The Language Barrier

cinq. cours d'anglais

cinq.

|| cours d'anglais ||

            “Why, you sneaky girl!” exclaimed Evelyn as she walked through the threshold of her dormitory room, throwing her purse on her bed as she went. Her roommate lay across her bed, her laptop and an assortment of books and papers spread across it. She sat up and faced Evelyn, a sly grin on your face.

            “You’ve been trying to set me up with Honoré this entire time!” she complained, although, in fact, it didn’t bother her. She had begun to like the man, which went against her better judgment and years of her mother’s anti-masculine teachings. Estelle laughed, a musical sound.

            “I suppose it went well then?” she asked, grinning. Even with no makeup and uncombed hair, Estelle was still prettier than Evelyn knew she would ever be. She felt a hint of jealousy as she realized how lucky Honoré must have considered himself to have her, even for a short time.

            “Oui,” she replied. “You were right about his English though. It’s nowhere near perfect, however.”

            Estelle laughed mischievously. “Good. Although, I must warn you, they do not teach intimate things.”

            Evelyn blushed. She knew that she did like Honoré, but it wasn’t sexual attraction. She felt the same companionship she felt with Estelle, though it was more intimate. He comforted her, and she enjoyed his presence. “I don’t want to have sex with him.”

            “I thought that. You always seemed like a… what’s the word? Madonna? Like Mother Mary.” teased Estelle, and Evelyn instantly knew the word she was searching for. Virgin. She hoped that the outside cold was an adequate excuse for her pink-tinged cheeks and ears.

            It couldn’t possibly be her fault that she’d never felt attracted to anyone in that way. The fact that every date she’d ever been on had been a disaster, just like the incident at the café and the countless blind dates her parents and friends had sent her on, had not allowed for much romance in Evelyn’s life. She could just imagine how well an attempt would go at that.

            “…oui,” she muttered, and Estelle’s face brightened in delight.

            “Oh, what was that? I could not hear what you say.” she chimed, and Evelyn took this as a cue to go take refuge in the shower. Evelyn may be a virgin, but Estelle would be the one freezing as she bathed after Evelyn’s long, hot shower.

†††

            Professeur Desjardins was the culprit.

            “So, I heard you have been resolved with Honoré.” the woman whispered as the rest of the class took a test on possessive nouns. Honoré sat at a desk a few feet away from Evelyn, his brow furrowed in frustration as he stared at the white sheet of paper. She had finished her own test five minutes earlier, and had taken her paper to the professor’s desk to be graded.

            “Madam,” Evelyn said, confused, “how do you know about that?”

            Her teacher’s face lit up, and the woman laughed quietly. “Who do you think he went to for extra help when you were avoiding him?”

            She understood now, and she warmed at the thought of the man actually trying in this class. She smiled at the professor. “Thank you.”

            “It is no problem. I always knew he would be more difficult than the other students.”

            She was confused yet again. Perhaps Professeur had heard the rumors about Honoré, but she didn’t treat him as if he were the wild student of the rumors. “Why would he be difficult?”

            “Oh,” said Desjardins, surprised, “you didn’t know? Well, I suppose it’s because you’re new here. This class is required to all freshman, but most just breeze through it. They all already know English from primary school, but Honoré didn’t go. He was taught by his parent’s governess.”

            This would explain why most people were somewhat bilingual, though she was astonished by the idea of a governess in this century. The word had a connotation with the rich families of old, not twentieth century families. “Governess? Wouldn’t she teach him English as well?”

            “You’ve never met his parents, I take?”

            “I’ve seen them in passing, but never spoken to them.”

            “Ah,” Professeur sighed, “They are somewhat celebrity here. They forbid it, as they are of the Parti Québécois, you see, they are separatists and want Quebec to be another country, all francophone. And so, little Honoré was forbidden from learning English.”

            “Oh,” said Evelyn, “anyways, thank you.”

            She returned to her seat and thought about what she’d just been told. He was still sitting there, concentrating as hard as possible on that simple little quiz while all the other students had finished some time ago, and she wanted to help him. He’d have to learn by himself, however.

            It occurred to her now that for the past few months she’d never talked to him much, never gotten to know him. Most of what she knew about him came from others, and she wondered how much he knew about her, though it was probably considerable, what with Estelle and her big mouth.

            She thought of him, admiring his thick black curls and the way his oversized sweater hung from his skinny frame. It was time to fix that.

†††

            “St. Croix!” she called after class, walking fast to catch up with him as he practically ran across the campus green. He stopped, surprised, and waited for her to catch up with him. He studied her as she came and she suddenly felt underdressed in her university sweatshirt and tight jeans.

            “What,” he joked, “you are too good for my first name?”

            She stopped, breathless. “I was afraid I’d pronounce it wrong again and be embarrassed in front of the whole school.”

            He laughed. “On-ore-re.”

            She nodded, hiking her books up farther on her hip. “Do you want to go get lunch?”

            “Only if you keep it on your plate.” he said, mocking her.

            She blushed, “Hey, that’s not funny.”

            “Was not supposed to be, you clumsy girl.” He offered her his arm and she took it, letting him escort her like an awkward prom date.

†††

            This time, she ordered a sandwich. He laughed quietly as she told the waiter her order and she looked at him in fake anger. He’d taken her to a different restaurant this time, and they ate inside, safe from the harsh winter that coated everything. The walls were a warm orange color and only five tables littered the place. It was quaint and currently empty save for them and a pair of teenagers.

            “You must learn more French now.” he said.

            “Why? I do well enough now.”

            “I learn English for you.” he reminded her, and for a moment she thought he was serious, until he broke into a crooked smile at her expression. “Learn to laugh, Evelyn Vera.”

            She smiled and looked down at the table. “You went to Professeur Desjardins.”

            “Oui, je suis allé.”

            “She told me you never learned English, because of your parents.”

            “They are terrible.”

            “So you’re not a separatist?”

            He smiled, catching her eye. “How could I be, when I see what the rest of Canada brings?”