The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2009

24 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 9 each arriving with fresh ideas for how we should do things here exactly as they had done them at their previous post: Bob Gambini, lover of all things from China; Mordecai Heflin, who had learned all that need be known in Burkina Faso; and Mary Beth Fadoro, smitten with the workings of Embassy Vatican City. The one thing on which they have all agreed, however, is that they require my assistance as a translator for any official communication of complexity. Among the greatnesses of our nation is the complex- ity of our language, which requires a mastery of subtle tones, wildly irregular grammar and a greater volume of phlegm than most foreigners can muster. Indeed, the most complicated phrase most Americans can manage in our tongue is “Hello, how are you?” Even that usually comes out as “Beef loins, I oppress your lemur,” but our people nonetheless appreciate the gesture. Mr. Linus Handy, the new deputy chief of mission, was among the most dedicated students of our tongue. He had already mastered Vietnamese, Hungarian and several lesser tongues in his previous postings. One of those was apparently Spanish, accounting for his con- stantly referring to me as his “amigo.” A man of magnif- icent confidence in his own abilities, he regaled me with tales of his greatness in various other fields, as well. “I didn’t climb to the top in the world of competitive jump rope without stepping on some toes,” he declared. He brought this same zest to all endeavors, even though his fleshy form suggested that his days at the zenith of jump- rope greatness might be behind him. Still, it was a certain clenching unease that I felt when Mr. Linus Handy told me he would deliver a démarche on an urgent United Nations vote in our native tongue. It happened that the ambassador was away for what was ru- mored to be urgent hair transplant surgery, so Mr. Linus was the chargé d’affaires. The instructions were to de- liver the démarche at the highest appropriate level and, at Mr. Linus’ instruction, we had arranged a meeting for him alone with the foreign minister himself. “Mr. Linus,” I warned. “The foreign minister is not speaking any Eng- lish at all. Surely you wish me to translate.” Mr. Linus shrugged. “No worries there. You can come along if you insist, but just let me do the talking.” “I see we also have our points written on a paper we may leave with the ministry. Perhaps I should bring this along to deliver, just for clarity.” Mr. Linus snorted a chuckle. “Written points are for the weak, my friend. I’m performing without a net, doing this all orally. Watch and learn, amigo. Watch and learn.” Upon arrival at the ministry, we were ushered into the Great Hall of the Glorious Defeats, where we sat in the deep and somewhat mildewy official meeting chairs under a giant bust of our national hero, King Volmak the Very Nearly Victorious. The minister entered, an elderly man of great dignity and reserve, followed by my witless cousin, Bomzar, who works in his office. Mr. Linus began with pleasantries and fared well. He got through “Hello, how are you” without incident, and I unclenched slightly. Mr. Linus was mightily proud, his shirt buttons struggling more than usual to hold him in. I believe Mr. Linus’ first point was intended to be “We are concerned about the upcoming resolution in the United Nations Security Council.” Because of some vari- ance in tones and a questionable word choice, however, what came out was: “I vilify your noteworthy man-breasts.” Bomzar stopped his notetaking and looked up at Mr. Linus and then at me. The minister raised one shaggy eye- brow and asked in a quiet tone if that was what Mr. Linus had meant to say. Mr. Linus interpreted this as evidence that he had made his point. I started to whisper in his ear, but he stopped me and smiled at the minister. “Indeed that is exactly what I meant to say to you, on behalf of the government and people of the United States.” This Mr. Linus managed without a mistake. He then attempted to go into the details of the dé- marche and its implications on our bilateral relations. The depths of this new vocabulary were beyond Mr. Linus’ grasp, however. A downward tone instead of a rising one, a misconjugation and other seemingly small mistakes com- bined to make the words he said to the minister come out as: “You, sir, are the bastard son of a platypus and a mer- man.” The minister stared in disbelief as Mr. Linus added: “Also a would-be bedwetter in an igloo of hairless winos.” Things went down the hill from there, the situation not helped by the unfortunate similarity in pronunciation of our words for “constructive dialogue” and “flatulent mo- lester.” I yearned in vain for the power of ventriloquism to repair the damage. The minister did not shout, for this is not our custom when insulted. Instead, he rubbed his left eye with his thumb, a gesture which in our country equates with a phrase used by Americans that often ends with “and the horse you rode in on.” As Mr. Linus con- tinued his barrage of inadvertent insults, the minister F O C U S