Home from Home

IV. HOME

I have now been here for over twenty-eight years.

Meanwhile, like everywhere else, life in Luxembourg has changed radically: there are new theatres, art galleries, more book shops (even an English one) and recently, a university and a world-class museum of modern art and philharmonic hall. Globalisation has made the streets are shiny and modern, more like streets in other cities; and since the avaricious eighties, the country has become host to an even greater host of financial institutions and insurance companies. Our reputation abroad can sometimes be embarrassing.

The Experiment I conducted years ago would scarcely be possible now. These days the opposite happens. I go into a shop and ask for something in Luxemburgish and am asked to speak French. This is either done with a chilly “Vous ne pouvez pas parler français?” or with a rueful smile and a gentle request.

Meanwhile too, I think of Luxembourg as “home”.

I remember the exact moment, returning after a visit to England, when I consciously realized I was coming home, not leaving it.

For years, home had remained, sentimentally, where my parents lived. Yet this was no longer the case when the phone-calls I’d been dreading finally came: “Bad news, I’m afraid. It’s Dad,” and, six years later, “Is that you?” followed by my brother bursting into tears.

“Deng Elteren, déi hunn ech nach kannt, alle béid, an ech mengen, si konnte mech gutt gebrauchen. Vläicht well se gesinn hunn, oder gespuert, datt ech un dir houng an du u mir. An ech war och derbäi, wéi mer se begruewen hunn. Vu mengen Elteren konnt ech der nëmme verzielen, vun deenen hues de nëmme Biller gesinn. An d’Biller, déi ech der gewisen hunn, konnten der mol net e Bild gi vun deem, wat mäi “klenge Raum” war a bliwwen ass: e klengt Haus mat klenge Leit a klengem Verdéngscht, wou et vill méi wéi Geld kascht huet, fir eent, zwee, dräi Kanner op eng Schoul ze schécken. Mä dee klenge Raum war meng Welt, an ech hunn och ni laang an enger anerer, enger grousser gelieft. An dës kleng Welt ass elo och deng ginn. Iergendwéi. Gottseidank.”

You bore my mother’s pall, I tend your mother’s grave. Yes, your home has become our home and I love it, our “klenge Raum”.

Yet even so I sometimes wonder if it possible to be completely “at home” in a country where you did not grow up.

I chose to come and live in your country and have never regretted it. But when I did so, I left behind my past, the past lived elsewhere among other people, that shared past that binds you Luxemburgers together.

You live surrounded by the places and things that are rich with memories of childhood. You live among people who have known you all or most of your life – family, school-friends, teachers, fellow-students – who know who you were and are, share stories with you, give you back forgotten bits of your life.

Can you understand that I sometimes envy you this shared knowledge, the continual confirmation of your identity, your solid presence? In comparison, I often feel insubstantial – only partially visible and full of silence.

“Och a mir gëtt et dacks stëll, wann ech erliewe, wat s du vu Bagage matkritt hues aus denger houfreger Heemecht ... Rule Britannia (wat dech ëmmer erëm iergert, wann ech dat soen).

Wann ech dech gesinn, wann s de e Stéck vum Shakespeare an dech ophëls a Säiten a Säiten dervun zitéiers, wann ech erliewe, wéi beim Elgar sengem ‘Nimrod’ eppes an dir nokléngt, dat dech déif beréiert, mä wat mir friem bliwwen ass, dann deet et mer méi wéi eng Kéier leed, datt ech dir net méi ze bidden hunn. Weess de, déi zolitt Presenz vun där s de schwätz, éischtens, huet et laang, laang gedauert, bis se zolitt gi war, an zweetens, datt der vill mech kennen, kënnt nëmmen dohir, datt ech vill geschafft hunn. Och fir anerer a grad fir anerer.”

It’s not a reproach. What’s more, you have given me more than anyone, ever – and it has nothing to do with Luxembourg.

Home from Home

Ariel et Guy Wagner