An Earnest Parable

Merlinda Bobis

As it was his turn that day to lose his tongue, he had a breakfast, the creamiest latik, a dish
of sticky rice in coconut milk, served with a large, ripe mango. Then he sang two serenades
about love and volcanoes in the Philippines. He was making the most of his chance for taste and
speech, because an hour later, his Sri Lankan neighbor would be at the door, awaiting her turn.
Already, she would be dreaming of pappadums and curries, not quite as spicy as her dialect,
which would melt on the much-awaited tongue. Their communal tongue.

Bessel Street’s most prestigious possession. Last week, it lodged with the Italian butcher
who earlier had picked it up from the Australian couple. The butcher was not one to waste time.
Immediately, he laid this soft pink with the previous owner’s steak and peppercorns, inside his
mouth. Then he ran to the mirror with his wife and three daughters and began savouring his first
words after weeks of silence: “bellisima, bellisima!” The whole family marveled at how, like a
pink animal, the tongue rolled its tip to the roof of the mouth in an intimate curl- “belllllllll-
isima…” Then they passed the tongue around, taking turns to relish the old, native sounds, after
which they dined on home-made pasta in piquant marinara sauce.

The residents of Bessel Street were kin in tongue. The pink flesh toured up and down that
street, went into homes, into mouths of different origins. There was the baker from Turkey, the
Filipino cook, the Australian couple with fish shop, the Italian butcher and the Sri Lankan tailor.

One tongue for five homes. Not really an inconvenient arrangement, mind you. Of course,
when the tongue was accommodated elsewhere, one could not eat with the usual joys of the
palate. But the pleasure of the ear was enough compensation. Every tongue-owner’s soundings,
especially those that were heard as foreign noises, seemed to orchestrate in everyone else’s
middle ear into something intimate and comforting. This was inevitable for, muted at different
times, they learned how to listen intently to whoever had the chance for speech or song- and how
they spoke and sang and even told stories, usually with brief words of beauty and kindness. The
moment of speech was too dear to be wasted on loose, heart-less talk. It was a shame not to do
justice to the little, pink animal in the mouth.

Thus everyone spoke, ate, listened with care and passion, and shared various languages and
delicacies. Last week, for instance, the word “bella” found its way into Turkish ditty whose
refrain would later inspire the new name of the Australian fish shop, which supplied the mussels
for the butcher’s marinara that sneaks into the Filipino chef’s kitchen, where it was blessed- Dios
mabalos!
As an afterthought, with a dollop of coconut cream and some red chillies, well, to give it teeth,
the Sri Lankan reckoned before the dish was resurrected among the pides of the Turkish baker.

Indeed, on their respective days of owning the tongue, each of the neighbours could not
help but echo the mouth of the previous owner. The Italian family eventually developed a taste
for the occasional cardamom tea, the Filipino adventurously spread some Vegemite on his pan
de sal and, at one time, the Australian couple stirred fish heads into their sour soup. Meanwhile,
the Sri Lankan began hosting summer feats by the Barbie, and the Turkish baker even serenaded
his wife with songs about love and volcanoes as he prepared a tray of almond biscotti for the
oven.

You see, the tongue had an excellent memory. Even when it had moved to a new mouth, it
still evoked the breath of spices, sweets and syllables of the former host. It was never known to
forget anything, least of all the fact that it was once the soft pink flesh of a South Coast mollusc;
it yielded itself to a higher good one winter night when the ocean was formidably wild. The six
households understood this origin in their mouths. The tongue was the gift of the landscape. The
pides and gulab jamuns, the daily bonjournos and even the highly spiced takable tang of
Australian surf and grit-truly, like surf, after this home truth was dramatised on TV’s latest
culinary show, the heart of one viewing nation swelled and swelled with pride.