LJ Idol Week 19: "Et Tu Brute?"
I was fascinated by the Latin, not so much by the context. But I suppose you could see a betrayal here: the character Marcos appeared in this entry, and this one. --DB
Found in Translation
The two plastic chairs near the chest freezer are usually occupied by Brazilian men; if not interpreters, then crew. It's a great spot, out of the way of foot traffic, but not so far that you can’t eavesdrop, and you can watch the entire deck. Under you, the boat engine thrums on the mighty Amazon.
This afternoon, the interpreters Marcos and Otto have the chairs. A third interpreter, Nate, in his mirrored sunglasses, has his back against the bulkhead on the floor. I settle down next to him. The news is that one of our doctors and another interpreter have made an unauthorized speedboat trip to the nearest town. Otto remarks in Portuguese that they've probably gone for beer, which is not allowed on our boat.
I laugh.
Nate exclaims, “We can’t hide anymore. She understands us!”
Graciously, they switch to English for me.
Marcos once asked me why Americans don’t learn other languages. I likened the United States to a man who thinks he’s bigger and stronger than everybody else. Startled, Marcos said, “He doesn’t believe he needs to understand other people!”
“Exactly.”
Having heard that I’m a writer, every Brazilian who wants to learn English asks me language questions. Today’s first question is about “borrow” and “lend.”
“You borrow me a book?” Marcos asks.
"I lend you the book," I say. "You borrow the book from me.”
Otto passes Marcos a book and says, “I lend it to you.”
“I lend it,” says Marcos. “You borrow it to me.”
It takes a few rounds to get right.
Next, the pronunciation of behind. “Is it ‘bee-hind’ or ‘buh-hind’?” Otto asks. “You say ‘buh-hind,’ but Dr. Sandy says ‘bee-hind.’ You both speak very well, so we don’t know who is right.”
Once I register how carefully they listen, I feel flattered that they think I speak as well as our medical director. I say, “That’s a regional difference.”
I get questioning looks.
“You know how the number three is ‘treish’ in Amazonas but ‘treis’ everywhere else?” (In the Amazon region, some aspects of pronunciation haven’t changed since the Portuguese invaded in the 1800’s because, well, nobody comes here.) I can see the understanding in their faces.
Nate tells me that, in Portuguese, several words with different, unrelated meanings can all have the same sound. I haven't yet learned any, but I'm not surprised. I counter that, in English, words with different sounds can have the same meaning. I give the example of “trip” and “journey.”
“Then how does anybody learn it all?” Otto asks.
I sympathize with his desire to have command over a complete body of knowledge. “How does anybody learn Portuguese?” I ask.
Marcos says he loves Portuguese because of its complexity. Otto says he hates Portuguese because of its complexity. He doesn't like that even Brazilians don't speak it correctly and are always correcting one another. I explain to Otto that few people speak English correctly, and there's disagreement over what “correctly” is. I tell him how I used to speak with perfect grammar until I moved to a small city in Texas and people started laughing at me. The people I met had grown up socializing more and reading less than I had, so they sounded like real people while I sounded like a book. I had to learn to speak less "correctly" in order to speak "correctly."
Otto exclaims, “They knew you came from somewhere else just because you spoke correctly?”
I forgot the high premium Amazonians place on education.
“Well, I also spoke with an accent.”
“Texans have an accent,” he reminds me, grinning. He pinches his nose and starts talking, which makes us all laugh.
“Did you ever hear them say ‘y’all?’” I ask.
Apparently they haven't.
I remind them that English doesn’t have vocês, the Portuguese second-person plural. “In the southern United States, people have added one.” I demonstrate: “Are y’all hungry?”
They like it and start practicing. I manage not to giggle. “Y’awl” is the best way I can spell what they said. I warn them that "y'all" is not used in the rest of the country: "When you say this, people think you’re uneducated.” But for the rest of the trip, one interpreter or another will approach me at any time, clear his throat, and ask, “Y’awl?”
Nate mentions that he made someone on the medical team unhappy this morning by calling her a "loudmouth" and wants to know why that's bad. It takes me a while to explain that the word simply has a bad connotation. He had intended it affectionately. Apparently in Portuguese you can say someone has a boca grande (“big mouth”) without insulting them.
Otto then relates that he once told a German tourist fici, which means “stay here” in Portuguese but “fuck you” in German. He laughs, “She ran away from me screaming, and she told my boss!” He was also once terrified by a French tourist who asked him to put insect repellent on her cou. “She got mad because I wouldn’t do what she asked me to do, and she told my boss.” The problem: in French, cou is “neck,” but in Portuguese, it's “ass.”
Only Marcos will say the word. Otto cuffs him and tells me not to listen to him because “he teaches bad words.” He's taught me brocado (lit. “drilled”) as slang for “hungry,” but they laughed at me the first time I said it and then chastised Marcos. Marcos told me afterwards that, despite what they said, it was not impolite-“just something you say to your friends and family.” I still don’t know what he meant, but I haven't used the expression since.
It's my turn to ask a question. There are three second-person singular pronouns in Portuguese, and I have not yet learned when to use which, so I ask about the etiquette of o senhor versus você versus tu. I've noticed that the interpreters use você with just about everyone.
“It’s like French,” Marcos explains, knowing I speak French.
“But French has only vous and tu,” I say. “Portuguese has o senhor as well.”
Otto explains that o senhor is the most formal choice, “for when you don’t know someone well enough to use their name. But there’s a shortcut,” he goes on. “Sometimes we cheat and say, ‘Senhor Peter.’ That's if we know someone’s name and want to be very polite anyway.”
I ask when you use tu.
Otto smiles. He says, “When you know someone a long time. For instance, I know you for four years now. We are friends. I can call you tu."
Found in Translation
The two plastic chairs near the chest freezer are usually occupied by Brazilian men; if not interpreters, then crew. It's a great spot, out of the way of foot traffic, but not so far that you can’t eavesdrop, and you can watch the entire deck. Under you, the boat engine thrums on the mighty Amazon.
This afternoon, the interpreters Marcos and Otto have the chairs. A third interpreter, Nate, in his mirrored sunglasses, has his back against the bulkhead on the floor. I settle down next to him. The news is that one of our doctors and another interpreter have made an unauthorized speedboat trip to the nearest town. Otto remarks in Portuguese that they've probably gone for beer, which is not allowed on our boat.
I laugh.
Nate exclaims, “We can’t hide anymore. She understands us!”
Graciously, they switch to English for me.
Marcos once asked me why Americans don’t learn other languages. I likened the United States to a man who thinks he’s bigger and stronger than everybody else. Startled, Marcos said, “He doesn’t believe he needs to understand other people!”
“Exactly.”
Having heard that I’m a writer, every Brazilian who wants to learn English asks me language questions. Today’s first question is about “borrow” and “lend.”
“You borrow me a book?” Marcos asks.
"I lend you the book," I say. "You borrow the book from me.”
Otto passes Marcos a book and says, “I lend it to you.”
“I lend it,” says Marcos. “You borrow it to me.”
It takes a few rounds to get right.
Next, the pronunciation of behind. “Is it ‘bee-hind’ or ‘buh-hind’?” Otto asks. “You say ‘buh-hind,’ but Dr. Sandy says ‘bee-hind.’ You both speak very well, so we don’t know who is right.”
Once I register how carefully they listen, I feel flattered that they think I speak as well as our medical director. I say, “That’s a regional difference.”
I get questioning looks.
“You know how the number three is ‘treish’ in Amazonas but ‘treis’ everywhere else?” (In the Amazon region, some aspects of pronunciation haven’t changed since the Portuguese invaded in the 1800’s because, well, nobody comes here.) I can see the understanding in their faces.
Nate tells me that, in Portuguese, several words with different, unrelated meanings can all have the same sound. I haven't yet learned any, but I'm not surprised. I counter that, in English, words with different sounds can have the same meaning. I give the example of “trip” and “journey.”
“Then how does anybody learn it all?” Otto asks.
I sympathize with his desire to have command over a complete body of knowledge. “How does anybody learn Portuguese?” I ask.
Marcos says he loves Portuguese because of its complexity. Otto says he hates Portuguese because of its complexity. He doesn't like that even Brazilians don't speak it correctly and are always correcting one another. I explain to Otto that few people speak English correctly, and there's disagreement over what “correctly” is. I tell him how I used to speak with perfect grammar until I moved to a small city in Texas and people started laughing at me. The people I met had grown up socializing more and reading less than I had, so they sounded like real people while I sounded like a book. I had to learn to speak less "correctly" in order to speak "correctly."
Otto exclaims, “They knew you came from somewhere else just because you spoke correctly?”
I forgot the high premium Amazonians place on education.
“Well, I also spoke with an accent.”
“Texans have an accent,” he reminds me, grinning. He pinches his nose and starts talking, which makes us all laugh.
“Did you ever hear them say ‘y’all?’” I ask.
Apparently they haven't.
I remind them that English doesn’t have vocês, the Portuguese second-person plural. “In the southern United States, people have added one.” I demonstrate: “Are y’all hungry?”
They like it and start practicing. I manage not to giggle. “Y’awl” is the best way I can spell what they said. I warn them that "y'all" is not used in the rest of the country: "When you say this, people think you’re uneducated.” But for the rest of the trip, one interpreter or another will approach me at any time, clear his throat, and ask, “Y’awl?”
Nate mentions that he made someone on the medical team unhappy this morning by calling her a "loudmouth" and wants to know why that's bad. It takes me a while to explain that the word simply has a bad connotation. He had intended it affectionately. Apparently in Portuguese you can say someone has a boca grande (“big mouth”) without insulting them.
Otto then relates that he once told a German tourist fici, which means “stay here” in Portuguese but “fuck you” in German. He laughs, “She ran away from me screaming, and she told my boss!” He was also once terrified by a French tourist who asked him to put insect repellent on her cou. “She got mad because I wouldn’t do what she asked me to do, and she told my boss.” The problem: in French, cou is “neck,” but in Portuguese, it's “ass.”
Only Marcos will say the word. Otto cuffs him and tells me not to listen to him because “he teaches bad words.” He's taught me brocado (lit. “drilled”) as slang for “hungry,” but they laughed at me the first time I said it and then chastised Marcos. Marcos told me afterwards that, despite what they said, it was not impolite-“just something you say to your friends and family.” I still don’t know what he meant, but I haven't used the expression since.
It's my turn to ask a question. There are three second-person singular pronouns in Portuguese, and I have not yet learned when to use which, so I ask about the etiquette of o senhor versus você versus tu. I've noticed that the interpreters use você with just about everyone.
“It’s like French,” Marcos explains, knowing I speak French.
“But French has only vous and tu,” I say. “Portuguese has o senhor as well.”
Otto explains that o senhor is the most formal choice, “for when you don’t know someone well enough to use their name. But there’s a shortcut,” he goes on. “Sometimes we cheat and say, ‘Senhor Peter.’ That's if we know someone’s name and want to be very polite anyway.”
I ask when you use tu.
Otto smiles. He says, “When you know someone a long time. For instance, I know you for four years now. We are friends. I can call you tu."