A brief trip to Cambridge, Massachusetts…a jaunt through Harvard Square after all the rain. It is muggy. We are tired. The relentless damp steams off the leftover sidewalk puddles and settles on our faces and spirits.
Suddenly, he strikes up a lively conversation with two Harvard custodians…one from Honduras, one from Mexico and now he joins in, bringing and cementing the twist of the island.
Surrounded by a thousand picture snapping visitors from Eastern portions of the world, I am odd woman out. From the edge of the sidewalk, I watch the last fat drops of silver rain plop off the ends of the branches hanging off the huge spreading tree under which the three kings stand and converse.
I listen and listen in the richly moistened elite air of Harvard Square. I hear the nuances and the differences within this linguistic circle of men and their conversation and I know for the first time I’m hearing a language which is no longer noise…
