Life of Hardin Vol. III, No. 1

"Fuerza, Paraguay!"

fuerza. A Spanish word meaning strength or force, in context. Shouted at the top of the lungs during soccer matches, especially during the hysteria of the World Cup.

Although books have been written on how to improve it and wives have complained for centuries that their husbands suffer from a complete ignorance of it, communication is not a difficult task. Even in a foreign country, it can be accomplished with the least bit of exertion. You simply have to speak the other person's language . . . even if you don't speak their language.

Take my own example. The 2006 World Cup was in full swing, and I was in the midst of my first day out and about by myself in Asuncion, the capital city of Paraguay. I had a list of errands to run. These included a trip to the grocery and a stop downtown to pick up the official translations of my visa documentation. The latter I attempted first because it was nearly siesta time and I needed my papers before the translator closed. I entered the bottom floor of the office building. The guard barked the command to stop before I had taken two steps. His inky dark eyes scowled at me from below his beetling brow. Did I have business in the building? I saw over his shoulder the tiny black-and-white television set. Rabbit ears poked from its top and sent to the screen a snowy picture of the just begun Paraguay World Cup match. The guard glowered. I pointed to the name of the translator on the big building registry on the wall. The guard grunted and spun back to the game.

Up the elevator I went. The office door stood closed and forbidding. I entered without knocking. Three men sat behind desks, all focused on the tiny color TV against the far wall. Rabbit ears poked from its top and sent a snowy picture to the screen. No one turned to me. I asked, in English, for my paperwork. The oldest man grumbled in a German accent, rifled through a folder, and handed me my papers. I paid him 130,000 Guaranies, and he spun back to the game. I mumbled thanks and headed for the door. No answer. I had one dejected foot in the hallway when genius struck me. I spun back around.

"Fuerza!" I shouted.

The clouds lifted! Light shone down from above! All eyes turned to me and three fists shot up into the air. "Fuerza Paraguay!"

I passed the guard downstairs. His beady eyes glanced to the side at me.

"Fuerza!" I yelled.

He leapt from his chair. "Fuerza Paraguay!" He beamed upon me as though at the return of the prodigal.

I walked down the street back to the car. The sidewalk vendors all watched their wares with one eye. The other stayed glued to the televisions behind the big glass walls of the stores on the street. I caught a glimpse of a Paraguayan player as he fell to the ground, the ball stolen from him.

"Fuerza!" I shouted.

"Fuerza Paraguay!” erupted the chorus.

At the grocery I bought a bag of fresh bread, two bags of skim milk, onions, tomatoes, apples, and eggs. The cashier told me the price. I understood not one word, so I cheated by looking at the price on the register screen. Who really needs to know the language anyway? The bag boy packed my things up and started to lift them. I stopped him.

Feeling confident, I told him: "Yo puedo lo." He stared at me. The sound of money changing stopped. The back of my neck froze under the icy glares of 50 Paraguayans. I heard the milk curdle in my bag.

"Fuerza?" I squeaked and snuck out the door.

I don't know why God bothered at Babel. I didn't want to talk to anybody anyway.