Love is a Language

First Lesson

As it turned out, it was Pierre who made the first move about learning the other's language. He pulled Henry away from a group of people one day, sat him down, pointed to a random object (which happened to be an oddly shaped rock), and asked "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" in a slightly demanding tone. His eyes were determined and focused, boring into Henry's with an intensity he'd never seen before. He shrunk away slightly from his gaze, but Pierre just jabbed his finger at the rock again and repeated his question.

"U-uh..." Henry stuttered, "i-it's a rock." Pierre nodded slowly, and picked up the object in question. He turned it over in his small hands, examining its shape. Henry noticed with a bit of a start that it looked kind of like a misshapen heart. "L-little rocks are pebbles," he went on, "and big ones are...uh...big rocks..." He glanced at Pierre hesitantly. "D-do you get it now?" he asked tentatively.

"Rock." Pierre's voice was thoughtful as he tried out the new word. He looked up at Henry, pointing to the stone in his hand. "C'est rock." Henry's heart leapt and a smile broke out on his face. He did get it! He'd called it by the right word. Unable to help himself, he threw himself at the French boy and hugged him tightly. Pierre laughed, slightly winded but mostly happily surprised at the gesture of congratulations. When Henry pulled back to praise him he cut across him by saying "C'est pierre," and pointing at the rock again.

Henry didn't understand. Was Pierre naming the rock after himself? The idea made him giggle. "But Pierre's your name, silly!" he told him, grinning at the strangeness of the situation. Pierre simply jabbed his finger at the rock and repeated what he'd just said. Henry's grin slipped slightly, feeling much more confused. "Are you naming the rock?" he asked.

Pierre rolled his eyes, but didn't seem as frustrated as Henry probably would have been. He simply called the rock "pierre" again, patiently looking into Henry's eyes. "Je suis Pierre," he told him, putting a hand over his chest. Then, he pointed at the rock. "La rock," he went on, "est pierre aussi." He spoke gently, his eyes soft with patience. "Tu comprends?" he asked. "Rock est pierre, est je suis Pierre aussi."

Suddenly, it clicked. Henry's eyes went wide, and he took the rock from Pierre's hand. "So, rock in French means...pierre?" he asked hesitantly. "This is a pierre?" Pierre's eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly. Henry tilted his head to the side. "So, does Pierre mean rock?" he asked. Pierre nodded faster, though Henry wasn't entirely sure if he actually understood what he was saying. He tried again, pointing at the rock. "This is pierre," he said, then pointed to Pierre. "You're a rock?" he asked slowly, worried that he might hurt his feelings.

To his surprise, Pierre only laughed. "Oui!" he chirped, pointing at himself again. "Je suis une rock!" He laughed again and Henry giggled along with him. He guessed that Pierre hadn't been offended at all. In fact, he would have to say that Pierre was proud of what his name meant. He felt a little better about calling him a rock, though he wasn't going to use it a lot. Pierre tapped his shoulder to get his attention, then tugged lightly at the fabric of his worn-out shirt. "Une chemise," he said slowly, still tugging on it a little bit.

"Chemise," Henry repeated, wincing at how flat and dull he made the word sound. Pierre gave him a gentle smile, as if to reassure him that he sounded just fine. He gestured with his free hand at him, signalling Henry to give him the English word in return for the word he had just taught him. "Shirt," Henry said, following Pierre's lead and tugging on the older boy's sleeve. "This is a shirt." He wondered what the French word was for the tunic Pierre had worn on his first day.

"Shirt," Pierre murmured. "Elle est une shirt," Henry's heart stayed completely still while his stomach did a triple backflip. Somehow, Pierre managed to make even the simple English word sound very beautiful. When Pierre looked to him for approval he gave him a nervous smile and applauded him. Pierre beamed happily at the praise and looked around for things to name. His eyes fell on Henry's face and he reached out with both hands to gently touch the corners of Henry's eyes. "Yeux," he said.

Henry cocked his head. It sounded like Pierre had said 'you.' "I what?" he asked. Pierre shook his head and repeated the word, gently tapping at the corners of his eyes. The light went off in Henry's head and he copied Pierre's gesture, resting two fingers at the corners of the French boy's blue eyes. "Eyes," he told him. Pierre repeated the word and nodded to show that he understood. Now it was Henry's turn to choose a word. With a mischievous smile he reached out and tapped him on the nose, making the older boy go slightly cross-eyed. "Nose!" Henry giggled happily.

Pierre giggled as well. "Nose," he replied, tapping his own as he spoke. He poked Henry's nose a little, setting Henry off into another fit of giggles. "Nez," he said, smiling widely at Henry's merriment. Then he scooted forward and wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and pulled him into a warm hug. "Câlin," he murmured to him, his cheeks turning slightly pinker.

"Câlin," Henry repeated in a whisper, shyly wrapping his thin arms around Pierre. "Hug," he told him, his face turning red much faster than Pierre's. "This is a hug. And I like hugs a lot." He knew Pierre probably wouldn't understand the last part of what he said, but maybe that was why he'd told him that.

"'ug," Pierre repeated, grimacing at his pronunciation of the word. It sounded more like a noise than an action when he said it. He felt Henry squeeze him slightly tighter when he sensed his distaste, and he smiled a little at the quiet reassurance that it sounded okay to him. He pulled back from Henry a little, but still kept his arms around him. "Merci," he told him, a big smile on his face. "Merci beaucoup!"

Henry felt slightly proud that he recognized that one. Miss Trelawny had taught all of the children how to say thank you in French so that Pierre would at least understand that. He even remembered the response. "De rien!" he replied. Suddenly, they heard the clanging of a bell. It was the signal to come back inside to eat lunch. Pierre let go of him all the way, but he quickly latched on to Henry's hand. As they walked back into the orphanage, Henry saw Pierre put the heart-shaped rock from the beginning of their lesson into the pocket of his worn-out jeans.
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Translation Notes:
Qu'est-ce que c'est? What is it?
C'est... It is
C'est pierre. It's a stone.
...est pierre aussi. ...is rock also.
Tu comprends? Rock est pierre, est je suis Pierre aussi. You understand? Rock is stone, and I am 'rock' also. (It's a play on words. Pierre is the French word for stone. See Author's Notes)
Oui! Je suis une rock! Yes! I am a rock! (See Author's Notes)
Since most of the words they learn are translated into English, I'll just let you read the dialogue.
Merci. Merci beaucoup! Thank you. Thank you very much!
De rien! You're welcome!

Author's note: Just a head's up for my readers.  If I've made any mistakes with the French dialogue please don't hesitate to point them out. I am not a native French speaker, and I'm trying to relearn it at the moment. I'll take any suggestions about it to heart, especially since Pierre will be speaking in French for most of this story anyway.

'Pierre' really does mean 'rock.' I hadn't realized this when I started this chapter, and I just chose a rock as the object on a whim. A 'pierre' is actually a stone, but I decided that Pierre would have been taught both words when he was younger and stuck with pierre because that's his name. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that Pierre is the French variation on the name Peter. Peter also means rock, if I'm remembering correctly. An interesting play on words that I hadn't anticipated!