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LENGUA PARA DIABLO

(THE DEVIL ATE MY WORDS)

By: Merlinda Bobis

I suspected that my father sold his tongue to the devil. He had little say in our house. Whenever he felt
like disagreeing with my mother, he murmured, ‘The devil ate my words.’ This meant he forgot what he
was about to say and other was often appeased. There was more need for appeasement after he lost
his !ob.The devil ate his words, the devil ate his capacity for words, the devil ate his tongue. "ut perhaps
only after prior negotiation with its owner, what with other always complaining, ‘I’m already taking a
peek at hell#’ when it got too hot and stuffy in our tiny house. $he seemed to sweat more that summer,
and miserably. $he made it sound like %ather’s fault, so he ca!oled her with kisses and promises of an
electric fan, bigger windows, a bigger house, but she pushed him away, saying, ‘&et off me, I’m hot, ay,
this hellish life#’ 'gain he was ready to pledge relief, but something in my mother’s eyes made him
mutter only the usual e(cuse, ‘The devil ate my words,’ before he shut his mouth. Then he ran to the tap
to get her more water.

Lengua para diablo

) tongue for the devil. $urely he sold his tongue in e(change for those promises to my mother) comfort, a
full stomach, life without our wretched want . . . "ut the devil never delivered his side of the bargain.
The devil was alien to want. He lived in a $panish house and owned several stores in the city. This
$panish mesti*o was my father’s employer, but only for a very short while. He sacked him and our
neighbour Tiyo 'nding, also a mason, after he found a cheaper hand for the e(tension of his house.We
never knew the devil’s name. %ather was incapable of speaking it, more so after he came home and sat
in thedarkest corner of the house, and stared at his hands. It took him two days of silent staring before
he told my mother about his fate.I wondered how the devil ate my father’s tongue. +erhaps he cooked it
in mushroom sauce, in that special $panish way that they do o( tongue. %irst, it was scrupulously
cleaned, rubbed with salt and vinegar, blanched in boiling water, then scraped of its white coating  now,
imagine words scraped off the tongue, and even taste,our capacity for pleasure. In all those two days of
silent staring, %ather hardly ate. He said he had lost his taste for food, he was not hungry. -unior and ilo
were more than happy to demolish his share of gruel with fish sauce. ow after the thorough clean, the
tongue was pricked with a fork to allow the flavours of all the spices and condiments to penetrate the
flesh. Then it was browned in olive oil. How I wished we could prick my father’s tongue back to speech
and even hunger, but of course we couldn’t, because it had disappeared. It had been served on the
devil’s platter with garlic, onion, tomatoes, bay leaf, clove, peppercorns, soy sauce, even sherry, butter,
and grated edam cheese, with that aroma of something rich and foreign.His silent tongue was already
lu(uriating in a multitude of essences, pampered into a pi/uant delight.+erhaps, ne(t he should sell his
oesophagus, then his stomach. I would if I had the chance to be that pampered. To know for once what I
would never taste. I would be soaked, steamed, saut0ed, basted, baked, boiled, fried and feted with only
the perfect seasonings. I would become an epicure. 1n a rich man’s plate, I would be initiated to flavours
of only the finest /uality. In his stomach, I would be inducted to secrets. I would be ‘the inside girl’, and I
could tell you the true nature of sated affluence.

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