Listen to me. Please.

A long time passed and still you are talking.
Two hours of constantly talking and you can't stop.
And we are supposed to listen to you.

I raised my right hand and you looked at me.
Uneasy your eyes stared at me. Hadn't you experienced something like that before?
You let me speak.
"Shut up, please.", I said politely.
Not even a second passed, and your countenance changed abruptly to what I call an angry face.
"Excuse me?", he exclaimed. "Did you really say 'Shut up'?"
I nodded. My teacher began breathing heavily and moving up and down the front class.
He seemed to be outraged.
"You, you!", pointing at me, "To my office, immediately." I stood up and followed him outside the class, down the hall to his office. He seemed to forgot that he had having a lesson.
"Sit down, sit down." Still his breathing was heavy and the look on his face had not changed.
"Never ever did something like that occured to me in my 10 years of service at this school. No one, no pupil, had ever told me to shut up. EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"
I didn't know how to react. I didn't want him to shout.
His eyes were looking sternly at mine, trying to find something, find the answer. Looking at him, I didn't want to keep the answer hidden anymore. He wanted to find out.
"Professor, with all due of respect I have for your work, but I cannot listen to you anymore. You teach us history, you tell us why something happened, you explain us everything, you analyze everything, but not with us. You talk and talk and talk, but not to us. We listen and try to understand you, but how are we suppose to understand, when you keep talking and talking, not allowing us to process, to think about, to understand what you have said? We are not mad, angry or disappointed of you, but we want to understand as well. Give us the chance to do so, and shut up. Be silent, please. Don't talk that much. Let us do the talking now. We were your servants and still we are. But we don't want to be servants anymore, we want to talk. So please, shut up."

A long silence reigned upon us. I felt lighter after having said all that. It was what I wanted.
My teacher was now looking out the window, looking out at the crowded entrance hall, filled with pupils from all ages. He didn't talk. I became to feel uneasy, so I asked to break the silence:"Sir, I didn't mean to offend you. Maybe 'Shut up' sounded too harsh. In fact, I should have said 'Please let us talk' or 'Sir, we would like to say something.' or..."
"Hush. I didn't become a teacher to talk. You know, at the time I decided to pursue this career I had been having a crisis. I was disoriented, I didn't know what to do. I always was the best of class, always was honored and it was the same at the university. I collected titles, but suddenly I asked myself, what was I doing all that for? I had been listening to others, had been letting myself told what to do, what is right, what is wrong. I didn't think for myself, and to be honest, I didn't know myself. I had a very hard time - the truth came up, and it hurt me so bad. Books, teachings, studying - they weren't able to tell me who I was.
In desperation, I wanted to do something completely different, I wanted to teach to get out everything I had learned. I wanted to get rid of my knowledge, since it turned into a heavy weight on my back. That is how I became a teacher, young man." My teacher breathed in deeply and breathed more air out.
"Now you are confronting me with the truth again. I talk to much. Yes, when I think of it, I have never let anybody talk to me, never let a pupil to raise and say anything to me."
I was feeling something was about to come out. There was a different feeling in the air, whether it was thrill, resignment or calmness, I wasn't able to tell. But my teacher turned to me again, not looking into my face but moving towards me. His countenance had changed to a sober look. He didn't make the impression to be happy nor to be sad. It was a stone-like face. His air touched my left hand as he passed me.
He opened the door and asked me to go. I stood up and took another look at his face on my way out. I couldn't tell what he had been thinking at that moment, but I was hoping I didn't do anything bad.

On the next day there was a big announcement on the newsboard: "Teacher R. quitted teaching. Substitute History-teacher: Teacher S."