Tuesday night had become a fixed habit.  Promptly at 9 pm in the Barnes & Noble café I was sitting opposite Carlo.  He had arrived earlier and reserved a table away from the caffeinated noise.  For weeks we had been reading an Italian story, alternating recitals of the Italian text and English translation.  We interrupted each other when necessary to correct accent and diction and what proved to be the most daunting, the cadence—what’s called the lilt of the language.  It separated mere proficiency from mastery.  The goal was to speak so fluently that the language sounded like one’s native tongue.

Occasionally Carlo and I discussed a grammatical point and noted how Italian stayed close to its Latin roots.  Although no verbal equivalents existed for simpatico, bravo and gentile, Roget’s Thesaurus facilitated translation.  Rich in synonyms, English encompassed every situation.  Still, Carlo lamented one intractable problem.

“If only English idioms were easier,” he said.  “Every time I hear one, either alone or with another, I want to hold up a sign saying, ‘Subtitles, please’.  Tutti questi idomi mi fanno diventare pazzo (All these idioms drive me crazy),” he added with a wide sweep of his hand.

It was clear Carlo and I would not be reading more of The Siren and the Professor.  Lost like Dante in the dark wood, he looked to me for guidance through his linguistic hell.

“If you give me an example, Carlo, it might help me. It’s true words like ‘shallow’ and ‘lonesome’ have no Italian counterpart.   You need synonyms—often more than one—to catch the meaning.”

“I don’t mean them.”

“What then?”

“English on the street is so different from what I hear in the classroom. Even then it’s maddening.  Last week we were told our professor was cancelling class.  ‘He’s feeling under the weather,’ the adjunct teacher explained.  So I raised my hand.  ‘How can he be under the weather?’ I asked.  Weather isn’t above or below but all around us.’  The class laughed.  I felt foolish till the idiom was explained.  My ignorance didn’t stop there.  The next day I was dining with my friend, Steven.  We began dinner late because he had to work overtime on a film set.  We were about to order dessert when he looked at his watch, jumped from his seat, then left cash on the table.

“‘Sorry, Carlo, I gotta go.  I have to make a ten o’clock movie.’

“His remark utterly confused me. ‘Steven,’ I asked, ‘why do you need to start filming at this late hour?’  Again I had the expression explained.  Later when I called him at midnight and suggested having a drink, he cut me off.  ‘Carlo, I can’t talk, my cell is on its last leg.’  I didn’t have a clue what he meant.  So I let it pass and asked where we might meet up.  He answered, ‘Whatever floats your boat.’ I had no choice but to admit ignorance.  ‘You’re such a ding dong,’ he said and rang off.”

“I appreciate the problem, Carlo. You’ll just have to ask for help each time.  American English is a living language and what’s vital keeps changing.   It’s the only sign of life.   Even as a native speaker I don’t always grasp what’s said.  I had a recent embarrassment myself.”

My frank admission of difficulty eased Carlo’s discomfort.

“May I ask what happened?”

“Several days ago I was coming down in my building’s elevator.  We stopped at the floor beneath mine and two couples entered.  I’d say they were in their mid-twenties, strangers to the building, and probably visiting a friend.  They laughed a lot as they chatted amiably while I turned my mind to a demanding day.  As the door opened to the lobby, I politely stepped aside to let them out.  In an effort to be friendly, I said, ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit to the States.  What country are you from?’”  They stood motionless in the foyer and like foreigners tried to grasp what I meant.   One of the young men suddenly spoke up: ‘Whaddya mean?’ he asked.  “Ya tryin’ to be funny? We’re from here.’  He was angry at what he sensed was an insult in my question.  How could I mistake them for not being native born?  Hadn’t I heard them in the elevator?  They were speaking American.  Was I deaf?  I had a tense moment of insight, Carlo, when I realized my error and more importantly why I’d made it.  I had indeed been deaf to the sounds exchanged in the elevator.  To my ears they weren’t English. I had heard mumbling and garbled words and slurred diction.  Since no meaning came through, I surmised the speakers were foreigners.  I indicated as much by inquiring about their country of origin.  What I needed on hand was your sign asking, ‘Subtitles, please’.”

“What did you finally say to them?”

“I apologized and offered a lame excuse about my unfocused listening in the elevator.”

“And were they convinced?”

“I don’t think so.  But if you allow me a final idiom, it at least got me off the hook.”