Por favor, Spechen Sie English?

The other night, my sister and I were watching a film. Two of the characters launched into a conversation in a foreign language and sub-titles appeared. Diane is having some vision issues and asked me to read aloud. I began the translation. At some point, as does happen in many films, the characters lapsed into English. I, however, continued to "translate". Until Diane's laughing interfered; I truly didn't realize they were now speaking English.

Regrettably, I have to admit that I am not multi-lingual; not even bi-lingual anymore. The phrase "use it or lose it" is so true of language. Years ago I was quite fluent in Spanish. After leaving South Florida for South Carolina I found less and less use for my Spanish and eventually lost most of it. I learned German as a child and used it to some degree on my jaunts to Europe. I haven't been to Europe lately and would definitely need a refresher course should I wish to attempt conversational German.

Oh, I say I had a grasp for languages, but then I am reminded of some of my more amusing immersions into a language other than English.

On one of my first tours of Europe I was doing so well in communicating. I could speak English, I spoke Spanish, I had a working knowledge of German and I was great at reading French menus. As the three week trip was coming to a close, I was exhausted. Trying to find common language while drinking mass quantities of wine had become ever so stressful. There were times that I resorted to drawing pictures on napkins. I went in and out of the three languages at my disposal so many times that I wasn't clear on what I was saying. During one of the last stops in Amsterdam, I attempted to get directions from a woman on the street. Not speaking Dutch, I tried English and German and hand gestures and pointing at pictures. The woman was so kind and was trying so hard to make me understand where I needed to go. Finally in desperation I asked, "can you speak English?" Her reply, "I AM SPEAKING ENGLISH." And so she was.

When my father retired, I took he and my mother on a trip to Europe - Germany and Austria. Mom grew up speaking German, but her ability had diminished over the years from not using it. Dad did not speak a second language, but could understand a fair amount of Spanish. I was at my pinnacle of speaking both.

Vienna provided a number of communication challenges. Austrian German is a bit different from the Bavarian German that my mother knew and the Berliner German that I was taught in language class. I had a connecting room to my parent's room at the hotel. The day after our arrival, we were having breakfast in the room. Dad had gone to shower and the chamber maid came in to remove the breakfast trays. Mom began trying on her German with the chamber maid in an attempted conversation. I listened to them both and I just didn't think they were making any progress. I assumed it was the dialect again. Finally I heard my mother say very clearly, in German, "I can not understand you." The chamber maid then replied in broken English, "I AM CZECHOSLOVAKIAN." Ah, that would explain it.

Later in the week, Mom had a unfortunate accident at the train station. A worker was pushing a chain of trolleys through the waiting area and, not paying attention, trapped Mom between a bench and the chain of trolleys. She was taken to a local hospital for examination. My father and I sat in the ER Waiting Room while Mom was examined (she was seriously bruised but not broken). There was a man sitting near us that attempted conversation. I was having a difficult time understanding him. I asked if he spoke English. He said no. He asked if I could speak Spanish. I said yes and we launched into a conversation as he explained that his wife had had a heart attack. I told him what happened to my mother and where we were from and so on and so on. My father tapped me and said, "you know, it almost sounds like you are speaking Spanish." I laughed, we Americans do hear only "babel" whatever the language is. Dad was confused why I was speaking Spanish in a German-speaking hospital.

For many years, Spanish came easily to me. One lazy afternoon, a friend was visiting and we were watching a movie on television. I had seen the movie a number of times; almost to the point that I knew the lines. There was a scene where the characters were all speaking Russian and the obligatory sub-titles appeared. She kept asking me what this was all about. I said they are speaking Russian; she said they were speaking Spanish. I said read the sub-titles. She said I can't. I accused her of having too much wine. We finally realized we were watching the Spanish-language TV station. They were speaking Russian, but the sub-titles were in Spanish and I was in "la la land".

We contend that the foreign language hinders our conversation, but, as we well know, accent and dialect in the same language can prove just as debilitating to communication.

For a number of years I dated a Southern man. He didn't have the slow southern drawl, but had a rapid paced explosion of words. On one occasion I was going on a trip with a friend and he advised that we should go to a particular restaurant. I wrote down his recommendation and upon arrival at our destination I tried to look the name up in the phone book. I was looking and looking and couldn't find it - I was looking under the "B"s. As I searched the rest of the listings I fell upon a restaurant, Vincenzo's. Oh I said, "he said "V" not "B". I thought he said Bincenzo's. Bless his heart; I won't even go into the troubles he had trying to understand broken English in South Florida and blank looks he got from the Latinos.

I am guilty of babel as well. I was once in a conversation with the executive director of a not-for-profit. I explained to him that our organization had a "philanthropic strategy that included youth, environment and the arts." He asked "what?" I repeated. He laughed, "what are youts?" I laughed at the reference to "My Cousin Vinny." He laughed again. "You really did say youts." I was embarrassed. I could say "philanthropic strategy" without stumbling, but I couldn't clearly pronounce "youth."

On the way to the ballet one evening, one of the Russian dancers, who I knew, asked if I could see to it that his visiting Mother found her seat in the theater. Of course. She spoke very, very little English. I began smiling fanatically and asking her if she was enjoying her visit. I spoke very clearly and distinctly. And then I hear my Irish friend behind me, "For heaven's sake Coralee, the woman is Russian not deaf!" Yes, somewhere along the line we learned that speaking very loudly makes us easier to understand.

POR FAVOR, SPRECHEN SIE ENGLISH!