This is a story about me when I was about 10, living in Australia. Three years had passed since my first encounter with English, and I was able to communicate without much problem at school.
One day when I was at home, the phone rang so I picked it up. I said in a cheerful voice, 'Hello?'. On the other end of the line, there was a voice of a man, a deep coarse voice, breathing heavily, and slowly and dirtily saying,
"I am wearing lady's underwear, all tattered and torn..."
I yelped, hung up the phone! What was that?!
I was only 10, and I had never had this kind call before. It was revolting, disgusting, I felt abused. All I could do was to cry and tell my parents what had happened.
After three years of education in a local primary school in Australia, ironically and unfortunately, my English was good enough to understand what the pervert was saying. If my English had not been that good, I would not have understood what had been said and the words would have not disturbed me.
Many years had passed since the call, but I still remember precisely, word for word, what I heard. It isn't a good memory at all, but I now think that I was sort of attracted to the alliteration of 'tattered and torn', that woodnote tone of the 't' sounds.
This pervert phone call became a subject of a talk among the Japanese families and friends circle. Some of the mothers felt sorry for me. One Japanese lady who was not so good in English said to me,
"Maki, so unfortunate that you understood English. If I had picked up the phone, I wouldn't have had the faintest clue what he was saying, and would have said 'Pardon? Pardon?' over and over, and it would have gotten rid of him!"
Sometimes it is better not to understand so much.
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