She is writing one line from left to right and the next one from right to left…

French, Hebrew, French, Hebrew, French, Hebrew…

In her bed room library, she’s got books which “speak” like mum and books which “speak” like dad…

When a friend randomly grabs a book on the shelves, she is warning him by screaming in his ears: “be careful this book speaks like mum!” as if French written books were burning fingers.

Her dad is the one who speak Hebrew “like everybody else”.

Her mum is the only one in her surrounding to speak the language of Voltaire and Noddy (best known as “Oui Oui” in the French translation). It’s a tiring language sometimes… Words do not come so easily to mind.

However, she has noticed that to let inadvertently a few French words slip out her mouth in polite society, might, on occasion, draw specific attention on her. Which is not unpleasant.

She’s also got a long term project: to learn to speak like
Zeeve … Californian language.

For the time being, pretending writing is quite rich enough experience. She can still mix all sort of hand writing. All she needs is a convincing posture, and a polysemous personal translation for her public.

Therefore, she sat down to practice her writing skill, sitting in the blue grass in the moon light…

Draft here

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