I spoke in their language, slowly and clearly, so that every guest understood. “Honored friends, I am told my words are being translated tonight. Please read the card in your hand, then listen to what I truly came to say.” A hush fell across the courtyard. The brother’s hand froze on the microphone, and the first rows began to murmur as they read the insults printed under my name. Several guests looked up at me in shock.

I turned to the bride’s father. “I studied your language for a year and a half, sir,” I said, still smiling. “I understood you perfectly at dinner on Wednesday.” His glass trembled in his hand. At the front, an old woman in a lavender shawl, the bride’s grandmother, rose unsteadily from her chair, and the whole courtyard watched her walk slowly toward me with her eyes shining.