The city was not like it is now. Twenty  years ago, it was strange, like a foreign country, or at least what I imagined a foreign country to be. I had been brought up in the countryside that was tranquil, peaceful and unhurried. The city, in contrast, was noisy - both in sight and sound - and its people rushed, in large crowds, from place to place.

I grew up in the countryside with my grandparents, because my parents were busy in the city, making a living. They both had to work and had no time for child-rearing. I eventually came back to the city because of my schooling. In Taiwan, particularly at that time, every child needed to learn and, more important, to pass examinations. My parents were like every parent in those days. Their purpose in life was to get their children through college and make sure they could get a good job. I couldn't stay in the countryside, because there were no colleges and no jobs there. I was one of many country folk, who came to the city of Taibei for the education and for the jobs.

Strangest of all was the English language. When I first came to the city, I marveled at the alien script that hung in prominent places around the city. There were huge signs - "Hilton Hotel", "Tropicana Night Club" and "United States Embassy". At night time, many of signs were spelt out in neon. Some were in red, and I soon learnt that many of these indicated places where children and righteous young men were not to go. At school, I mastered elementary reading and writing in English and the language became less strange. In fact, I enjoyed English, because the stories we read were different. English, I found, wasn't just a language for shop signs; it was an invitation into the thoughts and feelings of those from far away.

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I am sitting on my wooden school bench, at my desk, in my classroom. It is the year before matriculation and I am with my schoolmates, in serried ranks. It's a hot day and we are all in summer uniform - white, short-sleeved shirts and blouses and blue shorts and skirts. The roof fans are blowing and the windows are open. The English teacher - a popular man who has studied in the United States - is seated at a desk at the front of the class. My classmate Lily is about to read from a text. I look forward to it, because her enunciation is always clear and her words always flow. She has a natural talent for language and communication. The story is "Androcles and the Lion". We've always learnt English from texts, like Aesop's Fables. The stories are short and simple; the morals are inoffensive.

"A slave ran away from his master, by whom he had been most cruelly treated, and, in order to avoid capture, betook himself into the desert. As he wandered about in search of food and shelter, he came to a cave, which he entered and found to be unoccupied. Really, however, it was a lion's den, and almost immediately, to the horror of the wretched fugitive, the lion himself appeared."

Lily's pronunciation is good and her voice is strong. She reads calmly and with confidence. Not only do the words flow, but the meaning flows as well. I think about the slave being beaten by his master and I feel his feelings of frustration. Of course he ran away - what else could he do? He knows running away is dangerous and that he might die, but desperation gets the better of him. Sometimes I know desperation. Most times, though, I need safety and security more. Billy takes over the reading.

"The man gave himself up for lost: but, to his utter astonishment, the lion instead of springing upon him and devouring him, came and fawned upon him, at the same time whining and lifting up his paw. Observing it to be much swollen and inflamed, he examined it and found a large thron embedded in the ball of the foot. He accordingly removed it and dressed the wound as well as he could: and in course of time it healed up completely."

I don't like Billy. He bullies and shows off. His father works in the US army base and he plays with American kids. He swears in English and thinks he gains authority by it. Although he always gets high marks for his written work, his reading is slurred in places, abrupt in others. Unlike Lily, he can't get the intonation and emphasis right. I follow the reading using the text in front of me. I'm trying to understand the slave and the surprise he is feeling, but Billy's words get in the way. My thoughts begin to wander, out of the window, to the noise and bustle of the city, to the emaciated lion at the city zoo, to the picnic I had with Lily, Billy and other's on the mountains just outside of the city. Could there be lion's in the cave's there? My thoughts return when the teacher commands me to take over reading.

"The lion's gratitude was unbounded; he looked upon the man as his friend, and they shared the cave for some time together. A day came, however, when the slave began to long for the society of his fellow-men, and he bade farewell to the lion and returned to the town."

I concentrate on the words, making sure my tongue moves in the right directions, at the right time. Sometimes I stumble, but I try hard, taking pride in getting it right. As I finish, I glance up and see the rest of the class looking bored. The heat is affecting them, making them sleepy.

"Here he was presently recognised and carried off in chains to his former master, who resolved to make an example of him, and ordered that he should be thrown to the beasts at the next public spectacle in the theatre. On the fatal day the beasts were loosed into the arena, and among the rest a lion of huge bulk and ferocious aspect; and then the wretched slave was cast in among them."

Susie, sitting next to me, is reading this. I think about the cruelty of these foreigners, throwing their slaves to the beasts, but I am thinking more about Susie, who makes my spine tingle whenever she reads, whenever she is near. She doesn't know this - no one knows this. My friend's would laught at me, if they knew. The tingling spine and the thought of a lion's jaw biting into my body, mix. There is both pain and pleasure, and I'm confused. Johnny takes over:

"What was the amazement of the spectators, when the lion after one glance bounded up to him and lay down at his feet with every expression affection and delight! It was his old friend of the cave! The audience clamoured that the slave's life should be spared: and the governor of the town, marvelling at such gratitude and fidelity in a beast, decreed that both should receive their liberty."

Johnny says he doesn't like English. He listens to his father who came from the Mainland, who tells him that more time should be spent learning Chinese and not English. The standard of Chinese nowadays, he says, is getting worse - the native Taiwanese (of which I am one) introduce their slang words into their writing so that the language is no longer Mandarin Chinese. Johnny is my good friend, though, and I know he secretly admires American TV programmes, pop songs and comic books. They are designed, it seems, to let us feel surprise, like the slave - but safely. We are Chinese, but we feel the pull of the thoughts and feelings of those from far away.

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I duly passed my secondary examinations. I could hardly have done otherwise with my parents compelling me to regular homework and threatening punishment if I failed any tests. For most of my secondary education years my head stayed buried in books, which occasionally made sense but mostly were just remembered. Having passed my examinations, I entered college, and on leaving college, I got a good job. I travel a lot with my job. Most places that I go, I speak, write, listen to and read English. It is no longer strange to me.

Copyright Denis Wong, 1999