Who Needs English?

One day I walked in the white-washed classroom to find two boys in an all-out scuffle, rolling on the tile floor while the rest of the class stood in a polite semi-circle nearby. I separated the two, grasping them by the collars of their jackets and, holding one per hand, instinctively asked, "What happened?"

I ought to have considered that I was talking to two angry five-year-old boys who had had fewer than about 100 hours of instruction in the English language, but when you walk in on two of your students pummeling each other, that consideration isn't the first thing to come to mind. Besides, I had only had one hour of Chinese language instruction, so mathematically they were one hundred times more qualified to attempt communication than I was.

English is not what they defaulted to, however. Each in defense of his own position, both boys began a half-shouted Chinese explanation punctuated with accusatory pointing and demonstrative air-punches. However, the explanation being in Chinese, I did not understand. "Wait, what?" I asked apparently believing that a second inquiry would procure different results. I was destined to be disappointed.

Further defensive shouting ensued in rising little Chinese voices. They were both desperate that I understand the situation. I couldn't blame them for wanting me to know what was going on. If they couldn't satisfactorily explain it to me, they'd likely be handed over to their Chinese teacher, who dealt with them much more harshly than any of us foreigners did. I held up my hands and asked a third time.

This time some of the classmates tried pitching in, one or two of them even realizing that English needed to be employed if any progress were to be made. "Teacher," one girl stepped forward and began by pointing at first the larger boy then the smaller and then punching her fist into her cupped palm. This outraged the larger boy who shouted that she was wrong. She shrugged and retreated, clasping her hands behind her back and waiting for someone else to try a better explanation. Mentally I noted that verbs such as "hit," "punch," and "fight" were shockingly absent in a program of basic foreign language vocabulary instruction. But that couldn't be addressed just now.

I couldn't see any other option than to call for their Chinese teacher, hesitant as I was to do so. I reached for the door when the larger boy shouted out, "TEACHER!" He was standing forward now, a look of desperation on his face. He had a little bit of a reputation for scrapping, and this incident likely would not go well for him if reported. "Teacher! Teacher!" His chest heaved with pent-up desire to tell me what was going on.

"Teacher!" he said a little quieter this time but with fierce intensity. "Teacher! He my mm!" He pointed swiftly at the smaller boy, then at himself, and then punched his fist into his other palm. "My he mm!" He jabbed his finger into his own chest, flung it in a quick point at the smaller boy, then swung his leg wildly in an imitative kick. "He my mm" he punched his hand again, "one!" He held up a single finger.

Ah. I spoke slowly. "He punched you." The boy nodded, punching his hand a third time. "You kicked him." He swung his leg again, nodding along. "But, he hit you first." He nodded savagely, holding up a single finger again. The class nodded along, and the smaller boy looked angrily around at the lack of support.

Three consecutive fragment sentences consisting of a three-word vernacular and no verbs. There was even an order of events. No wonder my major is obsolete. The people with the most spoken language on Earth have no need of my skill set.