Bridge of Words: Esperanto and the Dream of a Universal Language

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Russian. “Привет.”

“Preevyet. Hello,” I said.

She smiled. “My name is Ekaterina, I am from Alma Ata. Where

are you from?” She seemed to be rummaging for more English

words, but after “Do you speak Esperanto?” the pantry was bare.

Laughing, I asked, “Français?” but she wasn’t joking.

“Ne, ne,” she said deliberately, her gray eyes narrowing, “Es-per-

AN-to.” One of us, I was sure, was ridiculous, but who? She,

speaking to me in a pretend language? I, ignorant of Russian,

Kazakh, and Esperanto, in my red Wellingtons, got up as

Paddington Bear? Even as we shook hands and parted ways, the

conversation was swiftly becoming an anecdote, a story to tell next

week at the Swan over a pint of bitter.

Twenty-five years later, with prodigal sons of my own, I stood at

what might have been, for all I knew, the grave of Esperanto itself,

and thought of Ekaterina. She’d be in her late forties now, her

forehead lined, her hair graying or, more likely, rinsed flame-red.