Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 12

           They’llevenprinttheirnewspapersinItalianwhileI’mhere;theydon’tmind!TheyhavebookstoresherethatonlysellbookswritteninItalian!IfoundsuchabookstoreyesterdaymorningandfeltI’denteredanenchantedpalace.EverythingwasinItalian-evenDr.Seuss.Iwanderedthrough,touchingallthebooks,hopingthatanyonewatchingmemightthinkIwasanativespeaker.Oh,howIwantItaliantoopenitselfuptome!ThisfeelingremindedmeofwhenIwasfouryearsoldandcouldn’treadyet,butwasdyingtolearn.Iremembersittinginthewaitingroomofadoctor’sofficewithmymother,holdingaGoodHousekeepingmagazineinfrontofmyface,turningthepagesslowly,staringatthetext,andhopingthegrown-upsinthewaitingroomwouldthinkIwasactuallyreading.Ihaven’tfeltsostarvedforcomprehensionsincethen.IfoundsomeworksbyAmericanpoetsinthatbookstore,withtheoriginalEnglishversionprintedononesideofthepageandtheItaliantranslationontheother.IboughtavolumebyRobertLowell,anotherbyLouiseGluck.

           Therearespontaneousconversationclasseseverywhere.Today,Iwassittingonaparkbenchwhenatinyoldwomaninablackdresscameover,roosteddownbesidemeandstartedbossingmearoundaboutsomething.Ishookmyhead,mutedandconfused.Iapologized,sayinginveryniceItalian,"I’msorry,butIdon’tspeakItalian,"andshelookedlikeshewould’vesmackedmewithawoodenspoon,ifshe’dhadone.Sheinsisted:"Youdounderstand!"(Interestingly,shewascorrect.Thatsentence,Ididunderstand.

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