brazilian Federal agents wanted to punch him hard on his distorted face but he was immediately stopped by one of the upset Australian agents. "We know that already you creep. We Googled it. There are others like you tattooing different symbols on themselves. Symbols for boy lovers and symbols for girl loves; and guys, just so you know - tattooed pink hearts is for girl lovers, hear me? So be on the look out! Sickening. Jesus. You are sick, man. Listen up! This horror of a man, this scum of society, this piece of shit - is ours. He is ours now. Keep a close eye on him. Just remember that his victims slept untroubled. Keep that in your minds and let's get this bastard to where he belongs now," the agent said.
Mr. Taylor did not seem surprised, but the nurses told us that there was a long, deep sigh of relief coming out from Mr. Taylor's chest. Then, he took a breath in and then out. And then another one, in and out. Silence. A dark night of a soul - just standing there.

They read his Miranda rights. He started to sob; pleading for forgiveness up to a point that is was embarrassing. He got up slowly and looking around, as if trying to find a way out; go, run, escape. A clenched teeth soft whisper - like a treacherous rat in a small maze he tried to turn and run right, then left. Was he trying to reverse the flow of power? They held him tighter, and escorted him out of the room rudely but firmly; hunchbacked. His head bent low, fists clenched and wide-eyed, ashamed, and constantly apologizing, he stopped for a while but they pushed him forwards. As he walked out to the Police vehicle we could see that he was wearing the hospital gown, and his skinny, white, naked butt appeared from one side of the gown. Barefoot. Handcuffed. Pitiful. Horrible. Unbelievable. Shocking. Why?

To our disbelief we were told that same day that the English Teacher, our English teacher, was a Paedophile from the NorthernTerritory in Australia. A what? A child molester. Huh? A sex offender. Come again? He liked to abuse and molest minors. NO. WHAT? Yes. A boy lover. What? In our town? YES. A pedophile that had been caught in Adelaide, with a record of 17 child abuse cases; had served 10 years in prison, and then, who knows why - on Parole, and on the run from the Australian Police for years. Identity Fraud. A criminal. That ordinary man in our town was a pervert, a child molester, and teaching English to our little boys. My Sweet Lord. What makes a person do this to children? Do you learn to live with these ... habits? What is inside a dark, pervert's mind? What made him like this? To view illegal images of children on-line. Hurt children? Abuse a child. Touch children. He chose pleasure above all things? Turn good into ... bad? There might never be a logical explanation for this type of deviance. For me, it is not an illness or a personality disorder - it's a sickening, abnormal, bizarre, nauseating, vile, and a loathsome thing; a distorted sexual fantasy involving an adult and a child. And he was right here in our town with our kids. He was caught because of an accident. Was it really an "accident" though? I often wonder about that hit and run... One thing I know. There is no sunlight in the inside of a person like that - only a dark spectral void that eats your guts up and makes you go crazy. Evil's evil. Monsters may disappear but they never vanish ...

To this day, my son Paulo does not speak in English and refuses to do so. He does not want to know the truth - even though we explained the whole story about Mr. Taylor's predicament, and past, in our own kind words, and carefully, trying to see if there were any ... signs. There were none. He never talked about his English teacher again but he never threw away that Rubik's cube. It just stood there, on his shelf, covered in dust, watching him; it was like a thing to remember, to look at and beware, and to be careful about. He knew what we meant; what we told him. He knew. And so he learnt to watch out. To be on the look out for predators out there. It is a jungle out there. And, to never, ever forget. There could have been darkness within my child but thank God it did not stay. The man was a child lover; he was so very close... We were so very lucky.


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