The Language She Lost

As a child, Cecilia had made herself a rule. At school she spoke only the language of her classmates, and at home she answered her parents in the same one, whatever they said. Her mother and father spoke their own language in the kitchen, softly, as if it were a secret they were embarrassed to keep. Cecilia, who was nine, had decided she wanted no part of it.

Quando criança, Cecilia criara uma regra para si mesma. Na escola, falava apenas a língua dos colegas e, em casa, respondia aos pais nessa mesma língua, fosse o que fosse que eles dissessem. A mãe e o pai falavam o idioma deles na cozinha, baixinho, como se fosse um segredo que tinham vergonha de guardar. Cecilia, que tinha nove anos, decidira que não queria nada daquilo.

Twenty years later, she could still understand most of it. That had been her private compromise: she listened, but she never replied. The words had settled in her like furniture in a dark room, and she moved around them without touching anything.

Vinte anos depois, ela ainda entendia quase tudo. Aquele fora o seu acordo particular: ouvia, mas nunca respondia. As palavras tinham se assentado nela como móveis num quarto escuro, e ela se movia entre elas sem tocar em nada.

Then her grandmother came to stay for the summer. The old woman knew only a handful of words of the local language. Nobody had arranged for an interpreter, because everyone had assumed that Cecilia would manage.

Então a avó veio passar o verão. A velha senhora sabia apenas um punhado de palavras da língua local. Ninguém havia providenciado um intérprete, porque todos presumiram que Cecilia daria conta.

On the second evening, Cecilia tried to ask her grandmother how the journey had been. The sentence collapsed after three words. She knew how to say "eat", "come here" and "put your shoes on". That was the vocabulary of being a child, and she had almost nothing for being a grown woman.

Na segunda noite, Cecilia tentou perguntar à avó como tinha sido a viagem. A frase desmoronou depois de três palavras. Ela sabia dizer "coma", "venha cá" e "calce os sapatos". Esse era o vocabulário de ser criança, e ela quase não tinha nada para ser uma mulher adulta.

Her grandmother waited, hands folded in her lap, and then said something slow and simple. Cecilia caught every word: Say it like a little girl, then. I don't mind.

A avó esperou, com as mãos dobradas no colo, e então disse algo lento e simples. Cecilia captou cada palavra: Diga como uma menininha, então. Não me importo.

So they began. Cecilia wrote the words she wanted on sticky notes and pressed them to the doorframe, the kettle and the bathroom mirror. Her grandmother crossed out the wrong ones with a pencil and wrote the right ones beneath, in handwriting that leaned to the right. By the end of June, the kitchen looked as if it had been wallpapered with yellow squares.

Então começaram. Cecilia escrevia as palavras de que precisava em post-its amarelos e os colava no batente da porta, na chaleira e no espelho do banheiro. A avó riscava as erradas com um lápis e escrevia as certas embaixo, numa letra inclinada para a direita. No fim de junho, a cozinha parecia forrada de papel de parede de quadradinhos amarelos.

It was humbling. If she could go back to that nine-year-old, she thought, she would not argue with her. She would only ask her to wait. Her grandmother corrected her mistakes only when they changed the meaning. Otherwise she let the sentence stand, lopsided but alive.

Era humilhante. Se pudesse voltar àquela menina de nove anos, pensou, não discutiria com ela. Só lhe pediria que esperasse. A avó corrigia os erros apenas quando eles mudavam o sentido. Fora isso, deixava a frase de pé, torta, mas viva.

In July, Cecilia asked the question she had been carrying for years. Why had her parents never forced her? Her grandmother answered slowly that they had pushed for a year. Then they had stopped, because they were tired and afraid of losing her entirely. "Better a silent daughter than a daughter who is gone," she said.

Em julho, Cecilia fez a pergunta que carregava havia anos. Por que os pais nunca a haviam obrigado? A avó respondeu devagar que eles tinham insistido durante um ano. Depois pararam, porque estavam cansados e com medo de perdê-la por completo. "Melhor uma filha calada do que uma filha que se foi", disse.

Cecilia hadn't known that. She should have asked years earlier, although until this summer she would not have had the words to do it.

Cecilia não sabia disso. Deveria ter perguntado muitos anos antes, embora, até aquele verão, não tivesse as palavras para isso.

At the end of August, they stood together at the airport. Her grandmother said goodbye in the old language, in a long speech with a gap in the middle for Cecilia to fill. Cecilia filled it. The grammar was crooked and the pronunciation was worse, but the sentence reached its end.

No fim de agosto, estavam juntas no aeroporto. A avó se despediu no idioma antigo, num longo discurso com uma lacuna no meio para Cecilia preencher. Cecilia preencheu. A gramática era torta e a pronúncia, pior, mas a frase chegou ao fim.

Her grandmother touched the side of her face. She did not correct a single word.

A avó tocou o rosto dela de lado. Não corrigiu nem uma palavra.

On the first Sunday of September, Cecilia sat in the kitchen beneath the last of the yellow notes and dialed the long number. When her grandmother answered, she said hello in her parents' language. Then she kept talking.

No primeiro domingo de setembro, Cecilia se sentou na cozinha sob os últimos bilhetes amarelos e discou o número longo. Quando a avó atendeu, ela disse alô na língua dos pais. E continuou falando.