How to Tutor a Ghost

I just finished an eight-day course in Advanced Beginners’ Ancient Greek at University College London. That course inspired this story.

“How did I spend my summer? I tutored in a Scottish castle,” I explained to my dissertation advisor. “I stumbled on the opportunity on craigslist. The ad read:

Tutor me in Ancient Greek.

July and August, when the Highlands are glorious.

Name your price (within reason).

Extra benefit: free room and board in an old castle.

Possible drawbacks:

No Internet.

I’m 90 years old.

The castle is haunted.

Please respond by way of my solicitor in Edinburgh. He has Internet and has the authority to pick the winner/loser.

“As you know, I didn’t get a job teaching in the summer courses at UCL. I needed money, and the ad was intriguing. I was delighted to be the chosen one.

“I went to Edinburgh by train and the rest of the way by Uber. When after a two-hour drive, the road curved to reveal the castle, with the top half of the tower in ruins, I felt like Harry Potter getting his first glimpse of Hogwarts.

“The castle stood on the top of a hill. My room was in the highest intact room of the tower. From there, I could see brush and weeds, a few trees, and no cultivated land and no housing for miles around. To the east, through a perpetual haze, I saw what must have been the North Sea.

“Wordsworth and Sir Walter Scott would have loved such a place. The Bronte Sisters, as well.

“We studied for three hours in the morning. Then I was free to do what I wanted. There was little choice — walk or read. But I enjoyed both, focusing on ghost stories set in old castles. Jeremy — Jeremy Fleming was his name — had hundreds of those. It mattered not how hackneyed and predictable they were. They were the trimming that completed this movie-set scene.

“Both the ancient cook and her sixty-something daughter, the maid, were hard of hearing and not inclined to converse with a stranger.

“I adapted quickly to the routine and looked forward to the most relaxing and enjoyable summer of my life.

“But after a week, my student had made no progress. He knew the alphabet and a few words from school days, seventy-five years ago. But he couldn’t retain new information. He did the drills well on the first day. But on the day after, he couldn’t remember any of the words or declensions or conjugations. I repeated the same material with the same results, again and again. If he didn’t learn, of course, he’d cancel, and I’d lose not just the experience, but the money as well, and I could ill afford to go without that.

“I broke away from the text and tried mnemonic tricks and even role play. He had a closet full of theatrical costumes. So he, I, the cook, and the maid dressed up in ancient tunics and togas. Nothing worked.

“On the evening of the seventh day, when I sensed that the end was nigh. I came down to the dining hall — huge like a megaron in Homer — and there by the blazing hearth sat Jeremy, still in his toga. I, too, was in costume.

“Desperate, I dared to ask him, ‘Why did you hire me? Why is it so important to you to learn Greek?’

“He hesitated, looking at the fire, rather than me. When he spoke, I didn’t catch his words. So he repeated, ‘The ghost. It’s the ghost.’

“I laughed. That was a good joke. In my week there, of course, I had neither seen nor heard anything that might be mistaken for a ghost.

“‘No joke,’ he insisted. ‘Serious business.’

“I indulged him. What choice did I have. ‘Has he threatened you?’ I asked.

“‘Not yet, but he will, for sure.”

“‘What makes you think so?’

“‘That’s the way it was with the last one, when he arrived some twenty years ago.’

“‘Did he speak Greek, too?’

“‘No. Spanish. from the days of the Armada. I took Spanish lessons, and even though his was a dialect from Andalusia in the sixteenth century we understood one another well enough. We talked. Mostly he talked, after a few tankards of ale.’

“‘The ghost drank ale?’

“‘Of course. An afterlife without a drink now and then would be hell. And he didn’t deserve hell.’

“‘What did you talk about?’

“‘He did most of the talking. That’s the way of ghosts. It’s so rare for them to have someone to talk to. They’ve been known to go stir crazy. And you don’t ever want to reckon with a crazy ghost. That’s why I hired you. Otherwise, I’d have to move, and at my age, I simply can’t. So hell or high water, I have to learn Greek. Not fluent, mind you. But enough to jolly him along, so he’ll keep talking and stay sane and not turn on me.’

“‘So this new one speaks Greek? How do you know that? Does he speak to you? Do you know enough to recognize the language?’

“‘No. He doesn’t talk to me, not yet. Probably figures I’m an ignorant barbarian. And any day now, living or, rather, dying, in silence, like a prisoner in solitary confinement, he’s going to crack.”

“‘Then how do you know he speaks Greek?’

“‘Thura.’

“‘What?’

“‘Thura. The word for door. I remembered that one. So once, when I heard and saw him open and shut a door, I said Thura, and he opened and shut it over and over again, like he was delighted. Imagine how pleased you’d be if your dog said Door when you opened or shut the door. But I had no way to follow up on that, so he went off in a huff and I haven’t heard or seen any sign of him since.

“‘That was a few weeks before you arrived. I expect any day now, he’ll come out of his funk and rage and maybe knock the castle to rubble.’

“You want me to teach you ancient Greek so you can talk to a Greek ghost and live in peace with him?’

“‘Yes. That’s it exactly. I suppose I should have told you that to begin with. I should have said it in my ad. I did mention that the castle is haunted. But I didn’t go into detail. These days, people appreciate a hint of the supernatural, but all in good fun — wink, wink. They don’t believe such things. And they think that anybody who does believe is nuts. If I said in public what I’ve told you, they’d put me in a loony bin.’

“Then I had a eureka moment, like the scene in the Helen Keller movie when she makes the connection between the feel of water and the feel of the sign for water traced on her palm.

“‘English,’ I said.

“‘What about English?”

“‘I can’t teach you Greek, but maybe I can teach the ghost English. Then you two will be able to converse and become friends, and he’ll no longer be a threat to you.’

“And so I spent my summer vacation as a language tutor in a Scottish castle, teaching English to a Greek ghost.”