Illiterate

"The poor illiterate devil that lives inside of me." --Juan José Millás in _Dos mujeres en Praga_

Millás's narrator tells of his struggle to learn English, taking one course each Fall in the language. He tells how every year this young anglophone inside of him comes forward to take the class, then retreats when it's over, only to come out again in the event the narrator needs to travel. One time, the young man seems much thinner than usual when he comes out. It's been a long time since he was needed.

I love this personification of nascent language skill. Just like a "poor illiterate devil" is exactly how you feel when you listen, enraptured, as the lady across from you in the Metro graces you with an intriguing and hilarious story about a woman whose skirt got stuck in the escalator the other day, and it takes until the end of the story for you to have any idea of what you're laughing at. Thank goodness for her five-year old daughter who was repeating after her mother the important points as she laughed and bragged that if she had been there, she would have pulled harder until it came out, thank you very much!

I never did figure out if the lady's skirt came all the way off and everyone saw her panties, if it ripped but stayed on as a shorter version of its original self, or if they eventually got it out of the escalator. Not speaking the language very well is like participating in an oral version of one of those "Choose your own adventures" novels we all read as adolescents.

The poor illiterate devil inside of me is ready to retreat and take a long nap.