Spanglish
When it came to hopeless cases, Antonio was the most hopeless of them all when it came to learning English.
His excuse was that he couldn’t learn it because his teachers were always changing-they had to change to keep his secret-so he never learned English outside of a few phrases his teaches had used. He reasoned that French was easier to learn because he always had his brother, who would visit him as often as he was allowed and give him personal lessons. His brother was the best French teacher of them all-afterall, who better to learn French from than the kingdom of France himself? With this in mind, Antonio’s queen decided to borrow the island kingdom himself to teach her dear boy.
It was difficult at first. Arthur’s Spanish was practiced and obviously learned from a book- unfit for normal conversation and aside from that, his accent was thick and distracting. Antonio’s English was hardly any better if not worse; not only was it poor and his accent impossibly thick, he spoke it quickly as if he were speaking Spanish and to Arthur, that’s exactly what it sounded like: Like Spanish gibberish.
For a week, the two were as polite as their queens had told them to be. Awkwardly, they tried to communicate with one another, Arthur struggling with his Spanish and Antonio with his English.
Sometimes Arthur would get his tenses confused and place the nouns after the adjectives as if he were speaking Spanish with English rules. At those times, Antonio tried his best to understand (because to be honest, Arthur’s elementary learning was just enough to get by) but Arthur would always become embarrassed the instant Antonio tilted his head curiously to one side (which meant he didn’t understand). When this happened, Arthur would rub his forehead and curse in English about how much he hated Spanish. When he did this, the curious look on Antonio’s face would fade to a smile because by then, he had pieced together what the other boy meant and he would respond to the best of his ability.
Antonio would always start off slowly and when he did this, his English was understandable and not bad at all, albeit accented which Arthur would not fault him on. However, Antonio was easily excited and had much to say so he would gradually speak faster, his accent becoming stronger, his words running together, English blending with Spanish, and Arthur swore the other boy had a lisp at some points. Arthur would look confused and he would stay that way for some time before Antonio realized and he would backtrack, trying to speak slowly and thinking about his words. He rarely found the English translations in his mind so he would ask, “¿Como se dice?” and try to ask with hand gestures that were just as alien to Arthur. Antonio’s actions confirmed to Arthur that body language, like language, was different for most nations. He had learned this from Francis years earlier but Francis was strange and he assumed it was only a French thing until now.
After the first week, the two came to the agreement that neither would get very far trying to speak their respective languages. Arthur scratched his head for some time before he finally asked Antonio if he spoke any other languages. The Spaniard responded that his Latin was good and Arthur shook his head no because while his Latin was fine, God forbid he try to speak it around Antonio! He was sure the Spanish boy would put him to shame as if he were speaking to the Italy brothers themselves.
Antonio laughed at this and teased at the other boy to speak it with him until Arthur changed the subject, asking him if he spoke French. To this, Antonio smiled instantly-for once! There was no confusion! - and he said he did. From that point on, the two agreed to conduct lessons in French.
“Rose.” Arthur repeated with a tired sigh, and explained in English, “We don’t roll our R’s in English.”
“I’m not rolling my R’s, Arturo!” Antonio complained back in English and Arthur sighed again. After one summer, Antonio had picked up enough to the point the Englishboy couldn’t even complain in English without Antonio understanding the basic meaning.
“Arthur! My name is Arthur! How would you feel if I called you Anthony?”
At the anglicized name, Antonio twisted his face. “Arth-thur!” He tried, struggling so much that a normally controlled lisp was obvious to hear. Arthur was very aware of the lisp but it was impossible to keep that in mind when dealing with Antonio.
“Ar-thur! By God, you’re hopeless.” For the rest of the day, Arthur had the Spaniard practicing tongue twisters and his name for hours. He scolded and corrected Antonio with tried patience. He did this almost everyday as it was something that always came up but he decided to stop when Francis sat in on the two of them one day, lazily twirling at a blonde curl and teased,
“I think you do it because you like it when he speaks those words. Toni’s accent is cute, no, Ar-tu-ro?”
Arthur swore that wasn’t the reason and that it was for Antonio’s sake but from that day on, he never raised the issue again in his lessons.
“Teach me something useful.” Antonio demanded one day and Arthur scowled.
“And the last two seasons were useless?”
“But there are more important things!”
Arthur was no stranger to the argument as he had once had the same with Francis and his other language professors before. Crossing his arms, he tried to stand firm and follow his lesson plans but Antonio looked up at Arthur with bright, eager eyes and he found himself thinking of- Oh, God- a puppy. “Like what?” He finally asked.
“Kiss me.”
“Pardon?”
“How do you say, ‘kiss me.’”
“That isn’t important!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it isn’t!”
“It is to me!”
The two bickered in French about the importance of the phrase before Arthur gave in, “When you can have a conversation with my ambassador in English. Now pay attention to what I’m trying to teach you!”
A century later, when the two were perfectly fluent in each other’s language, the two still bickered in French.
Antonio called it a bastard language and claimed that speaking it should be a sin in itself. Arthur called it the language of mutts and would bark sarcastically to see if Antonio would understand. Each time, the other would curse in their own language and the other would scream back,
"I can understand you!"
His excuse was that he couldn’t learn it because his teachers were always changing-they had to change to keep his secret-so he never learned English outside of a few phrases his teaches had used. He reasoned that French was easier to learn because he always had his brother, who would visit him as often as he was allowed and give him personal lessons. His brother was the best French teacher of them all-afterall, who better to learn French from than the kingdom of France himself? With this in mind, Antonio’s queen decided to borrow the island kingdom himself to teach her dear boy.
It was difficult at first. Arthur’s Spanish was practiced and obviously learned from a book- unfit for normal conversation and aside from that, his accent was thick and distracting. Antonio’s English was hardly any better if not worse; not only was it poor and his accent impossibly thick, he spoke it quickly as if he were speaking Spanish and to Arthur, that’s exactly what it sounded like: Like Spanish gibberish.
For a week, the two were as polite as their queens had told them to be. Awkwardly, they tried to communicate with one another, Arthur struggling with his Spanish and Antonio with his English.
Sometimes Arthur would get his tenses confused and place the nouns after the adjectives as if he were speaking Spanish with English rules. At those times, Antonio tried his best to understand (because to be honest, Arthur’s elementary learning was just enough to get by) but Arthur would always become embarrassed the instant Antonio tilted his head curiously to one side (which meant he didn’t understand). When this happened, Arthur would rub his forehead and curse in English about how much he hated Spanish. When he did this, the curious look on Antonio’s face would fade to a smile because by then, he had pieced together what the other boy meant and he would respond to the best of his ability.
Antonio would always start off slowly and when he did this, his English was understandable and not bad at all, albeit accented which Arthur would not fault him on. However, Antonio was easily excited and had much to say so he would gradually speak faster, his accent becoming stronger, his words running together, English blending with Spanish, and Arthur swore the other boy had a lisp at some points. Arthur would look confused and he would stay that way for some time before Antonio realized and he would backtrack, trying to speak slowly and thinking about his words. He rarely found the English translations in his mind so he would ask, “¿Como se dice?” and try to ask with hand gestures that were just as alien to Arthur. Antonio’s actions confirmed to Arthur that body language, like language, was different for most nations. He had learned this from Francis years earlier but Francis was strange and he assumed it was only a French thing until now.
After the first week, the two came to the agreement that neither would get very far trying to speak their respective languages. Arthur scratched his head for some time before he finally asked Antonio if he spoke any other languages. The Spaniard responded that his Latin was good and Arthur shook his head no because while his Latin was fine, God forbid he try to speak it around Antonio! He was sure the Spanish boy would put him to shame as if he were speaking to the Italy brothers themselves.
Antonio laughed at this and teased at the other boy to speak it with him until Arthur changed the subject, asking him if he spoke French. To this, Antonio smiled instantly-for once! There was no confusion! - and he said he did. From that point on, the two agreed to conduct lessons in French.
“Rose.” Arthur repeated with a tired sigh, and explained in English, “We don’t roll our R’s in English.”
“I’m not rolling my R’s, Arturo!” Antonio complained back in English and Arthur sighed again. After one summer, Antonio had picked up enough to the point the Englishboy couldn’t even complain in English without Antonio understanding the basic meaning.
“Arthur! My name is Arthur! How would you feel if I called you Anthony?”
At the anglicized name, Antonio twisted his face. “Arth-thur!” He tried, struggling so much that a normally controlled lisp was obvious to hear. Arthur was very aware of the lisp but it was impossible to keep that in mind when dealing with Antonio.
“Ar-thur! By God, you’re hopeless.” For the rest of the day, Arthur had the Spaniard practicing tongue twisters and his name for hours. He scolded and corrected Antonio with tried patience. He did this almost everyday as it was something that always came up but he decided to stop when Francis sat in on the two of them one day, lazily twirling at a blonde curl and teased,
“I think you do it because you like it when he speaks those words. Toni’s accent is cute, no, Ar-tu-ro?”
Arthur swore that wasn’t the reason and that it was for Antonio’s sake but from that day on, he never raised the issue again in his lessons.
“Teach me something useful.” Antonio demanded one day and Arthur scowled.
“And the last two seasons were useless?”
“But there are more important things!”
Arthur was no stranger to the argument as he had once had the same with Francis and his other language professors before. Crossing his arms, he tried to stand firm and follow his lesson plans but Antonio looked up at Arthur with bright, eager eyes and he found himself thinking of- Oh, God- a puppy. “Like what?” He finally asked.
“Kiss me.”
“Pardon?”
“How do you say, ‘kiss me.’”
“That isn’t important!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it isn’t!”
“It is to me!”
The two bickered in French about the importance of the phrase before Arthur gave in, “When you can have a conversation with my ambassador in English. Now pay attention to what I’m trying to teach you!”
A century later, when the two were perfectly fluent in each other’s language, the two still bickered in French.
Antonio called it a bastard language and claimed that speaking it should be a sin in itself. Arthur called it the language of mutts and would bark sarcastically to see if Antonio would understand. Each time, the other would curse in their own language and the other would scream back,
"I can understand you!"