The Cruise

Prologue

The class had never looked so full. For a moment, he paused at the door and observed the erratic movements of twenty-odd teenagers and their frantic chatter, wondering whether he was in the right place. There was something strangely reassuring in that choreographed chaos that preceded the end of the mid morning break. Maybe it was anticipation for what was to come, he reasoned. Yet, for some reason, he was finding it intimidating, as if he did not deserve such excitement - or if he was about to let them down. After all, isn't this what Mina, his late Italian wife, used to bark at him during the years spent together in the bucolic countryside neighbouring Rome?

'Professor Louse!', the voice sounded shrill and thin, "Can I show you my work?'. His eyes focused on a girl in the second row, tall, with dark red hair and a flamboyant yellow shirt that contrasted with her pale skin. He recognised the figure, but the name escaped him - Rose, maybe, but he wasn't sure. He suddenly felt that he had been staying at the door, his gaze softly querying the mood of the room, for longer than he had realised. Apologetically, he slowly walked the short distance to the lectern, sat his glasses on the desk and gently folded his green jacket, which was a gift from his friends in Crete, on the chair. He tapped his hand on the desk, as if to test its solidity, and rested on it, sitting precariously at the edge. Only then, the professor raised his head and, after adjusting his bow and unbuttoning the collar of his brown shirt, looked for the first time at his class.

Professor Rick Louse was the most popular geography teacher in the school. He didn't like this title, neither for the popularity, which he blamed on an erroneous perception of his abilities by students and colleagues, nor for the "geography" connotation, as he derived the greatest pleasure from telling stories of history and philosophy - locations of the mind, more than physical ones. Yet, students loved his affable story telling, which never faltered as he recounted his travels around the world, and were always fascinated by the photographs, objects and, occasionally, exotic foods that he brought to them from his latest journeys. They only feared his questioning - or interrogazioni, as he liked to call them, using the more intimidating Italian word - as Louse was known for asking questions that no book seemed to provide answers for, or at least to provide answers that satisfied him. His strange manners and unusual demeanour had baffled colleagues, at first, but he had conquered their respect with an unusual mixture of extreme kindness, mysterious stories and, on one occasion, a garden party - something that nobody had expected from him.

'Miss Rose', he muttered, letting the accent float on the "o", 'I will look at your work later'. He stood and walked slowly to the blackboard. 'As you know, I have been away for most of the last semester and I do not assume many of you remember me'. All did, but nobody said anything. 'Thus, I shall remind you of our purpose in this class.'

He scribbled something on the blackboard, then stood away from it and contemplated it with a proud sly smile. Loud laughter resonated in the room, cheers rising from the last rows, as a few standing students, who had never attended Louse's classes, looked at each other puzzled and amused. 'You don't need more than a word to say something that will stand with your students forever' was the first teaching the professor had received as a trainee teacher and, indeed, the advice had proven true once again.

'Let's start, then!'. He erased the blackboard and continued, posing his gaze gently on each of the standing students, as if to greet them. 'Geography is an art, not a science. If you think you are going to learn where to put a flag on a map, I'll disappoint you. If you expect me to teach you the names of all the rivers of England, or of all the deserts of Namibia, I'll disappoint you. If you wish to know where a state boundary lies or what the highest mountain of a specific country is, I'll disappoint you. For geography requires you to know about people and, once you have learnt about people, you'll know all about the lands they inhabitate.'

Rahul, a student who was perhaps Louse's favourite, at least for the many inspiring meanings of his Indian name, was mesmerised. He had left India at a very young age and had never felt settled in London - the professor's words evoked images of his childhood and he suddenly realised he was not missing India, but his native culture, the eerie haze at sunset and the warmth of his local community. He wondered if the professor had ever visited it.

Louse walked to a corner, his voice thinner and more gentle. 'Catch an imaginary train, for a moment. We are leaving London and reaching France, continuing through the Alps to Switzerland and Italy, traversing the Balkans and continuing south-east through Turkey and towards the vast African continent. Travellers get onboard at every stop, some sit in your compartments. You don't ask them where they are from, but you talk about the weather, politics, aspirations or even mathematics. After a few hours travelling together, you'll know how they see the world, what they believe in, who they are and, more importantly, who you are. At that point, it won't matter if they are from Albania or Egypt, Greece or Slovenia, as you will know where they stand in the map of human geography.'

He paused for a moment, looking outside and letting everyone ponder what he had just said. Without moving his eyes from the trees in the garden, he continued: 'Thus, today we will leave geography to one side and learn about...' - he let suspence build for a second, as he loved doing every time he had a brilliant idea - '...linguistics. What does the etymology of words tell us about people and lands? Take, for example, the words pecuniary, albatross, tautology and...'. A loud bang interrupted him and the door opened suddenly.

'Professor Louse, I'm so sorry to interrupt you!'. As the headmistress rushed into the class, a subtle grin lightened her rough facial lineaments - her austere figure, which the students had come to fear over the years, looked uncharacteristically gentle, joyful even. The professor looked at her with unconcealed puzzlement and retreated a few steps towards the desk. 'Dear students, I have some very sad news to share with you all', she said, unable to prevent her grin from expanding into a big smile. 'I'm afraid professor Louse will not be able to continue this course for this year. He is going on a cruise around the Mediterranean!'. She turned towards Louse: 'Congratulations, professor! You have won the first prise at our local lottery! Your bus to the terminal leaves in two hours!'.

Rick Louse stood still for a few long moments. The loud cheering of the class just a background, distant, rhythmic, noise, like waves tickling a sandy beach. He did not consider himself a lucky man, having never won anything - not that he had entered many competitions, averse to risk in everyday life as he was. But anything to do with travels had a tintillating effect on his imagination, and this was no different: he had harboured for months the hope of winning that lottery and going on the first cruise trip of his life. He walked towards the headmistress and shook her hand, still confused. Then, he turned to the class, thanked them with a few words that sounded apologetic and embarrassed and left, accompanied by a cacophony of students chanting his name. He fled the room and let himself get lost in imaginary adventures in the Mediterranean. Yes, he was indeed feeling very lucky.