Allured by flamenco and two rich ladies
If I had known it, I would have sellotaped my mouth, so that my har-de-har wouldn't scare our kitten; I would have sat on another chair, so that my computer chair wouldn't turn upside down as I burst out in laughter.
As usual, I got myself a cup of tea after getting up and turned on the computer to browse through the MSN. Suddenly, a friend shook my screen: "It's said you are patronized by two rich ladies!"
I thought he was joking and paid no heed. But he persisted. I had to tell him, although I might have fancied such an ideal occasionally, I never put it into practice.
But the friend concluded all those involved in such events would only deny it. He declared: The news is spread far and wide - there is no use denying.
My wife and I giggled our way to work. Soon we ran into another friend who sniggered at me with joy and jealousy: "Is it true that two rich ladies support you?"
Good heavens! My MSN friend was right. I have been tagged as a protg of two certain matrons. My mouth ran dry as I tried in vain to pull my friend out of the misunderstanding.
As I asked for my way from another acquaintance, he who never snickers sneered: "You are keeping a low profile - you still take a bus when two rich madams back you up?"
I collapsed.
I have participated in the spread of numerous rumors and know fully well even the wildest innuendo stems from certain distorted facts. Yet I racked my brains and couldn't figure out the source of my disreputation.
My better half offered help: "If I were one of the two rich ladies, who could the other be? Why must there be two? Is there a misunderstanding about our trip with my girlfriend? If I were a rich lady, how easy it is to become a rich lady! Do I really look like a rich lady? Are they saying I'm fat?"
Thanks to my wife's amazing analysis, before we fell asleep, she cracked this puzzle. A few days ago, we watched a show by Vicente Amigo, flamenco guitar master from Spain. As my wife interviewed the virtuoso, I stayed outside waiting.
A Spanish young man who had sung in the show slipped out. Two women, apparently attracted by his voice and muscle, engaged him for a chat beside their BMW. Yet the man couldn't speak English, nor could the ladies speak Spanish.
I always pride myself with a spirit of Lei Feng, so I offered help with a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese. Finally, the young man jumped in and the BMW dashed into the night.
My wife related this overture happily on MSN. Little would either of us predict the dramatic turn of events.
I used to love a game: An American asks a German to translate an English poem, then a French goes on to translate it. After going through dozens of lingual twists, the poem is back in English, but in completely different words and meaning.
But my experience proves, even in my mother tongue, transfiguration could lead the message to backfire.
(China Daily 05/25/2007 page20)
