How I Invented Pig Latin, Sparked a Revolution & Ended It.

Oh goodness, my dear Mrs. Finley, you’ve quite caught me out. I had not expected to revisit this incident, it happened so long ago. I shall have to write to the Emir, a very stern note about his regaling those of my acquaintance with stories of my youth.
As you know, when when my father was still alive, I did much traveling with him. During the summer of my fifteenth year, he was written to by the Emir, whom you apparently met, Mrs. Finley. It was roughly a year after my mother’s death and my father, who was very sensitive to a young lady’s need for companionship, asked if I would like to accompany him to Baghdad. I was very excited to be allowed to travel with him, it was my first overseas trip and I felt incredibly grown up. The Emir had promised that I would have much company while staying in his palace, but for the trip, it was only my father and me. Naturally, being fifteen, I suspected that I was the most intelligent person on the earth and adults barely knew which shoe went on which foot and I spent the entire boat trip through the Mediterranean regaling my father with countless facts about sea life, History and Mythology. My father, being a very patient man, listened to everything I told him with the utmost of patience and responded as though he’d never heard these facts, which are taught in every primary school, before in his life. He must have been very amused by me.
My father had chosen us a leisurely route, mostly aboard ship where we could enjoy the beneficial effects of sea air. He was always a great proponent of spending as much time above decks as possible. It was during this time in my father’s company when my first interest in medicine was sparked. My father, once I had finished telling him of the Greek gods and how it is believed there is a mermaid that was caught and being displayed in a freak show in London, would talk to me about science, medicine and we would play a game that he invented. He would, one day, tell me all about a disease and its symptoms and then, roughly a week later, he would tell me that he had a patient who had certain symptoms and I was to diagnose the disease to which the symptoms belong. It was an exciting and extremely educational time for me. I won’t bore you all to tears explaining all that I learned, but you can rest assured it was more educational than all the governesses in the world as my father held to the social mores very loosely. I had a brain and he enjoyed having me use it instead of simply looking attractive and showing off my needlepoint skills.
Our steamer landed in Alexandria in the middle of the afternoon and we made our way to The Royal Majestic, a hotel where my father had acquired rooms for us for several days. While there, at dinner one night, we were introduced by an acquaintance to a Mrs. Bonnie San Joseph. I did not take to Mrs. San Joseph though my father remained rather sanguine about our new “friend.” She was a widower, or so she said, that hailed from Bathe. She was a self proclaimed medium, even spoke about a young woman named Gwyneth, whom she claimed was her spirit guide. She was absolutely insistent that my father and I attend a seance she was going to hold in one of the hotel’s parlors later that night. I was reluctant, as I find such things to be nonsensical, but my father agreed and so, I was engaged.
When we entered the parlor, later that night, all of the furniture in the room had been pushed to the outer edges and a large, round table with a black cloth. A tall, silver cone sat in the middle of the table and there were more candles than the room usually afforded. It was quite stuffy in the room and that added to the drama of the entire scene. There were several other guests from the hotel there and my father introduced me to several people that I barely remember at this late date. Mrs. San Joseph was dressed simply and all in black, as though in mourning. It was very dramatic. She bade us all to sit down at the table and place our hands upon it. I sat between my father and a rather large gentleman from Germany that my father had met at dinner. As everyone settled, Mrs. San Joseph began to breathe heavily and intoned a chant in as deep a voice as she could achieve, being a woman. She closed her eyes and I took this moment to look around at the others. All eyes, but mine, were fixed on Mrs. San Joseph. Her head lay back against her shoulders and she was gripping the table tightly, as though she were afraid she was going to fall away from it and begin floating into the spirit realm. As she changed from chanting in English to chanting in Latin, the cone in the middle began to shake, drawing cries from various members of the small assembly. Because my eyes were not obediently fixed upon either the face of our “psychic,” nor upon the cone, I was able to see the twitching of Mrs. San Joseph’s fingers and the slight bulge under the cloth, that I had mistaken as a mere wrinkle earlier.
It is not one of my better moments, but in my defense, I was a young woman. I knew that to call her a fraud in front of all these people would be uncouth and would displease my father, I came up with a different strategy. I began to shake all over, convulsing in my chair and threw my head back. I then began to babble, speaking utter nonsense. I was not familiar enough with Latin yet to speak an actual language, so I simply placed the first letter of each word at the end of that word and added the sound of “ay” after it. When spoken quickly, it truly sounds like a whole new language, though nothing of it is actually spoken. Several of the women screamed and Mrs. San Joseph’s voice, and the shaking of the cone, stopped abruptly. There was a horrifying silence then and in the next instant, my father had taken hold of my shoulders and was shaking me. I allowed him to lead me from the room and leaned on him heavily until we reached our suite. Though his expression showed plainly that he was halfway between laughing and being very angry with me, he gave me a stern lecture on propriety and solicited a promise that I would never do such a thing again. Quite mollified, I readily gave my promise and retired for the night.
The next morning, my father and I boarded the train that ran from Alexandria to Cairo, where we spent a quiet evening and then boarded a second train to Luxor the next morning. We stayed in Luxor for a day between journeys to tour the temple there and then on to Safaga, where we caught another steamer to take us down the Red Sea and into the Arabian Sea, then up Persian Gulf to the mouth of the Tigris River. Much to my surprise, and my father’s amusement, chance had it that Mrs. San Joseph was traveling in the same direction and my father, I believe he meant to make me suffer for my outburst in Alexandria, invited her to dine with us frequently and when we transferred from steamer to a river going barge named a dahabiya, my father had the audacity to invite her to sail with us! She agreed and was very gracious to me. In fact, she was more than gracious, she was near ingratiating. She questioned me very carefully about the language I had spoken during her seance and I was forced, in a very embarrassing moment, to admit to her my joke. She arched one brow and nodded seriously, leaving the subject lie, which showed more tact than I had.
We parted ways on the docks in Baghdad. My father and I were gingerly placed in a carriage to be taken to the palace of the Emir and Mrs. San Joseph was, as she’d told my father on our trip, going to visit a dear friend who’s husband was an archaeologist. I spent the next few days in a happy haze of hot desert sun mixed with fruits, silk and laughter. The Emir’s daughter, Aaliyah, and I got along quite well. It was not until the whispers of trouble reached the palace, did we know that all was not right in the city. According to Aaliyah, there had already been unrest in the land, though she did not know the specifics of it, since she was not allowed into the political meetings of her father and his advisers. What she did know was that her servants whispered of Asema and an ancient curse of her family.
She explained that Asema was a feminine demon that took the shape of a beautiful woman, charmed her way into a home and then drained the blood from everyone within the home. The rumors were that Asema had fallen in love with a mortal and had a child by him. It was widely believed that the Emir’s family were descendants of Asema and that she would, one day, return through a daughter of the house. Many in the land, were afraid of this superstition and something had, apparently, sparked a general panic. There were several riots in the poorer parts of the city, and the panic was beginning to spread. There was even whispers of deposing the Emir because of the belief that his blood was unclean. My father explained to me that he believed some of these whispers were coming from families who sought to gain power, but that couldn't be proved. The Emir, who had known of such rumors his entire life, was investigating the source of the current outcry.
The lower class of the citizenry had grown violent within a week, forcing the open air market to close. This brought merchants to the palace to complain, and with their complaints came the complaints of the nobles who relied on trade for their living. The situation was growing nearly out of control in a very short amount of time. The Emir’s men were transporting visitors from Europe to the palace for protection and among those who arrived was Mrs. San Joseph. She and her friend, Mrs. Morrow, immediately gathered a group of Europeans around them, gossiping and separating themselves from the general populace of the castle. It wasn’t until the night Mrs. San Joseph hosted another seance that we discovered the true cause of the riots. I, mercifully, was not invited to the seance and at first, I took this as a blessing. I discovered, the next day, she had an ulterior motive for not inviting me to partake in her evening’s entertainment.
My father sent for me late in the morning and when I arrived to the eastern parlor, I was shocked to find that the Emir, Mrs. San Joseph and my father were all there. Apparently, Mrs. San Joseph had taken quite a liking to my invented language and used it in her seances ever since Alexandria. Apparently, one of the seances was witnessed by some of the simple, superstitious natives of the lower class and they believed she was truly possessed. It was blamed upon the Emir’s family and grew from there into full blow riots. Because she’d used a language that did not exist, could not be understood by anyone who didn’t know what it was, the people who’d heard her believed it was the language of demons. She looked highly offended at being expected to take responsibility for her place in the rioting and denied it vehemently. I was forced to admit to inventing the language as a lark, and was truly embarrassed as the Emir explained the gravity of the situation to me. I sat in mortification as my father and the Emir discussed possible solutions. I dared not speak, having been the source of such trouble. I drank tea and nibbled on small finger sandwiches while trying to stay invisible. It was several moments before I noticed that the room had grown silent. I raised my eyes and flinched to discover that everyone was staring at me.
I looked from one to the other as my father went over the details of an elaborate plan to quell the fear of the people. I nearly choked on my tea but agreed, as I had no choice, to go along with them. For several days after, I schooled Aaliyah on the language I’d invented, that my father cheekily dubbed “Pig Latin.” I was dubious about the entire affair, but I could not imagine any other way to bring peace that did not result in bloodshed first.
Just as the sun was setting, four days later, a carefully planned scene began. Aaliyah strode into the market square, watched by men placed among the crowd to protect her, resplendent in white silk, her raven hair flowing down her back. I had snuck out of the palace, having begged off tea because of a headache, and hid in the shadows of an alley. Aaliyah had filed two ivory pieces down to look like delicately pointed teeth and lightly glued them to her own, with a sticky substance that she could break with her tongue, so that it appeared she had fangs. She stood in the middle of the square, the light from the setting sun washing everything in a red hue. She threw back her head and screamed, a sound that made even my blood run cold. She pointed toward the palace and called out a monologue entirely of Pig Latin. She then threw her arms to the side, arched her back and tossed her head back and forth as she shrieked again. On the far side of the market, the Emir appeared. He looked haggard and drawn and he lifted a sword, pointing it at his daughter. He began to chant in Ancient Arabic, a language the people knew but could not quite understand completely. He then lowered the tip of the sword into the sand and began to circle Aaliyah, drawing symbols around her. She turned with him, hissing and spitting like a cat as his chanting continued. She would convulse now and then, as if his words were causing her pain. By the time he’d completed the circle, Aaliyah was on the ground, as though severely weakened. Then the Emir pulled a bottle from his pocket and threw it at the ground next to his daughter. The glass broke and smoke rose along with a scream of agony from Aaliyah. While vision was blocked from her, she loosened and pulled the fangs from her teeth. When the smoke cleared, she was laying on the ground, seemingly unconscious. The silence in the square was deafening as the Emir stepped forward cautiously, speaking her name. He spoke three times before she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head. Everyone gasped as she muttered, “Father?” She raised her arms toward him and began to cry. When he rushed forward to gather her up into a fatherly embrace, the square erupted with cheers. The Emir had conquered Asema and the land was safe, once more!
I spent several weeks after with Aaliyah, a happy, easy time. The Emir’s rule was once more one of peace and, much to my satisfaction, Mrs. San Joseph was sent back to England, where people are far too sensible to believe the afterlife is invading reality. My father and I concluded our stay pleasantly and took a camel caravan to the Mediterranean where we caught a steamer to France. After a short holiday in Paris, we returned home.
Thus concludes my most embarrassing moment, for which I will thank the Emir by correspondence as soon as possible. I hope, Mrs. Finley, that you are quite satisfied with my tale? If you don’t mind, I’d like another piece of tort? Thank you very much.