how to learn any language-第5章
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that looks like the number sixty…one； a consonant that looks like a butterfly with its wings
all the way out； and damned if they don’t even have a B…flat！”
The next day there were no longer forty…five members of the university’s first
Russian class。 There were five。
I was one of the intrepid who hung in。
A Lucky Bounce to the Balkans
Writer/columnist Robert Ruark； a talented North Carolinian and drinking buddy of Ava
Gardner； once wrote boastfully about a college weekend that began someplace like
Philadelphia and got out of hand and wound up in Montreal。 I topped him。 I went to a
college football game right outside Washington； D。C。； one weekend and wound up in
Yugoslavia for six weeks！
The previous summer I’d been named a delegate from the university to the national
convention of the National Student Association。 I came back as chairman for the
Virginia…Carolinas region of NSA。 In October I was in College Park； Maryland； for the
Carolina…Maryland game。 At half time； at the hot dog stand； who should be reaching for
the same mustard squirter as I but National NSA president； Bill Dentzer。
“Who can believe this？” he said。 “We’ve been looking for you for three days！”
I explained it was our big senior out of town football weekend and College Park；
Maryland was a long way from Chapel Hill； North Carolina； and there was a lot going on
and I was sorry he couldn’t reach me。 “Why were you looking for me？” I asked。
“We wanted you to go represent us in Yugoslavia；” he said。 I told him I’d love to。
“It’s too late now；” he said。 “The plane leaves Monday from New York； and it’s
already Saturday afternoon and the State Department’s closed； so there’s no way to get
you a passport…”
“Bill；” I interrupted； “I have a passport。 I can easily get back to Chapel Hill and
pick it up in time to fly from New York on Monday。”
By Wednesday I was attending sessions of a spirited Tito propaganda fiesta called
the Zagreb Peace Conference and enjoying my first immersion in a language the mere
mention of which impresses people even more than Chinese： Serbo…Croatian！
To my delight； I understood entire phrases from it from my university Russian。 I
became aware of “families” of foreign languages； something that doesn’t occur
automatically to Americans because English doesn’t resemble its cousins very closely。
It’s something of a black sheep in the Germanic language family。 They say the closest
language to English is Dutch。 Dutch is about as close to English as Betelgeuse is to
Baltimore！
I’d noticed the summer before that Norwegian is usefully close to Swedish and
Danish。 Serbo…Croatian sounded to me like a jazzier； more “fun” kind of Russian。 They
use the Roman alphabet in western Yugoslavia； Croatia； and Slovenia； and in Serbia to
the east they use the Cyrillic alphabet； with even more interesting letters in it than
Russian uses。
Some of the mystique I’d always imputed to multilingual people began to fade。 If
you meet somebody who speaks； say； ten languages； your instinct is to be impressed to
the tune of ten languages worth。 If； however； you later learn that six of those languages
are Russian； Czech； Slovak； Serbo…Croatian； Polish and Ukrianian – I’m not suggesting
that you dismiss him as illiterate； but you ought to be aware that he got six of those
languages for the price of about two and three fourths！ They’re all members of the Slavic
family。
The Yugoslav university students； my hosts； sent me back home aboard a Yugoslav
ship； leaving me sixteen days with nothing to do but practice Serbo…Croatian with the
other passengers。 When I got back to school after a solid eight weeks’ absence； I wasn’t
even behind in my German。 German is widely spoken in central Europe and I’d spoken it
widely enough during the adventure to float almost even with the class。
Exotics – Hard and Easy
Expertise is a narcotic。 As knowledge grows； it throws off pleasure to its possessor； much
like an interest bearing account throws off money。 A pathologist who can instantly spot
the difference between normal and abnormal X…rays grows incapable of believing that
there are those of us who can’t。 I find it hard to believe there are Americans who can’t
even tell the difference between printed pages of Spanish and French or of Polish；
Danish； or anything else written in the Roman alphabet。 Too bad。 If you can’t distinguish
the easier languages from the harder ones； you miss the higher joys of confronting your
first samples of written Finnish。
Finland has been called the only beautiful country in the world where the language
is the major tourist attraction。 It’s utterly unfamiliar to you no matter where you come
from； unless you happen to come from Estonia； in which case Finnish is only half
unfamiliar to you。 There’s always a general knowledge heavyweight around who says；
“Wait a minute。 Finnish is related to Hungarian too！”
Oh； yeah！ True； Finnish； Hungarian and Estonian are indeed all members of the
Finno…Ugric language family； but try to find more than six words even remotely similar
in each。 As you learn more and more about foreign languages； you’re able to laugh at
more and more jokes about languages。 No Las Vegas comic will even knock socks off； or
even loosen them； by standing up and saying； “You know； Finnish and Hungarian are
cousin languages； but Finnish took all the vowels！” Look at the two languages side by
side； however； and you’ll grudgingly accord at least minor wit status to whoever thought
that one up。
You may have experienced the difficulties of tackling Latin and Russian with their
half dozen or so noun cases。 Finnish has fifteen noun cases in the singular and sixteen in
the plural！ Every word in the entire language is accented on the first syllable； which gives
Finnish something of the sounds of a pneumatic jackhammer breaking up a sidewalk。
I covered the Olympic Games in Helsinki but wisely decided not to try to learn
Finnish。 It was the wisdom of the young boxer who’s eager to get in there with the champ
and trade punches； but who nonetheless summons up the cool to decline and wait until
he’s more prepared。 I found a much softer opponent on the ship back to the United States。
A summer tradition that vanished after the 1950’s with far too little poetic
lamentation was the “student ship to Europe。” They were almost always Dutch ships
offering unbelievably low fares； hearty food； cramped but clean accommodations； cheap
beer； and always a bearded guitar player who drew the crowd back to the ship’s fantail
after dinner and led the kids of ten or twelve nations in throaty renditions of “I’ve Been
Working on the Railroad。” The singing； the flirting； the joy of heading over or heading
home； and especially the learning of all the other countries’ “Railroads” in all the other
languages made the summer student ship a delight unimaginable to today’s jet lagged
young Dutch airmen about my age。 They were all headed for the United States to take
their jet fighter training at various American air bases； and we became old friends at
once。 There seemed to be dozens （I later realised hundreds） of Indonesian servants on
board。 After four hundred years of Dutch rule； Indonesia had won its independence from
Holland only four years earlier。 The thousands of Indonesians who chose to remain loyal
to Holland had to go to Holland； and that meant that virtually the entire Dutch service
class was Indonesian。
I was sitting on the deck talking to one of the Dutch pilots； Hans van Haastert。 He
called one of the Indonesians over and said something to him in fluent Indonesian。 My
romance with Dutch would begin （in a very unusual way） a few years later； but my
romance with Indonesian was born in the lightning and thunder of Hans ordering a beer
from that deck chair。
If I had never been drawn to foreign languages earlier； that moment alone would
have done it。 To me at
