Hearing, Overhearing

"Why does he keep staring at us like that?" one of the assistants whispered from across the table.

I looked over my shoulder at the waiter. Sure enough, there he was, standing by the restaurant bar and staring, without any effort at concealing it, at our table. True, we were eating early and were so far the only clients in the restaurant, but still -- this went above and beyond basic attentiveness. At first I felt a similar stirring of irritation -- nosy as I am, at least I TRY to hide my eavesdropping -- but looking back to the four others seated at my table I began to understand.

To my right sat Y., the Chinese assistant. Next to here was G. and her boyfriend L., both from Italy -- and to my left was A., the assistant from Germany. And then there was me, the American. (Back at the apartment in Le Havre were T., the assistant from Yemen, and M., the assistant from Mexico.) Thinking back to when we all first met each other, the waiter's stares seemed less and less odd.

*

At first we only knew each other by our nationalities. "When will the Mexican come?" "Have you met the Italian yet?" "Which is the Chinese assistant's room?" We hadn't yet met each other, we didn't yet have names -- just our countries. And, despite its feeling blisteringly un-p.c. to refer to people as their nationality, it was also strangely appropriate. Terrifyingly enough, to the students, we ARE our countries. A. IS Germany, G. is Italy, I am the United States. (The other day, a student asked: "What is living in the U.S. like?") From the perspective of the French administration, we are here to serve as little islands of our nationality, conveniently drifted across oceans (or continents) for the enrichment of their French students.

It's an impossible task, to stand in for an entire culture. To some extent, I think our students would be surprised by this fact. But we assistants know it, and as a result some of the pressure is lifted. The first week we ate dinner together every night -- and every night there were new things to learn about each other's countries and languages. How do you count to 3 in all six languages? What do you say when someone is taking a picture? When you clink glasses during a toast? My favorite was the night where we went around the circle and sang our national anthems for each other, one little voice for each country...how funny to hear an anthem sung by one person alone, in a dining room!

We've learned fun little things like that about our countries and languages -- but there have also been moments where living together has provided more culture shock than the fact of living in France. Living with someone who hopes to have four wives, for instance. Six people is a lot for such a compact little apartment, but throw in the fact that we're all from such DIFFERENT places, such different cultures...six worlds crowded into such a tiny space! But we

respect each other deeply, and find humor in the most insurmountable of differences...otherwise it wouldn't be livable.

But at the end of the day, yes, we sit down to dinner together, and we talk about our day, our childhoods, our families, each other...we're an odd little family coming from such different places, but we're a family nonetheless, and we all do love each other.

*

Back in the restaurant, the waiter has finally averted his eyes, busying himself with the countertop. And our indignation subsides to an amused understanding of the shameless stares. Five different accents, each raking in mistakes from our respective original languages...five different rhythms and cadences...and, of course, conversation that is broken and slow, ideal for eavesdropping -- how irresistible!

I try to imagine myself in the waiter's situation, and I think back to New York -- which feels oddly far away at the moment. I remember that whenever I heard people speaking heavily accented English to each other, I also tried to listen. I couldn't help but try to figure out who they were and where they were from...and how English came to be the bridge between two unknown -- but almost certainly faraway -- places.