D’fhás mé aníos i bPoblacht na Seice i dtimpeallacht aon-teangach Seicise. Ba í an Rúisis an chéad teanga a ndearna mé staidéar uirthi, ach mar a tharla, ba í an chéad bhliain sin an t-aon bhliain a chaith mé á foghlaim de bharr na Réabhlóide Veilbhite. Scriosamar an t-eagrán deireanach den iris Rúisise, a raibh síntiús éigeantach ag an scoil di, sa rang mar cheiliúradh. Mheabhraigh ár múinteoir go gaoiseach dúinn go mb’fhéidir go mbeadh cúpla focal Rúisise úsáideach amach anseo. Ar ndóigh, bhí ár dtuairimí féin againn faoi sin. Chuimhnigh mé ar an nóiméad sin, áfach, fiche bliain ina dhiaidh sin agus mé ag déanamh iarrachta ciall a dhéanamh de na hainmneacha Rúisise ar cháis agus mé in ollmhargadh ina raibh na lipéidí uilig i Rúisis agus in Eabhrais ann. Ní hea, níorbh é gur dhúisigh mé i dtromluí de chuid Kafka ach go raibh mé ag obair san Iosrael ag an am. Fiú le scór bliain eadrainn, bhí an aibítir Choireallach níos sothuigthe dom ná aibítir na hEabhraise, a raibh mé díreach tar éis tosnú á foghlaim. Bhí tréimhse shuimiúil agam ó thaobh na dteangacha de sa scór bliain idir an chéad agus an dara huair gur bhuail mé leis an Rúisis. I lár na 90idí, bhog mé go dtí na Stáit Aontaithe le dul i mbun staidéir. Sara i bhfad, b’é an Béarla an teanga ba líofa agam sa scríbhneoireacht; i ndiaidh cúpla bliain eile ba í an teanga ab fhearr ar fad agam í. In ainneoin na comhairle dea-mhéiní a tugadh dom, agus na míbhuntáistí a bhí orm, bheartaigh mé staidéar a dhéanamh ar litríocht na Breataine agus í a mhúineadh ina dhiaidh sin, rud a fhágann go bhfuil údarás agam i saol an Bhéarla ar bhealach aisteach. Go teicniúil, ní cainteoir dúchais mé: thosaigh mé á fhoghlaim go ródhéanach agus ní bhfuair mé tumoideachas ann go ceann i bhfad eile. Níl aon áit i ndomhan an Bhéarla go ndéarfaí go bhfuil blas na háite agam. É sin ráite, mairim trí mheán an Bhéarla — ag an obair, sa bhaile (is Sasanach é m’fhear céile), agus i m’inchinn féin. Nuair a d’eitil mé go Baile Átha Cliath don agallamh i gColáiste na Tríonóide, thug mé suntas don fhógra custaim a deir: ‘Point of No Return’ (nó an ‘Returning’ a dúirt sé?). Ag breathnú siar, dea-thuar a bhí ann: tugadh an post dom. Meabhraíonn an chuimhne sin dom na turais uilig a thóg mé tríd, chuig, agus ó theangacha éagsúla. Tar éis an tsaoil, is mó ‘Point of No Return’ a scarann na teangacha agus na blasanna a labhraíonn muid inniu agus iad siúd a labhróidh muid amárach, ó na teangacha agus blasanna nach labhraíonn muid a thuilleadh, nó nár labhair riamh, agus nach labhróidh. I grew up in the Czech Republic in a monolingual Czech-speaking environment. The first language I studied was Russian, but my first year of Russian turned out to be my last because it was also the year of the Velvet Revolution. In class we celebrated by defacing the final issue of the Russian magazine to which we had compulsorily subscribed. Our teacher wisely reminded us that one day we may find our bit of Russian useful. We naturally had our own opinion on this. I remembered this moment, however, when almost exactly twenty years later I found myself deciphering the Russian names of cheeses at a grocery shop where the deli counter bore signs in Russian and Hebrew. No, I had not woken up in a Kafkaesque nightmare; I had just moved to Israel for work. And even through the haze of two decades the Cyrillic alphabet was easier to summon than the Hebrew one I had recently started learning. The two decades between my first acquaintance with Russian and my brief reunion with it were eventful for me, linguistically speaking. In the mid-90s I moved to the US to study. English soon overtook Czech as the language I could most fluently write in; after a few years English became the language I could most readily speak. Against all kinds of odds and more or less well-meant advice I chose to study and then teach British literature, which has put me into a peculiar position of authority in relation to English. I am not technically a native speaker: I started to learn English too late and became fully immersed in it even later to meet the usual criteria. My accent will not pass for local anywhere in the Anglophone world. Yet English is the language I inhabit - at work, at home (my husband is English), and in my mind. When I flew to Dublin for my interview at Trinity, a sign in the customs marking a Point of No Return (or was it Returning?) caught my attention. In retrospect this sign was a good omen: I got the job. That sign and that moment also make me think of the journeys I have taken through, to, and from different languages. For countless points of no return separate the languages and accents we speak today and will speak tomorrow from the ones we no longer speak or never have and never will. 23
TCD Multilingual 2015
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