The woman was African and looked African – very dark. She was from The Ivory Coast, “Eevory Coast” she pronounced it. The man with her was French Canadian, and he was teaching her English.
I was supposed to be browsing used books. La Grande Bibliotheque, the downtown library, was having a sale, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I went to catch the tail end, wondering what dregs would be left. I showed up Sunday afternoon around 4:00, and couldn’t find a book sale anywhere.
I trudged around, asked a man at the information desk. Ou est le “marché aux livres?” I asked, where is the book market? “Pardon???” he said, which is what everyone says to me when I try to speak French. Is my pronunciation that bad? Apparently. “Pardon?” (You have to imagine the French intonation here – “PARRDOHH?” ) I gave up. There is a book sale somewhere? I asked in my best English. After looking at me like I was out of my mind he growled: “DAHRR!!! “à l’entrée!” I walked away back downstairs towards the exit and wondering how I’d missed it. “Dehors!” I realized suddenly. Outside. That’s what the gowl was. I love Canadian French. Words are never pronounced the way I expect them to be.
I wandered around looking for the book sale. I saw the signs, but no sign of the sale. Oh wait, there it was, another sign telling me that everything had been sold by Saturday afternoon, and the sale had ended prematurely. Nice. I saw the empty tables.
So I found a little coffee shop, still in the library building, though not in a part I’d ever been in,
and indulged myself with some java, and found a table outside (Dahhrr!!) . And there I was in this little alley type place, looking up at the spires of a Catholic church in one direction, and in another direction I could see through the alley to the street and the stone buildings, and it’s one of those picturesque little spots that I keep discovering in this adopted city of mine.
And I was reading my book, and drinking the coffee, and marvelling at the weather, and the odd little spot that I was in, and the only other people around were at the next table, and the man was trying to get the woman to understand and say “it’s as if I had the book in my head.” “C’est comme si” he kept saying to her, “it’s as if,” and she kept trying to get it, “j’avais le livre dans la tête.” English, I thought to myself, is a hard language to learn.
And I got up to leave, and I thought, oh why not, and I walked over and I said, you are trying to learn English? And the man said to me, she is, but my pronunciation is not that good. (He had a slight accent, but it was good enough). She was, as I said, from the Ivory Coast. Combien de temps êtes-vous ici? I asked her, how long had she been here. Quatre ans she said, four years. You like it? I asked in English? Apparently she did. Il fait froid! I said, it’s cold here! She did not argue. It is hard to learn English I said, but her tutor assured me that she was determined, and would succeed. I wished her good luck, and headed back to the Metro.
I don’t know if my mother ever told me not to talk to strangers, but it matters not, because it is common wisdom. But it occurred to me as I walked away, that not only had I disregarded the said maternal injunction, but I’d had a very pleasant exchange with two very interesting people, and, for all the French I spoke to her, she did not say “pardon” even once…
I was supposed to be browsing used books. La Grande Bibliotheque, the downtown library, was having a sale, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I went to catch the tail end, wondering what dregs would be left. I showed up Sunday afternoon around 4:00, and couldn’t find a book sale anywhere.
I trudged around, asked a man at the information desk. Ou est le “marché aux livres?” I asked, where is the book market? “Pardon???” he said, which is what everyone says to me when I try to speak French. Is my pronunciation that bad? Apparently. “Pardon?” (You have to imagine the French intonation here – “PARRDOHH?” ) I gave up. There is a book sale somewhere? I asked in my best English. After looking at me like I was out of my mind he growled: “DAHRR!!! “à l’entrée!” I walked away back downstairs towards the exit and wondering how I’d missed it. “Dehors!” I realized suddenly. Outside. That’s what the gowl was. I love Canadian French. Words are never pronounced the way I expect them to be.
I wandered around looking for the book sale. I saw the signs, but no sign of the sale. Oh wait, there it was, another sign telling me that everything had been sold by Saturday afternoon, and the sale had ended prematurely. Nice. I saw the empty tables.
So I found a little coffee shop, still in the library building, though not in a part I’d ever been in,
and indulged myself with some java, and found a table outside (Dahhrr!!) . And there I was in this little alley type place, looking up at the spires of a Catholic church in one direction, and in another direction I could see through the alley to the street and the stone buildings, and it’s one of those picturesque little spots that I keep discovering in this adopted city of mine.And I was reading my book, and drinking the coffee, and marvelling at the weather, and the odd little spot that I was in, and the only other people around were at the next table, and the man was trying to get the woman to understand and say “it’s as if I had the book in my head.” “C’est comme si” he kept saying to her, “it’s as if,” and she kept trying to get it, “j’avais le livre dans la tête.” English, I thought to myself, is a hard language to learn.
And I got up to leave, and I thought, oh why not, and I walked over and I said, you are trying to learn English? And the man said to me, she is, but my pronunciation is not that good. (He had a slight accent, but it was good enough). She was, as I said, from the Ivory Coast. Combien de temps êtes-vous ici? I asked her, how long had she been here. Quatre ans she said, four years. You like it? I asked in English? Apparently she did. Il fait froid! I said, it’s cold here! She did not argue. It is hard to learn English I said, but her tutor assured me that she was determined, and would succeed. I wished her good luck, and headed back to the Metro.I don’t know if my mother ever told me not to talk to strangers, but it matters not, because it is common wisdom. But it occurred to me as I walked away, that not only had I disregarded the said maternal injunction, but I’d had a very pleasant exchange with two very interesting people, and, for all the French I spoke to her, she did not say “pardon” even once…
