高级英语阅读(下册)

　　《高级英语阅读（下册）》：　　So you'll have some idea of what this family talk I heard sounds like， I'll quote what my mother said during a recent conversation which I videotaped and then transcribed. During this conversation， my mother was talking about a political gangster in Shanghai who had the same last name as her family's， Du， and how the gangster in his early years wanted to be adopted by her family， which was rich by comparison. Later， the gangster became more powerful， far richer than my mother's family， and one day showed up at my mother's wedding to pay his respects. Here's what she said in part： "Du Yusong having business like fruit stand. Like off the street kind. He is Du like Du Zorig-but not Tsung-ming Island people. The local people call putong， the river east side， he belong to that side local people. 'rhat man want to ask Du Zong father take him in like become own family. Du Zong father wasn't look down on him， but didn't take seriously， until that man big like become a mafia. Now important person， very hard to inviting him. Chinese way， came only to show respect， don't stay for dinner. Respect for making big celebration， he shows up. Mean gives lots of respect. Chinese custom. Chinese social life that way. If too important won't have to stay too long. He come to my wedding. I didn't see， I heard it. I gone to boy's side， they have YMCA dinner. Chinese age I was nineteen. "　　You should know that my mother's expressive command of English belies how much she actually understands. She reads the Forbes report， listens to Wall Street Week， converses daily with her stockbroker， reads all of Shirley MacLaine's3 books with ease-all kinds of things I can't begin to understand. Yet some of my friends tell me they understand 50 percent ofwhat my mother says. Some say they understand 80 to 90 percent. Some say they understand none of it， as if she were speaking pure Chinese. But to me， my mother's English is perfectly clear， perfectly natural. It's my mother tongue. Her language， as I hear it， is vivid， direct9 full of observation and imagery. That was the language that helped shape the way I saw things， expressed things， made sense of the world.　　Lately， I've been giving more thought to the kind of English my mother speaks. Like others， I have described it to people as "broken" or " fractured" English. But I wince when I say that. It has always bothered me that I can think of no way to describe it other than "broken，" as ifit were damaged and needed to be fixed， as if it lacked a certain wholeness and soundness. I've heard other terms used， "limited English，" for example. But they seem just as bad， as if everything is limited， including people's perceptions of the limited English speaker.　　I know this for a fact， because when I was growing up， my mother's "limited" English limited my perception of her. I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say. That is， because she expressed them imperfectly her thoughts were imperfect. And I had plenty of empirical evidence to support me： the fact that people in department stores， at banks， and at restaurants did not take her seriously， did not give her good service， pretended not to understand her， or even acted as if they did not hear her.　　My mother has long realized the limitations of her English as well. When I was fifteen， she used to have me call people on the phone to pretend I was she. In this guise， I was forced to ask for information or even to complain and yell at people who had been rude to her. One time it was a call to her stockbroker in New York. She had cashed out her small portfolio4 and it just so happened we were going to go to New York the next week， our very first trip outside California. I had to get on the phone and say in an adolescent voice that was not very convincing，"This is Mrs. Tan. "　　And my mother was standing in the back whispering loudly， "Why he don't send me check， already two weeks late. So mad he lie to me， losing me money. "　　And then I said in perfect English， "Yes， I'm getting rather concerned. You had agreedto send the check two weeks ago， but it hasn't arrived. "　　Then she began to talk more loudly. "What he want， I come to New York tell him front of his boss， you cheating me?" And I was trying to calm her down， make her be quiet， while telling the stockbroker， "I can't tolerate any more excuses. Ifl don't receive the check immediately， I am going to have to speak to your manager when I'm in New York next week." And sure enough， the following week there we were in front of this astonished stockbroker， and I was sitting there red-faced and quiet， and my mother， the real Mrs. Tan， was shouting at his boss in her impeccable broken English.　　We used a similar routinejust five days ago， for a situation that was far less humorous. My mother had gone to the hospital for an appointment， to rind out about a benign brain tumor a CAT scan5 had revealed a month ago. She said she had spoken very good English， her best English， no mistakes. Still， she said， the hospital did not apologize when they said they had lost the CAT scan and she had come for nothing. She said they did not seem to have any sympathy when she told them she was anxious to know the exact diagnosis， since her husband and son had both died of brain tumors. She said they would not give her any more information until the next time and she would have to make another appointment for that. So she said she would not leave until the doctor called her daughter. She wouldn't budge. And when the doctor finally called her daughter， me， who spoke in perfect English-Io and behold-we had assurances the CAT scan would be found， promises that a conference call on Monday would be held， and apologies for any suffering my mother had gone through for a most regrettable mistake.　　……