This short story is based on a plot and title by Daniel Stein. The format of the climax is also his idea.
I pace the long hallway, wondering what’s taking Gio so long. It’s his first real assignment from Thoughtful Translating, Unlimited, but it’s just a communication between the director and an Italian ambassador.
Hopefully he didn’t get excited and ruin it. He’s prone to doing that. I have to admit, though, I’m excited about my first assignment, too. It’s scheduled for next week; I’ll be translating for a Hungarian representative. I’m nervous, but like everyone at Thoughtful Translating, Unlimited, helping other people communicate is what I love.
Besides being exposed to an astonishing number of languages, the best part of my internship here is being surrounded by a wide range of people enthusiastic about the same things that I am.
A door opens and Gio strides out, closing it quickly behind him.
“Caspita!”
I take a closer look at him. His face is unusually pale under his dark, spiky hair.
“Va tutto bene con te?” I ask, carefully forming the Italian words. I’ve picked up several phrases since we became best friends.
“Non proprio.” It takes me a second to place the second word. Not really. I pat his shoulder sympathetically.
“What happened? Did you language drop?” It’s meant to cheer him up; I know that he wouldn’t accidentally switch languages.
He shakes his head, unsmiling.
“Worse.”
He starts walking down the hallway.
I hurry to catch him up.
“Erzähl mir davon,” I say, knowing he doesn’t understand German. “Tell me what happened.”
“Not here. Let’s go to my room.”
He leads the way up a flight of stairs and unlocks his door, gesturing for me to enter first. It’s a good-sized door, but I duck just in case. When you’re my height, you soon learn that some doorframes have the bad habit of smashing people in the forehead.
“You’re not that tall,” Gio mocks without his usual humor.
I’m about to joke about his low stature when he sighs and sits abruptly on a chair.
“You’re not going to believe this, Paul.”
I sit down, frowning in concern.
“Try me.”
He jabs a hand through his hair, impossibly orienting it in several new directions.
“The Italian ambassador was. . . nice. Gentile. He knew some of my mother’s relatives. And he wanted only peace. I think quello cattivo knew that, but he didn’t even try to be diplomatic. He said everything very rudely, and I could see that the Italian ambassador was getting angry, although he tried not to show it.”
He pauses, and I put in doubtfully,
“Perhaps the director understood some hidden meaning that you missed.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t think so. Paul, he told me to lie to the ambassador. He told me to translate to the ambassador ‘Italy is getting nowhere with its stubborn pride. This meeting is over.’ Then he told me to say to him, not as a translator but as Italian to Italian, that it would be better for Italy to comply with Thoughtful Translating’s demands. I refused. I do not lie for anything or anyone.”
His fists are clenched, and he looks ready to charge out the door and confront the director. I ease my chair to the left to block the door.
Gio glances at me wryly.
“I know what you’re doing. Don’t worry, I won’t go tearing off and accuse the director of anything.”
Before I can relax, Gio stands up and begins stalking around the room, hands clasped behind him.
“I do want to get to the bottom of this, though. I can’t understand why he wanted me to lie. I’m all right with translating whatever he says, but that was going too far. The man wants something, and he’s trying to use me to get it. We have to do something.” He swings toward me.
“You believe me, right?”
“Of course, mein Freund.” I reply simply. “What is the first step?”
Before he can answer, someone taps on the door.
Gio raises his eyebrows, his mouth still open to answer me.
I stand up and open the door. Sadie, an Irish girl with an auburn ponytail, smiles up at me.
“Haigh, Paul,” she says. “Is your friend in here? I have a message for him.”
Gio ducks under my arm to face her.
“A message for me?”
His eyebrows draw together in bewilderment, and she giggles.
“Sea. Is that so surprising?”
He flushes.
“What’s the message?”
I elbow him gently.
“Siate educato.”
He flicks a glance at me.
“‘Sii’ educato. The singular. This may be important.”
Chastened, I step aside.
Sadie recites in a gruff voice,
“‘For Giovanni Marsico: The director wants to speak with you. Present yourself at his office by five o’clock. – Director, Thoughtful Translating, Unlimited.’”
She laughs again.
“That’s just how he said it. He didn’t seem very happy.”
Gio slams his fist into the palm of his hand.
“This is all part of it! He’s got a hidden agenda; I didn’t fit in with it, so he’s trying again. I’ll expose him!”
“Don’t be too hasty,” I say uneasily. He glares at me wildly.
“You said you believed me.”
“I believe that he asked you to lie, but we don’t know that he has some other plan. It may have been a test, or …” I can’t think of another reason.
Sadie looks from one to the other of us.
“The director asked you to lie, Giovanni?”
Gio affirms it distractedly. Sadie hesitates.
“Éist. Can I trust you?”
I draw back in alarm, but Gio eagerly nods.
“You are not the first to be asked to do something other than pure translating. There are more of us. We-”
A clock begins to strike five.
We all jump, and Gio fumbles in his pocket to toss his room key to me.
“Don’t worry, mia nuova alleata. I won’t give you away.”
Sadie nods, and he dashes off. I shout after him,
“We’ll meet you outside the office!”
He raises a hand in acknowledgement and skids around a corner.
I lock his door and hide the key in the usual place, muttering to myself.
“Ist es so wichtig dass du aus dem Rahmen fallen?”
Deep down, though, I know that I don’t want him to change.
Sadie takes my arm.
“I’ll introduce you to anyone you haven’t met yet. We should have at least half an hour.”
We walk outside into the blooming garden where diplomats and translators stroll. I see the Italian ambassador sitting alone, and wave to him.
“Salve, signore!”
“Ah, parli italiano?” he replies, beaming. I shake my head.
“Solo un po.”
He smiles ruefully, and Sadie and I walk on.
A pretty Chinese girl whom I’ve seen before but never met stands up when we approach.
Sadie hugs her.
“This is Lanying. Lanying, Paul.”
We shake hands.
“What languages do you speak?” I ask politely.
“Mandarin, Vietnamese, and …” she gropes for the right words. “And Chinese sign language. And you?”
She speaks with a strong accent. Obviously, she’s not completely fluent in English.
“I speak German and Hungarian. No more than a few words of everything else.”
“Except English.” Lanying smiles brightly and signs to Sadie, who explains.
“Lanying had to learn English when she came here. She didn’t speak it before that.”
“Beeindruckend!” I say. English is the official company language and the only language the director speaks. It can’t have been easy to learn it in only a few months.
“Sadie helped me,” Lanying adds.
“And Lanying helped me with Chinese sign language. Is cairde maithe muid anois.”
Sadie and Lanying introduce me to several other translators in their group. Others I already know. At half past five, the three of us head over to the director’s office to wait. Six o’clock strikes, and Gio still hasn’t made an appearance. I start to say something about checking his room, when the office door opens and the director himself comes out. Seeing us waiting, he barks,
“What do you want?”
“We are waiting for our gcara, stiúrthóir,” Sadie says boldly.
He glares at her suspiciously.
“What did you say? Speak English.”
“Our friend Giovanni Marsico was to meet us here half an hour ago,” I interject politely.
“He did not tell me,” the director growls under his breath. He reenters the office for a moment before stomping back out. A few seconds later, Gio steps out. His jaw clenched, he sweeps past us and turns a corner into a deserted corridor. We follow him uncertainly.
“Ĉio estas en ordo, mia amiko?” I ask awkwardly. Gio’s always trying to get me to learn Esperanto, his third language. I think it’s foolishness, but under the circumstances. . .
“For me. I’m fine. But that farabutto, that furfante, that scimmia maleducata …”
“发生了什么? Chuyện gì đã xảy ra?!” Lanying language drops in her excitement, but we all understand.
“That suino threatened to fire me. He blabbered on with some pretesto, non so che cosa.”
“You didn’t accuse him of anything, did you?” I ask anxiously.
“I tried. They didn’t let me talk. It was all minacoj, minacoj.” He puts a hand to his throat and pulls it away smeared with blood. Lanying stifles a scream.
“Gio! They hurt you? Es muss etwas getan warden.” An unfamiliar gust of anger sweeps over me.
“It is only a scratch. But I will take revenge.”
He lowers his head as if to spring off immediately. Sadie stops him.
“Wait! We can’t go accusing the director without a plan. This is more serious than any of us thought. Some of us have been planning to rebel, even if we get fired, but now that we know he’s willing to use violence, we must be careful.”
“We must find out what he wants,” Lanying adds.
“I know what he wants, the malpura rato,” Gio says grimly.
“Not here,” I say. We’re too close to the director’s office for comfort. Once I lock my door behind us, Gio continues where he left off.
“He’s avida. He wants power. He wants to be able to manipulate whole countries, and the only way he can do that is by manipulating us. If he can control us enough to get us to lie for him, he can do almost anything. Promise things that aren’t his, relay false threats of war, bribe or even blackmail any country that doesn’t do what he wants. And since we are just translators, he will never be blamed for it. Wronged countries will attack the country they believe hurt them.”
“What can we do?” Sadie asks helplessly.
“A mali estremi, estremi rimedi.” Gio sounds almost gleeful.
“Gio. . .” I say warningly.
“Now I see what he was doing with the Italian ambassador. He was showing off his strength, his power in comparison with a mere country. He will not ask me to lie again.”
He’s getting excited, and for once I can’t blame him. I turn to Sadie for help.
“We shouldn’t do anything tonight. Tomorrow nearly everyone is going to be in the reception room because the Russian ambassadors are deciding whether or not to use Thoughtful Translating to communicate with the world. Maybe we can figure something out then. Tá súil agam.”
“No,” Lanying disagrees. “It is too dangerous. Someone would give us away.”
“But I could go to the Russian ambassadors and tell them,” Gio suggests hopefully.
“Nein. Semmiképpen.” I language drop in my dismay. “Far too dangerous.”
“And do you speak Russian?” Sadie interjects.
“Well, no, but. . .”
“We would have to get someone else to translate, and the whole thing would be conspicuous. We must wait tamall beag. Also, Giovanni, I think it would be better if you did not go. The director will be watching you now.”
“Kio?!”
Before we can make any further attempts to convince him, a bell rings for lights out. The four of us look at each other; I leap to unlock the door and the three of them hurry away.
Later, after quiet has reigned for several hours, I realize that if the Russian ambassadors choose to use Thoughtful Translating, Unlimited, the director will almost certainly begin to manipulate them as well. My first instinct is to warn them as Gio suggested, but now that the director has demonstrated his willingness to use violence, I feel sure that anyone who attempts to warn the Russians will receive the full measure of his wrath. Perhaps gathering us all together is as much a show of power to us as to the Russians.
Early the next morning, I head over to Gio’s room to convince him not to come meet the Russian ambassadors. It is allegedly a mandatory gathering, but I do not think Gio would meet with any repercussions for not coming. Rounding a corner, I nearly bump into him. Two burly men flank him; they grunt in surprise.
“Gio? Was. . .”
“Ciao, Paul. I don’t think I’ll be coming to the gathering today.” His voice is calm and sure, and he holds his head high as the two men march him away. I close my eyes for a moment. I’m sure the director won’t have Gio killed. He knows that there would be a ruckus, which would expose him. And now I know that Gio won’t become excited and get himself into trouble. Much as I want to rally the other translators and stage a rescue, I continue on to the dining hall.
Under cover of chinking forks, I tell Sadie and Lanying what happened.
“It’s actually better,” Sadie says matter-of-factly. “Aon chion. We know he’s safe and out of trouble.” She sounds as though she’s known him for a long time.
Lanying isn’t so sure.
“Can we. . . can we. . .帮助他, 你知道.” she signs to Sadie.
“Help him somehow. Maybe we can break him out,” Sadie translates. “I don’t think so, Lanying. Maybe after the gathering is over we can get some of the others to help, but for now we can’t do anything. Tá brón orm.”
The three of us stare at our plates.
Someone touches my shoulder; I look up to see the Italian ambassador.
“Non sono stato in grado di trovare Giovanni Marsico. Se possible. . .?”
He stops when he notices that I didn’t understand.
“Ah, scusa, ho dimenticato. Francese? Français?”
I look at Sadie and Lanying, but they shake their heads. None of us speaks French.
Someone at the table next to ours turns around.
“Je parle français.”
The Italian ambassador looks relieved. He speaks haltingly in French and our interpreter translates.
“I could not find the translator Giovanni Marsico. I would appreciate it if you would convey my thanks for his skills yesterday. It was a pleasure to speak with a fellow countryman.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” I say, carefully not looking at Lanying and Sadie. “I’m happy to.”
When the French speaker has translated, the ambassador smiles gravely.
“Grazie.” He slips off into the crowd. Sadie thanks our spontaneous translator, who shrugs and smiles before turning back to his food.
The bell calling us to meet rings. The laughter and conversation die into whispers and shuffling feet as everyone straggles into the reception room.
The Russian ambassadors are already waiting. The director gestures impatiently for us to move faster, putting on an oily smile for the Russians’ benefit.
“Does anyone here speak Russian?” the director shouts, trying to mask his annoyance in a pleasant tone.
“Sofia does,” someone calls. “But she doesn’t speak English well.”
The director scowls furiously at the speaker.
“Figure something out. I want to be able to speak to the ambassadors.”
He waits crossly until two people come forward.
“Greetings, gentlemen,” he begins, tapping his foot while Sofia and the other girl translate. “It is with great pleasure that we welcome you to Thoughtful Translating, Unlimited. We have a great number of talented translators here, as you can see.”
One of the Russians says something skeptically with a laugh.
The second girl hesitates before translating.
“It does not appear so, since you cannot speak even with each other.”
The director’s face flushes a dark red, but he inclines his head.
“Perhaps we can provide a demonstration.”
The Russians shrug politely.
I’m torn between excitement about translating and hoping for the Russians’ sakes that they don’t choose to use this company.
“Perhaps you have heard of the telephone game,” the director says, smiling coldly. “We will attempt to entertain ourselves with it. . . switching languages from person to person.”
My fellow translators are already forming a line. I see Sadie and Lanying standing next to each other. Someone taps my shoulder.
“Hablas Español?”
I shake my head.
“Deutsch?” asks someone else.
“Ja. Und Ungarisch.”
In less time than I would have thought possible, the Thoughtful Translating translators are standing in a long line from the director to the Russian ambassadors. I’m close to the end where the Russians are watching with interest. At the other end, the director clears his throat, an inscrutable smile spreading over his face.
“We are the Thoughtful Translating translators, the best in the world.”
“Kami adalah penerjemah ‘Penerjemahan Bijaksana’, terbaik di dunia.”
“نحن “المترجمون المدروسون” ، الأفضل في العالم.”The sentence flows from mouth to mouth, smoothly morphing into the various languages. Of course, it probably helps that nearly all of us understood the original sentence, but still, we’re impressive.
“Somos los traductores de ‘Traducción reflexiva’, le mentimos al mundo.”
There is a slight pause, then the next person translates into French.
“Nous sommes les traducteurs de ‘Traduction Réfléchie’, nous mentons au monde.”
The sentence has reached the middle of the line.
“Is muid na haistritheoirí ‘Thoughtful Translating’, luíonn muid leis an domhan.”
Sadie translates this into Chinese sign language, and Lanying turns it to Vietnamese.
“Chúng tôi không phải là dịch giả thực sự, chúng tôi nói dối với thế giới.”
“Não somos verdadeiros tradutores, mentimos para o mundo.”
“ہم سچے مترجم نہیں ہیں ، ہم دنیا سے جھوٹ بولتے ہیں”
“Ingawa hatujakuwa wakalimani wa kweli, hatutasema uwongo kwa ulimwengu.”
I sense a feeling of growing tension and excitement that I don’t understand.
“Chociaż nie byliśmy prawdziwymi tłumaczami, nie będziemy okłamywać świata.”
“Bár nem voltunk igaz fordítók, nem fogunk hazudni a világnak.”
I keep my face straight with effort. The sentence that the director initiated has changed into something far better. For you, Gio, I think before translating.
“Obwohl wir keine echten Übersetzer waren, werden wir Sie nicht anlügen.”
“यद्यपि हम सच्चे अनुवादक नहीं थे, फिर भी हम आपसे झूठ नहीं बोलेंगे.”
Finally, Sofia translates into Russian.
“Хотя мы не были настоящими переводчиками, мы не будем лгать вам.”.
One of the Russians starts slightly and glances at the others. A faint smile on his lips, he turns to the director and says through Sofia,
“You do indeed have wonderful translators. We would be delighted to hire your company. . . perhaps with different management.”
A cheer goes up.
The director splutters.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I said nothing about-”
“Così triste.” Gio walks in, trailed by Sadie and Lanying. “It seems that something got lost in translation.”