We do not need words.

Christopher is a cute three-and-a-half year old Polish boy with a funny hat.  He came and stood next to my seat and looked at me while sitting at a gathering.  Then, he started talking to me in Polish.  "No polska, angielski", I told him with a smile.  He did not mind, he kept talking to me in Polish.  I looked at his mother. She translated, "he wants to go to the garden with you". I laughed, and agreed, wondering how he chose me and came to me.  Seems like no matter where I go I have to spend time with the kids.  He was obviously thrilled, leading the way and constantly talking.  He knew I did not understand, his mother had told him, but he was telling me stories or something.  We went to the garden, and he points to the playground as he was still talking.  At the end of a sentence, he asked "Tak? Tak?", I agreed to take him to the play ground, "Tak!".  He uses a few English words he had learned in school, showing off his English.  Soon his dad came and I was relieved that I did not have to spend the whole day with him.  I went back to my table.  A while later, tea and desert was being severed.  There he appeared next to me again, with the same request, to go to the garden and playground with me.  "After I finish my tea", I told his mother to translate.  He went away as a sign of understanding and respecting my request.  He came and went three times before my tea was finished.  Kids are something.

The time for saying goodbyes arrived and little Christopher came and stood in front of me and stared at me.  I gave him a big kiss and said goodbye.  The grandmother of the family hugged me and kissed me so hard I felt her bony cheeks and my glasses came off.  "Do not damage her", my brother-in-law said.  "Everyone wants to kiss you", he joked.  Christopher's parents did not bring him to the wedding that followed that gathering, worried that I would have had to babysit him during the whole party.

Elizabetha is the mother of the groom, the lady of the family I was staying with. She knows Polish and Italian, and only a few words in English.  I know English and only a few broken words in Italian and Polish.   In the wedding, Christopher's mom wondered how I communicated with Elizabetha everyday at home.  I had to think to respond.  I was amazed I really did not have any problems communicating with her.  I could ask her what time we were leaving the house for a gathering by pointing to the clock and she would tell me the numbers, one for the hour, one for the minutes. We would have a coffee together at three p.m. every day.  I would ask her if my dress was appropriate for an occasion and she would tell me "formale", or "no formale" so that I know how formal the gathering was and how I should dress. When I was not sure about my appearance, she would reassure me "bene Nargess, bene".  We would even gossip after a party about the guests.  I would say the name of a lady and then ask her how old she was or how many kids she had.  "Christina.  Jasmine?", with Jasmine representing babies.  She would say "Uno", or "Tre".  She would ask me how well was the English of the people I talked to.  "Magda, English,  Bene?".  "Bene", I would say.  She would put food on the table for me and say "eat, Nargess, eat".  I even learned that she used to work in Italy and that is how she knows Italian, and that she likes Italy a lot.  She would ask me about my work and if I liked it or not.  All these without a full sentence in one language, rather by borrowing words from three different languages and pointing at things.  We even afforded to taarof a lot despite the language barriers, a tradition that Polish people share with Persians.  I learned it is more important that people be willing to learn about each other and listen to each other than really know the same language, for we always find a way to communicate if we wish to.  The day after the wedding, she missed her son. For the first time in twenty seven years he was not there and this time he was gone for good.  She broke to tears at breakfast table.  I reassured her he is still in Lublin, Poland. He is close, he comes to see her. "Lublin, no America", I told her as I gave her a kiss.  With her teary eyes she pointed to the telephone and told me "Nargess, Mama", asking me to call my mother.  A mother in Poland felt for a mother in Iran.  We talked together and felt together.  It was amazing. 

The day for saying goodbyes arrived and Elizabetta cried for my departure.  And for the first time after so many years, in fact since thirteen years ago when I left Iran for America, I cried when leaving for a trip