Thanks to the young lady who purchased Kathy Reichs' Grave Secrets and the young man who selected James Patterson's Lifeguard, co-written by Andrew Gross. And thanks to our Super, Lou, who passed Lifeguard along to me.
I set up today where Avenue Z and Sheepshead Bay Road meet, a place where, although it is in the middle of the block, people cross constantly. As I was standing there, I heard a familiar voice at my back. One of our building's porters, Frankie, is frequently singing in Spanish. It always brings a smile to my face and I call out: "Quien cante?" And he laughs and says: "Yo." He is a gentle soul, frequently smiling. His commute is two hours from his home in Jersey. He walks with a limp. At least one of his children is handicapped. And he remains positive, a lesson to us all. There he was, standing in the middle of the street, crooning, as cars passed in front and behind him. I didn't understand all of the lyrics, but one portion was clear: "...porque amor es importante y yo non quiero perderla." It loses its poetry in translation: "...because love is important and I don't want to lose her." Songs usually do. Volare is an exception. I've been hearing a lot of versions of Besame Mucho lately and the English lyrics, while good, don't measure up. None has managed to capture the beauty of "...Como esta noche se fuera la ultima vez," which, translated, is: "As if this night were the last time." Language and how it evolves is fascinating. Think of all the hip hop and web-related terms that have merged into the lexicon. Whenever I incorporate Italian into my novels and stories, it is the bastardized Sicilian I used and heard growing up. I call it Brooklyn Sicilian. I'm sure it riles or amuses those who speak proper Italian, but proper Italian would not be true in these instances.
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