My sister invited her language class to celebrate one year of learning Danish. It was fun to be reminded of old times, when I myself had to go through it. Sounds incongruent with each other mixed in with music, as Paul was giving some encores along his piano teacher, Pippi, who is here to celebrate his upcoming 16 years birthday. Small kids in the background joined their little voices in, and I started counting. Danish, Romanian, Hungarian, Farsi, French, German, and Dutch. That’s seven languages together. I threw in some dead ones too. “Russian,” I said to my sister. “Remember when mother had guests from Bulgaria, and two weeks she spoke nothing but Russian? How she loved it, and was high because she had a chance to practice it?” We thought then that it was embarrassing to have our mother speak Russian. No one else we knew wanted to do that, or could. “And silence,” Paul said. “Silence is also a language.” “Indeed it is,” I said, and I went home translating.