Chapter 18: Grace Under Pressure

We confess our plight in the face of the grueling DELE A2 exam to Pilar, a recent acquaintance in Madrid. She offers to help. It is August, the sacrosanct vacation time of Spaniards. It is the time of peace from her demanding job. It is the time of leisure with her delightful husband. Yet Pilar has selflessly offered to help. She says she will speak with us in the evenings by videoconference so that we, two women she barely knows, can have a fighting chance of passing the exam. We protest — we had no such hidden wish when we told her our troubles. She insists.

This is Spanish grace at its most generous and accommodating. Pilar is an elegant woman with crystalline diction, her vaguely aristocratic bearing leavened by her good nature and an enveloping laugh that swoops up and then cascades down. During our first call, I feel anything but elegant and feel like doing anything but laughing. A central paradox of learning a language as an “aware” adult, as opposed to a clueless teenager or formational child, hits me: it requires hyper-alertness, with all gears of the brain operational. It demands constant attention to what one hears, immediate absorption of what one sees, and an awareness of what one says with a readiness to self-correct — in real time. But to survive this almost unbearable kindness of Pilar, I am going to have to get over any sensitivity about looking foolish. Fortunately, I have some experience in this regard: years of arguing clients’ cases in court pretending not to be affected by judges’ skepticism. But language is personal and primordial — and therefore more difficult. And self-conscious worries about losing a friend I don’t actually have yet are not going to advance the cause when that person is trying to teach me something.

Me being me, I take this too much to heart. On our third videoconference, I cry.

It begins with my eyes misting slightly and proceeds to a still acceptable teary. But then my lips revolt and commence a quiver that threatens to convulse into an ugly, rictus-producing spectacle. I know this because I can see myself in the corner of the screen, under the words “Zoom Meeting.”

I can also see the look on Pilar’s face. This madrileña has too much class to look anything other than composed. She has too much grace to be anything other than kind. She went to high school in the U.S., and I wonder if she thinks Americans are too emotional.

What precipitated this unravelling was a simple practice exercise: describe a photo. We selected one from a magazine, and I started out confidently by describing a young couple walking on a street next to a large brick wall. But then I got hung up on trying to remember words no one really expects me to know at this stage, such as the difference between a lantern affixed to an outside wall and a free-standing lantern or street light. Soon, my speech was as labored as dragging a sledge through deep mud.

What really triggered my tears, though, was COVID fatigue. While we had nothing to complain about (we were healthy, had access to plenty of food, and could pay our rent) and much to celebrate (we were in a beautiful country with wonderful people like Pilar), my sense of isolation was now undeniable. I didn’t know when we could safely visit family and friends in New York in person again. I wondered when we could return to the familiar comfort of our apartment there, with its many memories and some of the cherished belongings we had left behind — practical items, such as cooking tools, and emotional items, such as photographs, Christmas ornaments, and meaningful books. We signed up for this grand adventure, but we hadn’t intended to axe the dock for firewood — just yet.

Kate rescues me and gets a little emotional too. She thanks Pilar yet again and explains how difficult it has been dealing with a new language in a new city under the conditions of a pandemic. In what I interpret as an able effort to regain our dignity, Kate suggests that, before our next videocall, she email Pilar some of our travel photos for us to describe in Spanish. Kate’s suggestion pleases me immensely. I think Pilar will be pleased too, as Kate approaches photography with the same attitude as every one of her other endeavors: do it right or stay home.

After bidding Pilar buenas tardes and returning from ZoomWorld to our living room, we discuss the gravity of the situation. We also discuss my key failing, specifically, why I haven’t yet internalized the adage that less is more. Kate reminds me that a perfectly suitable DELE A2 word is the noun “light”; there’s no need to get into lanterns and lampposts. Kindergarten or no kindergarten, at this point in my life, I should be illuminated enough to have realized this on my own.

Pilar has saved us from ourselves. That evening’s experience with her helps us to fully appreciate how much more we still have to learn before exam day — now only a month away. We resolve to hire a private tutor the next morning.

©2021 Kay Diaz