¡Hola, señor! Exit.
There was some irresistible
delicateness emanating from the Spaniard. He was in his thirties and spoke with
an incredibly soft, warm and bad accent. The layer of his native language was
laid so thick on the English he spoke, that at times I had to focus really hard
in order to understand what he was saying. From time to time a word would be
changed by him beyond recognition, the identity of some of them I’d work out from
the context, others simply left gaps in his story.
He had just
performed a small role in a baffling theatrical production, a mixture of the amateur and the professional presenting dramatically palatable plot with a philosophically unpalatable message. The man’s acting had been charming and
his singing seductive, which was fine for a love song. Now, in the middle of a bustling foyer, I was complementing
him and finding out more about his life. I learnt that he’d come to London,
because this was where we talked, over a decade ago, found a job, settled down,
worked for a few years and then became unemployed and ended up on the street. He was slowly regaining his
footing and in the process became involved in an artistic venture that had just
staged the musical in question. I could sympathise with the man. Some recent developments in my life had been of a similar character. Apart from that, my soul is Spanish, so - even as he spoke - a wave of inter-human understanding seemed to be gently approaching and then lifting both of us, like happy boyhood friends playing in the summer sea during a holiday somewhere in Costa del Sol.
And just then, right at the end of our conversation, the word ‘exit’ cropped up and he pronounced it in the most unbelievably contorted way I had ever heard in my life (in my decency, I'd never even imagined you could such perverted things with 'exit'). I only guessed he meant that particular word, because it featured in his song, when it was pronounced in exactly the same outlandish, immigrant way. This time, I looked down on the guy (he was much shorter than me) and concluded: He should be deported, immediately.
("The Financial Times" crossword puzzle)
And just then, right at the end of our conversation, the word ‘exit’ cropped up and he pronounced it in the most unbelievably contorted way I had ever heard in my life (in my decency, I'd never even imagined you could such perverted things with 'exit'). I only guessed he meant that particular word, because it featured in his song, when it was pronounced in exactly the same outlandish, immigrant way. This time, I looked down on the guy (he was much shorter than me) and concluded: He should be deported, immediately.
("The Financial Times" crossword puzzle)
