The Interpreter

Lena had interpreted at hundreds of negotiations, and the rule she repeated to every new colleague was simple: you are a pane of glass. Say what is said, never add, never soften. That Thursday, in a glass-walled meeting room in Rotterdam, the rule had never felt so thin.

The two companies had spent eight months discussing the sale of a family shipyard. The buyers, represented by a brisk woman called Mrs Voss, wanted a signature before the weekend. The seller, Mr Janssen, was an elderly man whose hands trembled slightly on the table, and he spoke slowly, with long pauses. Lena translated every sentence, keeping her voice level, until the coffee break.

In the corridor, she heard his grandson speaking urgently in Dutch. “Opa, the roof isn’t fine. The engineer told us himself. If you say it is, it’s fraud.” The old man answered, very quietly, “I need this sale. Your mother needs this sale.” Lena stood perfectly still with her cup. She had not been meant to hear any of it, and she was bound by confidentiality not to repeat it.

Back at the table, Mrs Voss asked directly whether the main 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, and for a second she heard only her own heartbeat. Translating those six words would be accurate. It would also make her part of a lie.

“Excuse me,” she said, first in English and then in Dutch. “I need to step out of my role for a moment.” The room went silent. “As the interpreter, I translate what is said. But I cannot translate a statement I have good reason to believe is false, and I cannot explain why without breaking my duty of confidentiality. I suggest that you pause the negotiation and commission an independent inspection.”

Mrs Voss stared at her. Mr Janssen’s face went grey, and then, unexpectedly, something close to relief crossed it. The signing was postponed. In the corridor afterwards, he touched her sleeve. “Thank you,” he said in Dutch. “I could not stop myself.” Lena was fairly sure that neither party would ever hire her again. Yet on the train home she felt, for the first time in years, like a person rather than a pane of glass.