At first they had spent a short while reviewing the words and basic phrases Carter had learned two days earlier. Before long Rosa moved on, introducing him to new words, the names of other objects around the room, and in particular the verbs essere (to be) and avere (to have). Carter focused with all his might, listening to every word, struggling to keep his mind from wandering, for Rosa demanded concentration every moment. He was like a coach, constantly pushing, cajoling, bullying, anything to keep his athlete motivated and moving in the right direction. Now and then the professor would grow impatient, waiting for a response, and Carter very quickly grew accustomed to the sight of him rapping his pencil against the pad with one hand while gesturing with the other for him to “ripeta, ripeta!”

Although he had at times felt a bit overwhelmed, Carter could not help feeling that things had, for the most part, gone fairly well that first lesson. They had moved steadily along—that was, at least, until they came to the personal pronouns. Carter readily grasped io (I) and tu (you), but for some reason, perhaps fatigue and the gnaw of hunger in the pit of his stomach, the third person threw him. From beneath the coffee table, Rosa had produced a page with black and white drawings of people in various situations. One depicted some children waiting for a school bus; another showed a gentleman and a lady sitting at a café; a third, a police officer directing traffic. He kept pointing to the men and boys, saying “lui” this or “lui” that. Carter did his best to understand, but he was confused, and he found himself wondering, Who’s Louie? Which one is he? At last he shook his head and asked, “Chi è Louie?” (Who is Louie?)

Rosa, of course, heard, “Chi è lui?” (Who is he?) He persisted in pointing to the various pictures, saying in Italian, “He is a policeman. He is a husband. He is a boy.” Meantime, Carter persisted in not understanding, and his professor grew visibly agitated. For the next several minutes they went back and forth, confusing lui and Louie, the two of them sounding for all the world like Abbott and Costello doing their “Who’s on First?” routine. This went on for quite some time, until a puzzled Rosa finally stopped and gaped in exasperation at his student. Then, unexpectedly, his expression changed to one of bemusement as it dawned on him just what the trouble had been. He looked to be on the verge of bursting out in laughter, but instead he simply gave a little smile and, departing from his method, explained in English that lui meant he, not the name Louie, thus breaking the logjam.

Carter’s ego was one not easily bruised, but his face had reddened as the long-delayed understanding of this obvious trifle dawned on him.