This week, one is going to explore the subject of persons. No, not ‘people', but grammatical persons. This writer admires the equivalents of first, second and third persons in Arabic grammar. Looking after number one as ever is the first person (I/we), known in Arabic as ‘mutakallim' – the speaker, the addresser. Then, there is the ‘mukhaatab' – the one to whom a speech is made, the addressee. In other words, ‘you'. One sometimes has the impression that one feels as if they (or ‘one') are/is being talked at as opposed to being talked with. As for the third person (he, she, it, they), it is known as ‘ghaa'ib' in Arabic grammar, which is hardly surprising. After all this talk about talking and being talked at, one might wish to remove himself (or ‘one's self') from all this noise and sit quietly and read a book about Arabic grammar. In which case, one might sense that one is being talked about behind one's (or ‘his') back. The great Egyptian writer and scholar, Taha Hussein, wrote his autobiography ‘Al-Ayyam' (The Days) in the third person. Even though he wrote about himself, he refers to himself as ‘Saa7ibuna' (our friend) and ‘huwa' (he). The Romans had a word for it: illeism, the act of talking of oneself in the third person instead of the first person. On second thoughts, the Romans never had a word for it; Wikipedia does, even though Julius Caesar and Xenophon use this device in their Commentarii de Bello Gallico and Anabasis respectively to convey impartiality to the account. In other words, take what they say with a few pinches of salt, because illeism might be a cover to lashings of Tabasco sauce in a bid to stretch credulity. What this writer finds amusing is the use of illeism in science fiction, when robots, computers, and other artificial life to refer to themselves in the third person, e.g. “This unit is malfunctioning" to suggest that these devices are not truly self-aware, or else that they separate their consciousness from their physical form. At this juncture, the reader may think of instances when her colleagues might be more honest about themselves as they may seem to behave like something that has been constructed according to a circuit diagram as opposed to organically formed as a result of an egg being fertilised. There again, some individuals behave as if they were the result of an oviparous birth, or busted out of a pod from planet Zog. One common usage of illeism is to impart humility, as in eighteenth-century English ‘Your servant, ma'am' and the good old-fashioned Spanish close to business letters: ‘Su servidor que besa sus pies' (Your servant who kisses your feet). This writer is not making this up. (Never would he dare perpetrate such falsehood!) On the subject of Spanish, the so-called polite second person singular, ‘usted' takes a verb in third person singular. Note that the pronoun, which suspiciously resembles the Arabic/Persian ‘ustaz'. Some experts say that ‘usted' is a contraction of ‘Vuestra Merced' (Your Honour/Mercy). Whatever the truth may be, one ends up saying the equivalent of ‘Your Honour does not have the right form' and ‘Your Mercy wishes to order now?' in modern Iberian Peninsular Spanish – not in Latin America where everybody addresses everybody with the Spanish equivalent of ‘mush', ‘mate' and ‘oi, you, sunshine'. However, in Egyptian Arabic, what sounds like ‘heart-attack' to the uninitiated - ‘7aDritak' – is a fancier form of ‘inta' (you), but no third person verb endings for Mr Cardiac Arrest. Can you imagine anyone saying ‘Your humble servant'? To promise that one is ‘ta7t amrak' (at you service) is fair enough, even though ‘ana' (I) is implied. Illeism may also be used with an air of grandeur, as did the Spanish artist Salvador Dalí during an interview on American television, with such pronouncements as “Dalí is immortal and will not die". Perhaps he meant his art and not his actual self. Some transatlantic viewers might have taken the flamboyant artist's statement literally and the offices of ‘Reader's Digest' could have been flooded with letters requesting more information on how to evade death for eternity. Using the third person to refer to one's self, whether one is being humble, egocentric, or just a plain li'l old android buddy, is all very well. How would you feel if someone else refers to you as s/he – or even ‘it' – in your presence in a conversation to a ‘third' party? Imagine one of those awful gatherings where you have to be pleasant to people and make polite conversation about nothing. Now imagine a couple: he's a foreigner (Kevin) and she's Egyptian (Dalia). This couple meets another Egyptian (Dawood) who is amazed to learn that the foreigner gets up at the crack of dawn to go to work. Kevin, who understands Arabic very well, is standing next to Dalia, eyeing Dawood up and down. DAWOOD: So he gets up in the middle of the night to go to work, eh? What time does he go to bed, then? Four in the afternoon? DALIA: No, he's usually asleep by nine o'clock. DAWOOD: Nine o'clock! He's off to bye-byes so early, is he? DALIA: Yes, he is. DAWOOD [glancing at his watch]: Oh well, must rush off. Nice talking with you. If he happens to want another job for which he doesn't have to get up so early, he can always call me. Bye. DALIA: Bye! KEVIN: Bog off! Why do some people talk about others in their presence in the third person? Is it to maintain a distance? Have they no idea that non-Egyptians do know Arabic? Are they so conceited but lacking in social graces that they resort to such cheap devices to have a laugh at another's expense? If Kevin ever sees Dawood again – which he sincerely hopes he does not – he can always use the third person with him and say: “Hello, Dawood, and how are we this evening? I trust we are having a good time and filling our faces for free." There is nothing like the first person plural for a bit of revenge, is there?
