It was the Rat

I stepped onto the Island ferry at 7:30 a.m. this morning and looked up to meet my principal's eyes. He had just backed his large, black sedan onto the ferry and was casually leaning against the seat, one hand resting on the top of the steering wheel while the other tapped impatiently. I paused mid-step and a couple of high-school kids immediately pushed by me. I rarely see my principal at the island school where I teach once a week which is why it came as somewhat of a shock to see him on the ferry. I considered averting my eyes and as though I was unaware of his presence, but I had already dipped into that shallow bow that has become second nature when greeting those of authority (any authority - cook, dog walker, policeman, principal, etc.). Smoothly transitioning to the tying-my-shoe posture wasn't going to be believable, as I wore rainboots. So when Island Principal (hereafter known as IP) lowered his window and beckoned me closer, I plastered a grin on my face and stepped up to the car.
"Anyeonghashimnika," I said, bowing beneath my rainbow umbrella.
He nodded his head slightly and smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the car's black interior. "Anyeong," he replied, then waved his hand in the motion that I took to mean I was dismissed.
I bowed again and scuttled across the deck and up the stairs to the passenger cabin.
I don't really know what to think of IP. Were I to meet him on the street, I would immediately assume he was either a lawyer or a high-level gangster. Unlike my principal in my home school, IP wears sober suits, often in colors of black and dark blue, with nary a sparkly tie to be seen. He has a no-nonsense demeanor and exudes a quiet confidence more commonly associated with royalty. Then he'll smile and he suddenly transforms into that man who tried to pressure you into buying that late 80's Chevrolet that "runs like a hibernating puma and don't worry about that banging noise - it's just the hamsters demanding their coffee break." He has his own office at school complete with several potted plants, a large desk, and a long, low-lying table surrounded by stiff-backed chairs. From what I understand, he just sits in his office all day, sipping tea and calling in teachers or the vice-principal for a chat. To all appearances, the school seems to run quite smoothly without his help, but I have a feeling that were he to suddenly disappear, panic and mayhem would ensue and the result (I'm picturing an all-out three-way war, children verses teachers verses lunchladies) would be shown on the evening news.
The ferry docked and I purposely disembarked on the other side of the deck so I wouldn't have to experience the small anxiety attack that invariably accompanies every IP encounter. I hurried to the blue bus and jostled for position with several ahjummas. I managed to get a seat while feeling only marginally guilty about the two middle-school students who gave up their seats to the older women. The bus rumbled along the new road for a few minutes before lurching to a stop in front of the middle school. I said goodbye to the bus driver and stepped into a puddle with that self-satisfied feeling that came with the foresight to wear rainboots. I popped open my umbrella and wandered across the street, following the metal grills covering the drainage ditch to the elementary school.
I must preface this next part with some back story. Last week, while waiting to get on the bus to go back to the mainland, I heard noise in the drain below my feet. When I peered into the drain, I saw the back end of a large bird, barely small enough to fit, with white feathers and black-tipped wings. It scuttled under the cement and when it came back for a second look, I realized it was a duck.
Today, I hoped to see the duck again because I need some sort of entertainment and that is they best I could find. I concentrated so hard that I didn't notice a large, black sedan pull alongside me. I also didn't notice the electric whine of a window going down. What I did notice, was movement in the drain. It was too small and dark for that duck and in the split second it took for me to bend for a closer look, I had convinced myself that it was a small cat trapped in the flowing water and begging for rescue.
Then my eyes adjusted to the dimness and I realized what it was.
A rat.
A swimming rat.
A swimming rat that was going to launch itself through the grate and attack my face.
I did what any self-respecting human being would do when faced with imminent rat attack: I straightened, leaped sideways, and screamed as loud as my somewhat surprised lungs would let me.
My scream trailed off as I met the steely-eyed glare of IP. He had been leaning out the window, presumably to see what in tarnation I was doing, and now slowly retreated back inside the vehicle.
"There was a rat," I explained, pointing to the drain.
He stared, saying nothing.
"In the drain. It was swimming. It was going to--" I cut myself off, realizing that actually vocalizing my fear of rat attack was somewhat lame. "I am so sorry," I said, bowing. "Mianimnida."
Still silent, he lowered his eyes.
I followed his gaze and saw my hand clutching the door of his car. I must have grabbed it when I was trying to escape the killer rat.
"Sorry," I said again and withdrew my hand.
He pushed the button on the door of his car and the window buzzed shut. The window tint was fairly dark, but I felt his glare anyway.
"Sorry. Honto gomennasai. Mianimnida. Lo siento. Sorry." I apologized in as many languages as I (sort of) knew.
It didn't help. He drove away and I didn't see him again the rest of the day.
I have a feeling he sat in his office translating his disgust into English.
Which probably means I need to learn how to say in Korean, "It was the rat."