| |
What You Don't Know Can Hurt You
By
Camincha
As the students streamed in, the T A standing at the blackboard wrote: UN IDIOMA NO ES UN IDIOMA HASTA QUE LO HABLAS.
Some of the students in the First Semester Spanish class mouthed the words over and over until with a sigh, a smile got the meaning: a language is not a language till you speak it. What? what? others said squinting, leaning forward eagerly. Some didn't bother, their attitude was, this isn't going to be an easy class? What's going on? Participation class? I'm not going to be able to sleep this period? It was written all over them.
Julia was troubled by the fact that in this semester’s new textbook, titled
¿Cómo se dice? entire paragraphs were in English. She consoled herself: if nothing else by the end of the semester they will know two sentences in the language they are here to learn, the text book's title and she smiled, the one on the
blackboard. She intended to put it there every day. Julia introduced the course speaking only Spanish.
Most of the class was in shock. But those who were there to learn started pulling words, sentences, their meaning, from their mental computers. Overachievers took copious notes. The T A's words rolled out of her tongue, emphasizing the sound of the
rr to contrast with the r. The v to contrast with the
b. Carefully explained the use of the ñ not to be confused with the
n for the error could be costly. Example: año= year, ano= anus. The same could be said for the accents. Example: el paso= the step, él pasó= he went by.
Her beautiful musical, native language resounded all around the classroom bouncing off walls, windows, blackboards. She was enjoying herself. Her enthusiasm was contagious. When the bell rang many tried,
Chau. Hasta mañana. Hasta luego.
One woman approached Julia, but I don't speak any Spanish. She moaned.
With a bright smile Julia answered, Pero lo vas a aprender.
¿Aprender? ¿Aprender? the student frowned.
Sí.
The woman smiled as the meaning became clear to her: To learn!
RICHARD HAD COOKED her dinner. As she walked in the house the delicious scents penetrated her senses. Her frustrations, her aching feet, all disappeared as she contemplated the table set with china and crystal.
Thank you. She hugged him. How did you manage? I thought the estimate you’re working on required a lot of overtime.
My little Peruvian chiquita. My gift from Eros. He mocked. Well, didn’t get the specs from the plant. Those Alaskan pipelines are being difficult in every area of production. The lines in his forehead deepened. But immediately in a light tone: Let’s celebrate the First Day of your second semester. Nourishment! So you’ll have strength those days when the headaches want to hang on too long. So how did it go? he smiled.
DOCTOR BRUMSTED WAS tense, that woman always made him feel inadequate. His colleagues, liked her. What perfect diction! How dedicated. They were all fighting over who would have her as their T A the following semester. But I am tenured. Tenured he rolled the word on his tongue, savored it. It gave him comfort. I have nothing to worry about, he reminded himself.
He looked out his office window at the University's gardens' shrubs, trees, flowers extending to the intersection of 19th and Halloway, the Muni tracks, the houses beyond.
His parents had never understood him, he felt, remembering the arguments he had had over taking Spanish instead of German in school. It had been worth it, though, because he got Carlos, the boy of the immigrant workers who came every year to help with the crops. Their life together had started in the corn fields of Iowa and was enduring in San Francisco as domestic partners. But feeling settled in the relationship had also ended his attempt at speaking Spanish. He didn't mind making a living at it, but after all, he had learned it just to get Carlos. For living together, English was much more practical. Specially since Carlos needed it to hold on to his job.
Doctor Brumsted’s parents were stoic, quiet, practical people. When things didn't turn out the way they expected them to, they accepted their fate. No
fraulein for their son, no grandchildren for them to leave the farm to. Instead a son who earned his living teaching a language he would never speak. Who lived, far away from them with his childhood friend, that boy, so dark so foreign who spoke no German either. They sold the farm and returned to their Germany to live their last years among their own.
JULIA THOUGHT SHE had her worst class behind her when she left Skyline College, that transferring to San Francisco State would take care of frustrations created by professors unable to grow out of their pettiness, their arrogance. Richard had warned: don’t let your feelings confuse you, get the best of you. But no, she hadn't seen the worst yet. It started with Phonetics and Phonemics, a required course. The course's description sounded dry and boring.
Maybe there is a solution...as a native speaker, I’ll ask for credit through an independent study.
Rosamaría, sitting across from her in the cafeteria, smiled. She had been spreading her studies over the years. Taking one or two courses a semester because she had five kids and a husband to take care of. It had worked very well for her. She had had a lot of time to learn her way around campus, find out who the best, the worst teachers were.
Why are you smiling? I’ll be as wise as you one of these days, Julia teased. Working full time it'll take me years to get my B A. Meanwhile I'm learning.
Meanwhile, Rosamaría mimicked her, I can tell you, this one, HE, won't let you.
What you mean?
They need all the bodies they can get in his class. Nobody likes him and that's all he teaches.
Are you sure? I don't believe you, Julia laughed.
Rosamaría didn't laugh, her eyes were glued to the newspaper at her elbow.
What's the horrible news of the day? Julia teased.
Rosamaría read aloud: the space shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after liftoff...The two women fell silent, the smiles gone from their lips.
CUDDLED IN RICHARD’S arms, Julia confided: I have been looking forward to taking classes at the upper division level. Hearing my beautiful language spoken, discussed by intellectuals. How lucky I am. I’m about to make another dream come true, a life-long dream, earn a BA then an MA.
Richard’s lips on hers validated all her hopes.
WHEN JULIA HEARD another classmate in the hallway: He is the one who teaches Spanish in English...she took a good look. The man going by was grey haired, tall, slightly stooped, well built, wearing flannel slacks, white shirt, cardigan and blue tie that matched his eyes. He looked put together, not like some of those leftover hippies she had seen around. So she disregarded the comment reminding herself how negative Rosemaría and some of the other re-entries were.
Having come back after being in the real world, they think they know everything, have to challenge
everything. And Julia cheerfully went on dreaming her dream.
But, woke up when she heard the professor give his introduction on Phonetics and Phonemics of the Spanish language in English.
As weeks progressed, her frustration mounted. What the hell was he talking about?
When he spoke of pronouncing in Spanish the letter E and he said it in English, which letter was he actually talking about? That sound referred to the letter I in Spanish!
Julia thought of dropping out. But no, she wouldn't. I'll have to take it all over again anyway, that class is required for my major. She talked to the Head of the Department and he very diplomatically and firmly told her, in his most proper Castilian that she couldn't do an independent study. We, he smiled, want OUR students to benefit from the clinical approach Doctor Brumsted gives his class. Then putting his hand on her shoulder leaned over and – it seemed to her – full of compassion, it will be alright, Julia, you'll see.
I told you...was Rosamaría's comment.
When she talked of his concerns that evening, Richard listened and smiled – he sensed then, there was trouble ahead – as arm in arm they took a stroll braving the Pacifica fog and cold of the streets around their neighborhood making their way toward Beach Street where they would contemplate the immensity of the ocean.
AND CLINICAL IT was. Doctor Brumsted followed a prepared outline he brought with him to every class. Copied it on the blackboard. Made the class copy it and for homework they had to memorize it word for word plus bring a clean copy of what they had copied from the blackboard.
She thought of taking an incomplete, but classmates talked her out of it; You'll just have to take it next semester, or the next. He’ll be here. That's why we are planning a study group, interested?
She was. And worked, not at learning Spanish, but at fighting her frustration, trying to compensate for the cockeyed way the class was being taught. Julia and her classmates memorized – just like the professor ordered – everything he wrote on the blackboard, in English, ignoring the beautiful sounds and intonations of the language he was supposed to be teaching.
Working together helped the group immensely. But a voice within Julia started to make itself heard. Faint at first, when she ignored it got louder and louder.
What's this, nothing is going to change? You aren't going to do anything about it? She made up her mind, I'm going to talk to Doctor Brumsted. In the corporation she had just quit she had stood up to Managers and Vice-Presidents. She had learned how to present a complaint. Not to go off on tangents. Not to get personal. To be assertive. She talked it over with her group. We have nothing to lose, go ahead they encouraged her.
RICHARD HAD THOUGHTFULLY followed her daily accounts. She had his unconditional support.
COME IN, DOCTOR Brumsted answered to Julia's knocking. She entered a bright, orderly room. No personal mementos on the desk, no photos of wife and kids. Instead a lovely vase with fresh flowers next to piles of papers. Unlike other professors he shared the office with no one and his desk faced the window with blinds rolled up to the ceiling. Light and sunshine filled the space within. It made the gardens outside seem an extension of the room as they reflected in the glass panes.
Sit down, Julia, he said politely. You had a question?
Yes, Doctor Brumsted, she got to the point thinking I’ll bring my supporting arguments later. Why do you teach Phonetics and Phonemics of the Spanish language in English? Some of my classmates and I feel we would benefit greatly if you taught the class in Spanish.
He cleared his throat. Looked at her, then looked away. He had expected blubbery hysterics, stupid arguments.
Julia kept her gaze on his face.
He was furious. Women, always women, he thought. My mother, it was she who first caught on to what was going on between Carlos and me, that day her search took her to the granary. But we are still together, the thought filled him with happiness, his face relaxed. He felt like smiling, but contained himself. He looked down at his desk.
Julia went on, we find it detrimental, distracting, frustrating...
He straightened up in his chair, his back rigid, his eyes faced the window: Why shouldn't I? He said, I have been doing it this way for twenty-five years.
Copyright © 2006 Camincha
|
