British and American literature teacher

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

My daughter Rosemary Chu and I arrived in Hong Kong at 7:20 AM on Cathay Pacific flight CX252 from London Heathrow Airport, and then transferred to CX530, arriving at Taoyuan International Airport at 11:20 AM. We immediately cleared customs, collected our checked luggage, and retrieved the memorial altar for our late husband, Professor Adem Chu, from the baggage claim area. Rosemary carried his portrait and the altar strapped to his chest as we passed through customs. My uncle, sister-in-law, and about twenty of my university classmates, both men and women, came to greet us. I saw Chung Hu-an among them. I thought back to his visit to Cambridge a few years ago, our late-night conversations by candlelight, the laughter he shared with my late husband, and how it felt like yesterday. Now, he has passed away in a plane crash, and I am deeply saddened.

We first went to the hotel to drop off our luggage, then had lunch at the hotel restaurant. My uncle paid the bill, and we drove to Sanyi, Adem's hometown, where he will be interred at the Tian Di Church's columbarium, a Christian parish.

The building there was magnificent, divided into three sections: Heaven, Earth, and the Human Realm. Adem will reside here with other spirits; may he rest in peace.

The location and cost of his memorial tablet had been registered and handled by my uncle long ago; today was mainly for the burial ceremony and confirming the location. Rosemary and I both wept uncontrollably.

Relatives and classmates were also somber and choked with grief. He was a universally acknowledged authority on British literature, a brilliant scholar, whose life was cut short.

Through recommendations from teachers and relatives, and based on my writings in England, I obtained my associate professorship and began teaching at my alma mater.

During the opening ceremony, a group of colleagues and I sat on the stage in the auditorium, facing thousands of students. The principal was introducing the new faculty members for each department this semester, and now it was my turn to be introduced. He said,

"Now, I would like to introduce Ms. Ji Xinhua of the Department of Literature. She holds a PhD in English Literature from the prestigious UCL in the UK, specializing in English literary history, drama, and poetry. She has published extensively, especially on Byron, Keats, Shelley, and even American poets like Longfellow and Bennett, and is renowned in the British literary world. Ms. Ji's joining our school is an honor for our university..." Just like the introductions of other teachers, the audience applauded.

Class began! The classroom was filled with over a hundred young faces, a far cry from the packed lecture halls I used to fill at Trinity College in England.

I am 45 years old this year, but seeing my beautiful 19-year-old daughter, Lulu Rosemary, also among the students filled my heart with warmth.

British and American literature has never been a popular course, but it is a required course for foreign language departments. Not many people may choose my course, so I must make a good start to attract more students to take my course.

"Today we will begin by introducing the British poetry scene. When discussing British poets, we must first introduce the lame poet George Gordon Byron. Byron was a leading figure in the anti-authoritarian movement of his time. Although a hereditary British nobleman, he championed workers' rights and fought against vested interests with his pen, publishing *Childe Harold's Pilgrimage*, a poem that caused a sensation in the literary world. He traveled extensively to Italy, Spain, Greece, and other countries, ultimately dedicating himself to the Greek Revolution. He was posthumously given a state funeral in Greece. His life was legendary, and we will introduce his famous poems and works one by one." We will then introduce Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was born fourteen years after Byron, but both were nobles and belonged to the Romantic school of poetry. Both had a significant influence on the British literary and poetic world. Shelley had a deep friendship with Byron, and Shelley's poetic spirit also influenced Byron. In addition, we will introduce John Keats, Thomas Stearns Eliot, T.S. Eliot (American), and Henry Wadsworth. The course covered the lives and famous works of Longfellow (American) and others.

The British literary world is full of talent, and I primarily considered the most well-known, influential, and contemporary writers, selecting a sample for my lectures. Older works, due to the differences between Old and Modern English, were temporarily excluded.

I spoke with great enthusiasm, but I wonder what percentage of the students felt my energy.

The next day, I went to the registrar's office to check the list of students enrolled in my course. Since it was a required course for the Department of Foreign Languages in the Faculty of Arts, over one hundred students had enrolled, requiring the course to be divided into two classes, A and B. My daughter, Zhou Lulu (Rosemary Chu), was naturally on the list.

Course: English Literature (Required for Faculty of Arts, 12 credits)

Instructor: Ji Xinhua

Teaching Hours: Two classes per week, six semesters.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

I am with my husband, Professor Adem Chu, Zhou Qinzhong, and our daughter, Rosemary. The Chu family originally lived in a Cambridge dormitory (with a view of the famous River Cam from the window). My husband was the only Chinese professor at Trinity College, the only Chinese professor teaching English literature and English poetry. Sadly, he perished in a plane crash abroad. I was his teaching assistant, and now I can only escort his coffin back home as a bereaved family member.

Thanks to the help of classmates, I was able to find a teaching position at this university, establishing myself to face new challenges in life.

I feel I'm nearing fifty, my daughter is grown up, and after the loss of my husband, I should be half-buried, with a dry well and only the waning moon and lonely lamp remaining. Zhong Hu'an occasionally visits. He was my late husband's best friend at the university, because we were from the same hometown, born in the same year, and had been classmates since high school, continuing into university, though in different departments. We also both pursued the same woman. My friend, I heard, is still unmarried. I feel a little guilty towards him.

Who knew this would stir up another uproar?

Secondly,

the furniture shipment from England, brought back from England, has arrived. After completing customs procedures and paying taxes, it has finally reached my new home. I instructed the movers to move the large items to their designated locations, and now I'm unpacking and placing everything. Unpacking and tidying many items again brings back many old memories.

This violin was Rosemary's father's beloved possession when he was alive; he played countless beautiful pieces on it, like Schubert's serenades, Tosiri's serenades, and Sarasate's Zygmunt. It still echoes in my ears from time to time, but the object remains while the man is gone, making me sigh with sadness. A Stanway model... The grand piano, though aged, still gleamed, but I, all alone, hadn't touched the keys for almost two years. Because it had to be shipped across the Indian Ocean in crates, the strings had loosened, but after a quick test, the movement was normal; I needed to have it tuned. While testing the piano, I heard a soft "ding,"

and for some reason, my heart skipped a beat. This house, located on Waishuangxi Road, was important to me because of its quietness, convenient transportation, and the presence of prominent figures in the neighborhood, ensuring good security. It was also almost the equivalent of selling a house in London, so I bought it in one go.

After returning to Taiwan, few people visited except for former classmates. My husband's former students and acquaintances rarely came either. Coming home after class, the house felt eerily quiet. My daughter suggested I have some lessons at home, a suggestion I thought was good, so I bought thirty folding chairs. I bought a batch of teacups, plates, and saucers, and asked the maid to prepare tea, coffee, and desserts. I also invited a group of third- and fourth-year students and graduate students to my home twice a month for lessons.

The literature department had more female students than male students, roughly an eight to two ratio. For a time, my house was bustling with chatter from the girls, while the boys, being few in number, became the center of attention, with the girls revolving around them. One of the boys, Qi Wei, was tall and somewhat imposing, but rather introverted. He often became shy and embarrassed when teased by the girls, and I felt he resembled my late husband somewhat.

One day, while lecturing on Keats' famous work, *Ode to a Nightingale*, I said:

"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my senses, as though of hemlock I had drunk, or emptied some dull opiate to the drains," this big boy, he immediately continued with deep emotion:

"One minute past, and lethe-wards, had sunk;'tis not through envy of thy happy lot," I said:

"but being too happy in thine happiness—that thou, light-winged dryad of the trees, in some melodious plot," he immediately said with shining eyes:

"of beechen green and shadows numberless, singest of summer in full-throated ease." We both burst into laughter.

My face changed, and I said seriously:

"Qi, what kind of attitude is this? The teacher hasn't finished speaking, and you interrupt. Are you teaching this class, or am I? This is truly outrageous!" For a moment, the room was silent.

He became anxious, stood up, stammering and at a loss for words, his face flushed red. The entire class fell silent.

I could see I'd already frightened him a bit. I couldn't help but chuckle:

"Qi, ha! Ha! Did I scare you? I was just kidding." The whole class burst into laughter. Afraid

of scaring him again, I gently asked him when he'd learned this Keats poem.

"When I was in high school, I was close to a girl who loved Keats's poems, so I memorized a lot of them. That's why, when the teacher just recited it, I couldn't help but recite it." This kid had mistaken the teacher for his former lover.

After class, I looked up the student's information:

Qi Wei, 27 years old, 182cm tall, 75kg,

majoring in Diplomacy in Tainan City, a first-year graduate student in French.

Thinking of his robust physique and the way he passionately recited the love poem, I couldn't help but think of Rosemary's father, Brother Zhong—they were strikingly similar. My lower abdomen suddenly tightened, and I felt my face flush.

Late at night, after showering before bed, I put on a bathrobe and combed my hair in front of the mirror. I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror: a lonely, voluptuous woman in her fifties, past her prime, yet still alluring, her breasts still firm, standing half-naked before the mirror. I thought back to when Zhong was still alive, and we would look out of our bedroom window. Because it was on the west bank of the River Cam, we could see Cambridge University students racing or practicing on the river, a bustling scene of crowds. We would snuggle together, Zhong laughing and holding me, me playfully grabbing his penis. We would kiss and embrace, making love without restraint. Even when I was heavily pregnant with Rosemary, we still often drifted in love. Ah, how I miss you, Zhong!

Seeing her reflection in the mirror, and noticing the lush, untouched pubic hair between her legs, she felt a surge of desire. She hurriedly dressed, drove to Watsons, and bought a Gillette four-bladed razor and a jar of shaving cream. Back home, she stripped naked and meticulously shaved her pubic hair clean in front of the mirror. Admiring herself, she saw her smooth, youthful appearance, almost like a young girl.

A rush of blood surged through her, and her vagina became incredibly itchy. She scratched at the itch with her fingers, but the more she scratched, the itchier it became, and the more it itched, the more she scratched. Finally, unable to relieve herself, she lay naked on the bed and fell asleep. In her dream, Zhong-ge returned. "Ah! Zhong-ge, I've been celibate for two years, and yet, for some reason, I've been stirred up by a big kid. Zhong-ge, will you come to my rescue?"

Third, the grass-eating cow.

Later, Xiao Qi often came to my house and got along very well with Lulu. We often played a relay game of Keats and Shelley's love poems in my study. One day, Rosemary went to Taichung, and Auntie went home after work. It was getting late, so it was just Xiao Qi and me at home. I was wearing light home clothes, and I was playing the Pedophoenix (Pathétique) Sonata while we both sipped on a piece of jahnnie Walker Blue Label Scotch on the Rock ice whiskey.

As we read Keats's poem "When I Have Fear," I said,

"When I have fears that I may cease to be before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, before high-piled books, in charactery, hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;" He continued with a serious expression,

"When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, and think that I may never live to trace

their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

and when I feel, fair creature of an hour, that I shall never look upon thee more, never have relish in the faery power

of unreflecting love;—then on the shore," he added without hesitation,

"of the wide world I stand alone, and think till love and fame to nothingness do sink." We laughed heartily and applauded each other.

I handed him a glass of light ice wine, and he suddenly strode forward, took it, placed it on the piano, lifted me from the bench, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me.

Oh dear! Chaos erupted within me; I was completely bewildered and helpless. I wanted to push him away, but my body was too weak; I wanted to escape, but my legs wouldn't move. I only felt that my brother Zhong had come and embraced me again. He was kissing me; what should I do? I gently returned his kiss, and he used his tongue to enter my mouth. I, as always, sucked the ice wine from his saliva. He gently held my slender waist, and I clung tightly to his shoulders. He gently laid me down on the carpet, gently unbuttoned my shirt, then my bra, and forcefully sucked and gently bit my breasts and nipples. I felt as if my uterus was on fire, my clitoris was convulsing, and my vagina was overflowing with fluid. I wanted him to penetrate me quickly.

I pressed myself against his body, one hand around him, the other reaching for his crotch. Oh God, oh my love, come, come, come quickly, quickly, quickly, till love and fame to nothingness do sink. He kept kissing me there, where I was constantly wet, my clitoris was swollen, desperately needing someone to kiss it, rub it, bite it, suck it, oh dear!

I grabbed his penis, so thick, so strong, I hadn't seen Brother Zhong's big penis in so long, I put it in my mouth, so big, so fat, I hadn't seen Brother Zhong's big penis in so long, I sucked it desperately, it pushed into my throat, oh, I can't breathe, oh, it came out of my mouth again.

I felt completely disoriented. One moment I was in Zhong Ge's arms, the next I was being held by Qi Wei.

Oh! My love, you've finally come in! Zhong Ge? Qi Wei? Whoever you are, you've finally come in, come in... come in... Oh! You're going at me! You're going at me! You're going at me! Go at me to death! Go at me to death!

Oh dear... Oh dear... I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying! I was drenched in sweat, my hair was disheveled, I was screaming and shouting incoherently, I felt waves of semen shooting into me, I felt so satisfied.

Who was it? Was it Zhong Ge? Who was it? Was it Qi Wei? He shot so much semen into me.

The world finally stopped spinning, the storm subsided, and the small boats docked smoothly in the harbor. I nestled in Qi Wei's youthful embrace, looking up at him in disbelief. He looked at me with a hint of doubt, neither of us understanding how what had just happened.

It was as if a thunderbolt had ignited a fire in the earth; it had already occurred. Qi Wei glanced at me, kissed me again, and climbed back onto my stomach. I automatically parted my legs, allowing his erect penis to penetrate me once more.

Because the passion from before had subsided, he thrust in and out very gently, only reaching my clitoris once every two or three strokes, slowly and methodically teasing me. Like a middle-aged woman whose field has been parched for a long time, he wasn't afraid of careful cultivation. He slowly ground, and I gently received; he gently rubbed, and I softly turned. He worked this slow and meticulous work for about twenty minutes, then grew impatient, gradually increasing the speed, faster and faster. Suddenly, a gale arose, and a series of rapid, relentless thrusts ensued! He attacked relentlessly for hundreds of times, but I held firm, meeting his attacks head-on. Finally, he surrendered, ejaculating another stream of semen, and breathless, he held me tightly, closing his eyes and feigning sleep. I curled up into a ball, my legs clamped tightly together, trying not to let any of the semen leak out.

Looking back, I realize I wasn't really responsible. I'd only given him a tiny bit of whiskey, sprayed some Chanel No. 5 perfume, and subtly revealed a bit of cleavage.

He kissed me first; I was just returning his kiss. Oh dear.

There are no secrets between lovers, no apologies; things just happen naturally. That's how we became a couple, establishing a fixed "fuck relationship." When we needed each other, a phone call or an email was enough to arrange a meeting; if there were obstacles, a simple "no" was enough to understand, no explanation needed.

We met and gathered only for love. I forgot I was Qi Wei's teacher, and he forgot he was almost half my age. We only found spiritual connection in the realm of poetry and were attracted to each other in physical union. We forgot social customs, ethical boundaries, and moral norms.

Oh dear, Brother Qi Wei, oh dear, still Brother Qi Wei.

I stepped out of Brother Zhong's shadow, only to enter Qi Wei's love cage. Every night I thought of him, needed him; the sexual desire of a woman in her fifties awakening was so intense. Even though we couldn't meet every day, we still communicated by phone.

Oh dear!

IV. A Mismatched Couple

Summer vacation arrived, and Rosemary received an invitation from a Chinese language tutoring center in Taichung to teach English conversation. Her fluent Oxford English made her very popular with students who were about to study in England.

Because it was summer vacation, Qi Wei had gone back to Tainan. Today, Zhong Hu'an and about twenty of his close classmates came over. Hu'an suggested going to dinner in the city, and he would treat us tonight. We went to a hotel with a live band. After dinner, the dishes were cleared away, and drinks were served for a follow-up. Everyone went to the pool to dance. Hu'an and I danced two slow dances. He was a good dancer. He asked me some family matters, which I thought was impolite. After not seeing each other for so many years, he would ask about my family affairs as soon as we met. I could only give him casual answers.

During the dance, he gently put his arm around my slender waist (since becoming close to Qi Dewei, my waist has shrunk several inches), and supported my back with one hand. Taking advantage of the alcohol, he whispered:

"Xinhua, I've secretly loved you for thirty years, do you know? It's been so painful. Back in high school, I longed to marry you, but you married Dem and became Mrs. Zhou. I lost, but I accepted it, because back then he was better than me in every way. I could only throw myself into work, work, work, work day and night. I earned a lot of money, then lost it all, then earned a lot more. I dated many women, but in the end, I realized that no amount of money could compare to being with you. I haven't married until now, but now I've finally waited for this moment..." "A ray of light appeared before me. 'Xinhua, marry me,' he stammered, rattling off a long speech. I listened, silent, pondering in my mind. I already have Xiao Qi; his strong, muscular physique can give me passionate embraces, his thick, long penis can fill me with pleasure. Can you give me those things? But his deep affection—how could mere physical satisfaction forget it? I fell into deep thought. I looked up and kissed Hu An, smiling as I said, 'Let me think about it. This is a big deal. I need to talk to Rosemary first.' I used delaying tactics.

Hu An was overjoyed. He hugged me tightly, kissed my cheek, and said,

'Okay, I'll announce this good news to everyone, then go to Taichung to find Rosemary, the sooner the better. We'll go tonight. I've waited thirty years for this day. Thank you, Xinhua.' He took my delaying tactic seriously and was very excited."

When everyone returned to their seats, Hu'an announced the news, and the classmates naturally raised their glasses in celebration. I was speechless and could only manage a wry smile.

Hu'an immediately called the waiter to settle the bill, apologized to the classmates, and left early, telling the driver to drive straight ahead. I said I wanted to call Rosemary to tell her, but Hu'an snatched my phone, saying he wanted to give her a surprise. I was essentially kidnapped to Taichung. We

arrived at Lulu's hotel in Taichung at 2:30 AM, going straight to room 1024. Hu'an couldn't wait and rang the doorbell. After waiting a long time, someone finally answered the door. When the door opened, Lulu and Qi Wei were standing inside, half-asleep and disheveled.

Oh dear! What to do?

[The End]

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British and American literature teacher

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