Lessons

The first people I spoke with as I left Casa Rustica in the morning were two men in casual uniforms. Their matching blue shirts were emblazoned with the company logo. They represented the City of Antigua Spanish School. With that name, I believed they were employed by the City, and therefore reliable. They were neither.
That may be unfair. The two men were friendly and helpful for directions. It was the company itself that proved unreliable.
I don't recall either of their names. I can only differentiate the two short Guatemalans by their hair color. Gray had an infectious smile and an growing grasp of my language. Black spoke excellent English.
Black was the salesman, Grey's smile was the reassurance that any sucker could trust. I was happy to be approached by the men and practice my Spanish. That was not their intention.
Black's motivation was not to engage with mi Espanol, but inform me how terrible it was. I grew self conscious, not thinking it was his job to sell lessons.
I wanted to further my Spanish in Antigua. The wildlife center I came to Central America to work for encouraged their volunteers to get Spanish lessons in Antigua, the nation's capital for language schools. Aside from the director, none of the Guatemalans at the center spoke English. I wanted to get to know the men and women I would be working with. I didn't come here to seclude myself.
It had been over a year since my pitiful efforts in University Spanish. I needed to improve, especially now that I had a chance to practically apply it. And Black was persistent.
I left my hotel to find a cup of coffee. They walked with me.
They waited outside for me, then followed me to Parque Central. I wanted to hike to Cerra De La Cruz, they had my hotel staked out when I returned.
I gave them passive interest. That was enough.
"You will meet the president now."
"I'm not committing to anything," I pitifully said to the sharks. They smelled my weakness and were now circling for the kill.
They led me further from the park and familiarity. I had no idea where I was going with these men I knew nothing about. We turned left, right, left, right, and walked straight for blocks. There were fewer people on the streets, and as the solo foreigner, my paranoia grew. Gone was the bloodstream of people flowing to the park. I looked backwards, clueless to my location as I walked behind black. Gray's shiny teeth followed me.
"The president is on his way. You will be placed with a family."
There were no more maybes, in their minds I was committed. I didn't speak. My silence was signing me up. We stopped in front of a black door. It neighbored a looming concrete wall that was topped with razor wire. Black pounded on the door with a steel knocker. My imagination started running wild.
With great stealth and effectiveness these two strange me had lured yet another wide-eyed fool to the black gate. Who knows what unknown horrors waited for me on the other side. I thought of Grey's beaming and pleasant smile, and how once we crossed the threshold it would transform into a menacing cannibalistic grin. The door swung open.
A tapestry of the Virgin Mary stared back at me from her sorrowful eyes. A middle aged woman stood at the door. She wore a yellow and white, ruffled blouse, over a yellow dress. Her smile and the bright colors were welcoming.
"Buenas Dias," she pleasantly greeted me.
I was onto that bitch. When I entered the house and they tried to eat me, I'd have to kill one of the men first, probably Gray, because Black was certainly the ringleader, second only to el Presidente that I would meet shortly. Then I'd have to barter my way out with her life. I'd hold something pointy to her canniving throat, perhaps a broken crucifix. I'd back towards the door, while Black and the inevitable reinforcements hissed at my resistance. Mama didn't raise no fool.
I'm sorry.
She was very nice and her smile put me at ease. What kept me on edge was the President and his high pressure tactics. He swept into the house like a whirlwind. He was about 60 years old and spoke confidently. His head was covered with shiny gray hair, that matched his tie and pants. His English was crisp and immaculate. I liked him at first, before I noticed that every well pronounced sentence ended with explaining why I had to sign with them, and pay now.
I did like the idea of staying with a family. It would force me to practice, and concentrate on my learning. It would also offer me a glimpse of Guatemalan life and domesticity I wouldn't receive in hostels. Of course I wanted to meet people, get blindingly drunk on Guatemalan cervezas and sexually harass foreign girls, but that could surely wait a few days in the interest of cultural understanding. I signed under their pressure. I'm a pushover.
I tried feebly to maintain some control, telling The Silver Fox I wouldn't pay him until I had seen the accommodations and met my tutor (who he promised would be a beautiful Guatemalan woman.) He agreed, of course I wouldn't. But we both knew I folded like a cheap tent under his dramatic pressure.
El Presidente- 1, Ben- 0.