Roughly Speaking

There are people who can attend a dinner party with international guests and ask, "What language are we speaking tonight?" and converse in any one of them.

There are those who say, "After you learn one foreign language, the others come easily."

There are some who declare that it only takes three months to get a firm handle on a new language.

I am not any of those people.

There is a joke that people who speak three languages are called tri-lingual, two are bi-lingual, and those who speak one are called American.

That would be me.

I spent the first three months of seven years in Vienna, Austria telling people that I did not speak German until I was informed that "Nicht sprechen Sie deutsch" in fact means "You do not speak German." I always thought the baffled expression that this caused meant that I should say it again, more slowly.

We have been coming regularly to Italy since 1985, and in 1995 we took the giant step of buying and restoring a casa colonica (old farm house) in Tuscany. I have been learning the language ever since, and despite immersion courses and the Rosetta Stone series, I have not progressed beyond that of an advanced intermediate student.

My good Italian friends tell me that I speak very well, and if I stayed in the country without interruption for one year, I would be fluent. I take comfort in their assurances.

Oh, I can handle everyday conversations. I can talk about the weather, children, clothes, recipes, gaining weight, even a little politics. I know helpful words for when something goes wrong in the house, like "non abbiamo l'acqua calda" (we have no hot water), "c'e una fuga" (there is a leak), and the all purpose "non e` funzione" (it doesn't work). I can understand the gossip in Chi and Oggi magazines, and I can read and write rudimentary e-mails. But still.

If the conversation begins to move at a rapid clip, I might falter. One misunderstood word could send me down a different fork in the conversational road. We continue talking about totally different subjects until the only thing we have left to give is a dull look of incomprehension.

So many words sound alike that even gifted linguists can make a mistake. I have an English friend who lives here year round and speaks the language fluently. When two Jehovah's Witnesses found their way to her remote home in the hills, she wanted to get rid of them quickly by saying, "Sono salvata gia`" (I am already saved). Instead she told them, "Sono salata gia`" (I am already salted).

When speaking Italian, you must be careful to pronounce the double letters in a word distinctly. In a trattoria when ordering penne arrabiata, for example, be sure to say pen-ne, not pe-ne, or you will have ordered an angry penis. When you greet someone in the new year, make certain you say "buon an-no" (good year) and not "buon ano" (good anus).

I made my worst mistake when we began to renovate our house. I knew just enough Italian to be dangerous. We were visiting a tile store and I was trying to convey that I wanted a kitchen floor with texture. The salesman listened to me and appeared to bite his lip. He called a colleague over and asked me to repeat what I wanted. I did not need a translator to explain that they were trying hard to stifle a big laugh.

When John and I returned to the car, I told him I must have made a verbal boo-boo. I pulled out the Italian-English dictionary and was mortified to learn that "Vorrei un rozzo sul pavimento di cucina" roughly translates as "I would like a rough man on the kitchen floor."