Read Online The Sound of Language by Amulya Malladi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amulya Malladi
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simply said, “They are born knowing.”
It wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be. She was not stupid, though he'd had the feeling that she would be. He had thought she would not understand anything he said. She never got a whole sentence right, but she managed to communicate. Christina had said she had come to Denmark a few months before and had started going to the Sprogcentre just three to four months ago. So Gunnar was surprised at how much Danish she spoke and understood. He had always heard that Danish was a very difficult language to learn —everyone said so—and he assumed a foreigner would have a hard time learning it.
Once Julie had dated a Scottish man and he had given up learning Danish after a year because it had been so difficult. They had been living in London then and he had tried to learn Danish by taking classes there. Maybe it was easier for this girl because she was in Denmark. Maybe it was easier because she had no choice.
Gunnar got used to the Afghan girl and he looked forward to the days she came into his house and took some of the loneliness away. He hadn't realized how empty the house had been and now with her forcing her way in three times a week, a part of him wanted to wake up in the morning, drink coffee, have breakfast, even take care of his bees.
As he cooked a rather luxurious breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and toast for himself, he marveled at how young she looked —almost painfully young. There was a suppleness to her face, her eyes, and the way she carried herself. Beyond youth it spoke of innocence but he wondered how innocent she could be if she had witnessed any of the atrocities they said the Taliban had committed. He had watched enough TV to know what was happening in Afghanistan, how the United States Army was there, taking revenge for the attacks on their country.
Just the day before, he had seen a documentary on TV2 in which a British Muslim woman, a journalist, had taken a hidden camera into Afghanistan. He saw a woman being executed in a packed football stadium. For a moment he wondered what was happening and when they shot the woman he had stood up and stared at the television screen. This couldn't be, he thought, you can't just execute someone in public. The Afghan women in the documentary had no faces, no bodies, no feminine shapes, no visible identities as they hid behind black garments.
Had this Afghan girl also worn that black dress? Had she been scared that she might be executed in a football stadium?
A Danish journalist who had been to Afghanistan had been interviewed after the documentary was shown and he had, to Gunnar's shock, said that executions were big entertainment in Kabul when the Taliban ruled Afghanistan.
Gunnar would never have paid this much attention to someplace so far away except that someone from that place was now in his life.
He sat down and finished the breakfast he'd cooked for himself. Gunnar turned the radio up to keep him company and listened to Danish pop songs and English ones. Almost everyone was calling everyone “baby” these days, he thought as he enjoyed the succulent breakfast sausages he had taken from the freezer. Maria had made sure over Christmas that the freezer was as well stocked as it had been when Anna was alive.
Gunnar poured himself another cup of coffee after finishing his breakfast and felt content. The breakfast was flawless, he decided, just like it was when Anna cooked it.
· · ·
“Will we saw bees today?” Raihana asked him.
He had come with her to the garage—because the idea of sitting inside his house after that fabulous breakfast seemed untenable.
The weather had been quite good this year, which meant that he should have checked on his colonies in February to see if they needed food after the long winter. He was sure some of his colonies had starved to death and those that had survived would have picked up enough pollen and nectar from the first flowers in bloom—the small
It wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be. She was not stupid, though he'd had the feeling that she would be. He had thought she would not understand anything he said. She never got a whole sentence right, but she managed to communicate. Christina had said she had come to Denmark a few months before and had started going to the Sprogcentre just three to four months ago. So Gunnar was surprised at how much Danish she spoke and understood. He had always heard that Danish was a very difficult language to learn —everyone said so—and he assumed a foreigner would have a hard time learning it.
Once Julie had dated a Scottish man and he had given up learning Danish after a year because it had been so difficult. They had been living in London then and he had tried to learn Danish by taking classes there. Maybe it was easier for this girl because she was in Denmark. Maybe it was easier because she had no choice.
Gunnar got used to the Afghan girl and he looked forward to the days she came into his house and took some of the loneliness away. He hadn't realized how empty the house had been and now with her forcing her way in three times a week, a part of him wanted to wake up in the morning, drink coffee, have breakfast, even take care of his bees.
As he cooked a rather luxurious breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and toast for himself, he marveled at how young she looked —almost painfully young. There was a suppleness to her face, her eyes, and the way she carried herself. Beyond youth it spoke of innocence but he wondered how innocent she could be if she had witnessed any of the atrocities they said the Taliban had committed. He had watched enough TV to know what was happening in Afghanistan, how the United States Army was there, taking revenge for the attacks on their country.
Just the day before, he had seen a documentary on TV2 in which a British Muslim woman, a journalist, had taken a hidden camera into Afghanistan. He saw a woman being executed in a packed football stadium. For a moment he wondered what was happening and when they shot the woman he had stood up and stared at the television screen. This couldn't be, he thought, you can't just execute someone in public. The Afghan women in the documentary had no faces, no bodies, no feminine shapes, no visible identities as they hid behind black garments.
Had this Afghan girl also worn that black dress? Had she been scared that she might be executed in a football stadium?
A Danish journalist who had been to Afghanistan had been interviewed after the documentary was shown and he had, to Gunnar's shock, said that executions were big entertainment in Kabul when the Taliban ruled Afghanistan.
Gunnar would never have paid this much attention to someplace so far away except that someone from that place was now in his life.
He sat down and finished the breakfast he'd cooked for himself. Gunnar turned the radio up to keep him company and listened to Danish pop songs and English ones. Almost everyone was calling everyone “baby” these days, he thought as he enjoyed the succulent breakfast sausages he had taken from the freezer. Maria had made sure over Christmas that the freezer was as well stocked as it had been when Anna was alive.
Gunnar poured himself another cup of coffee after finishing his breakfast and felt content. The breakfast was flawless, he decided, just like it was when Anna cooked it.
· · ·
“Will we saw bees today?” Raihana asked him.
He had come with her to the garage—because the idea of sitting inside his house after that fabulous breakfast seemed untenable.
The weather had been quite good this year, which meant that he should have checked on his colonies in February to see if they needed food after the long winter. He was sure some of his colonies had starved to death and those that had survived would have picked up enough pollen and nectar from the first flowers in bloom—the small
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