The Interpreter

Lena had interpreted at hundreds of negotiations. Her rule was simple: you are a pane of glass. Say what is said, never add anything. That Thursday, in a glass meeting room in Rotterdam, the rule felt very thin.

The two companies had talked for eight months about the sale of a family shipyard. The buyers, led by Mrs Voss, wanted a signature before the weekend. The seller, Mr Janssen, was an old man whose hands trembled a little. Lena translated every sentence until the coffee break.

In the corridor, she heard his grandson speaking quickly in Dutch. “Opa, the roof isn’t fine. The engineer told us. If you say it is, it’s fraud.” The old man answered quietly, “I need this sale.” Lena stood still with her cup. She could not repeat it.

Back at the table, Mrs Voss asked if the roof was in good condition. Mr Janssen looked at his hands. “Het dak is in goede staat,” he said. The roof is in good condition. Everyone turned to Lena. To translate those words would make her part of a lie.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to stop being the interpreter for a moment.” The room went silent. “I cannot translate a sentence that I think is false, and I cannot say why. Please stop the meeting and ask for an independent inspection.”

Mrs Voss stared at her. Mr Janssen’s face went grey, and then he looked relieved. The signing was postponed. In the corridor, he said, “Thank you.” Lena thought nobody would hire her again. But on the train home she felt, for the first time in years, like a person and not a pane of glass.