Found in Translation

Roberta Verbosa sat at her desk on the 13th floor of the Van Pyur State Building in lower Manhattan, across the corner from Dante Circle, where you got off if you were taking the uptown trains from Brooklyn Heights. It was Friday morning and the phone had not rung all week at the Van Pyur Translations Agency, where Roberta was President, Senior Translator, Director of Sales and Marketing, and the IT Technician. Roberta created these titles in the hope that one day, her business would grow and she could hire real people to fill most of the positions that she now held. It was a slow week even for Van Pyur Translations, for usually there would be at least one phone call by Wednesday afternoon when Roberta's mother would call to say hello. 

Roberta got up from her desk and crossed the floor to the window looking out over the East River, giving her a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. She turned to look at the oak shelves that held her collection of dictionaries of rare and exotic languages: Early Dominican Vudu to English, High Germanic Latin to English,  Arabic to Hebrew, and dozens more that she had acquired during her travels to Brazil, Paris, London, Jerusalem, when she was a graduate student at the Institute of Exotic and Lost Languages, located in a converted Victorian mansion in the Castle Point section of Hoboken and loosely affiliated with Stevens Institute. Even though Roberta never actually completed her dissertation, she did manage to learn to read and write and speak French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian in quick succession because she had intimate working relationships with a succession of young, attractive lecturers, each of whom had expertise in at least one European language. Romance and language aside, Roberta also picked up various Creoles from the West Indies, somewhat by accident, because she would visit the islands over her Christmas break to take in the sun and get out of the bleak winterscape of lower Manhattan, the very shade of gray that defined melancholia.

Roberta's nostalgic review of her bookshelves was interrupted by the unexpected ringing of the telephone on her desk. The jarring sound left her in a daze but she recovered her composure after the second ring and lifted the receiver.

"Good morning, Van Pyur Translations, this is Roberta Verbosa, how may I help you?"

"Bon-na-na-jour, Madame, um, Ver-ver-verbosa." The male voice stuttered in a Caribbean accent thicker than molasses. Roberta wondered if this was a prank call from one of her old boyfriends who did Spanish voice overs for Mickey Mouse reruns airing on some of the upstart cable stations that flooded the New York airwaves.

"Bonjour Monsieur, comment puis-je vous aider?" said Roberta in flawless French. At the sound of Roberta's French, the caller lost his stutter and spoke in educated French with just a hint of Creole.

"Miss Roberta, my name is Jacques de Bonnesanté, Cultural Minister at the Jamaican Consulate in Brooklyn. I am in need of a translator this evening and I have tried all over New York City to find one since our guest speaker, who arrived yesterday from Kingston, is not fluent in English. Are you by any change familiar with  the Igbo variant of Haitian Creole as spoken in Jamaica?"

Roberta's French-based Creole was excellent and she had been to New Orleans once for Mardi Gras, but she had never heard of Igbo. Though she might be out of her linguistic depths, Roberta needed the fee to finish paying the rent for the month. 

"Monsieur de Bonnesanté, I am pleased to inform you that we specialize in all the vernaculars from Jamaica and Haiti. We can certainly provide you with a translator for this evening. Can you tell me about the nature of the talk?"

"Yes, Miss Roberta, this is very good news, I was afraid that I would have to step in myself. You see, my Creole is not very good since I spent too many years at Harvard when everyone spoke English with a Boston accent," said M. de Bonnesanté who had forgotten to answer the question.

Roberta took a diplomatic tack. "As a linguist, I fully appreciate the problems with the Boston accent, even native American speakers find it challenging! Could you tell me the title of the talk?"

Ah yes, the title of the talk is: Voodoo and Economics: Legal Challenges in Modern International Finance."

Roberta took in the scope of the title. She knew nothing about voodoo, but had taken Economics 101 at Stevens Institute of Technology one summer, and had dated a junk bond trader for a few months in the lull between Fed interest rate hikes. She could probably ad lib depending on the audience.

"Can you tell me about the audience?" said Roberta.

"Yes, of course, it will mostly be members from the local Jamaican community in Brooklyn, though a contingent of students are coming down from Stony Brook. Good people, you know, shop keepers, school teachers, members of the clergy, and yes some lawyers and bankers of course, all second generation, who long to know about Jamaica where…"

"Excellent, '' said Roberta, cutting in to keep Monsieur on topic. "This is a most unique opportunity and I will be delighted to be your traductrice for this evening. Can you give me a time and place?"

"The venue, Miss Roberta, will be the Brooklyn Museum and start at eight o'clock. There will be a speech followed by a reception in the garden, with food and live music provided, during which our speaker will greet members of the audience, and of course, you will be needed there also to assist him. I expect that everything will be over before midnight."

"Very nice venue, I know the location," said Roberta. "I will arrive an hour ahead of time to meet the speaker and check out the sound system and answer any questions. Do you have a schedule of the event, a biography of the speaker, any other information so that I can prepare?"

"Our courier will deliver to your office this afternoon the program brochure that came in from the printer earlier today, which I think will give you all that you need to know. Forgive me for asking, but what is your fee and the payment schedule?"

"We have a fee based on time, day or half-day, taking into account the target language and any special requirements. In this case, because of the specialized dialect and the urgency of the situation, the fee will be one thousand, two hundred dollars US plus tax. We usually ask for a booking retainer but seeing that the event is this evening, we need the full fee up front. We accept all major credit cards." Roberta waited.

"The fee is very acceptable," said Monsieur de Bonnesanté, who never worried about spending the consulate's money. "The Consulate does not use credit cards but we issue a check from the prestigious Central Bank of Jamaica, the Manhattan branch of course. Please send the invoice with our courier who will be at your office at three o'clock this afternoon. I will have the check ready for you when you arrive."

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Roberta had time for a long lunch at the local Jamaican restaurant where the food was good and the twin sisters who ran the place talked non-stop with a colorful island vernacular that would give Roberta a chance to tune her ear for the evening session. She skimmed quickly through The History of West Indies Voodoo, a 666 page tome that she found at a bookstall on the Seine one summer in Paris.

The late evening event suited her because she would be able to drive into Brooklyn after rush hour was over. Roberta dressed in her black business suit and sported the bright yellow patterned scarf that she bought earlier from a street vendor when she left the restaurant. She thought that it would blend in with the bright colors that the Jamaicans loved to wear.

The traffic over the Brooklyn Bridge was thin as the midsummer sun descended over New Jersey. She took her blue BMW convertible for the event, the car that her ex-boyfriend gave her as a good-will gesture last summer after he got a big bonus and proceeded to upgrade first his car to the latest Bugatti, and then his love interest, dumping Roberta for a younger, petite five-foot-two model to adorn his passenger seat. When her ex dropped off the BMW with key and title, Roberta caught a glance at the young thing and decided that the BMW was more than adequate compensation for the slight.

Monsieur de Bonnesanté greeted her in the main foyer of the museum where people were busy setting up the reception table, making sure the guests list were in order and the brochures ready to hand out. A large banner showing the speaker's smiling face hung from the ceiling. Roberta saw the size of the banner and regretted not charging more for her fee as she accepted the check from the aide who accompanied the Minister.

The speaker, Professeur André Lespérance was from University of Kingston, and, according to the brochure that Roberta read earlier, was a scholar on international law and had a doctorat from the Sorbonne in economics. He was a good looking man and displayed impeccable manners. He carried himself with confidence and was of good height for a Jamaican, but well short of Roberta's commanding six-one stature. "Enchanté Mademoiselle Verbosa, je m'appelle André," said the professeur as he kissed Roberta's hand, flashing a disarming smile that, for a brief moment, made her face flush with excitement.

#####

When Roberta read the brochure earlier that afternoon, it contained a brief summary that was written by someone whose English was, at best, their third language. 

Voodoo and Economics:

Legal Challenges in Modern International Finance

Professeur Lespérance will discuss why the modern traditional values of the voodoo can service to improve and foretell the roil of international finance in the betterment of the soul of the Jamaican people and what sacrifices needs to be made to order in satisfy the spirits in needs of the economy in age to come.

It was not clear what the Professeur would be talking about. But with the check in hand and the talk about to start, Roberta stepped to her microphone set up to the right of the speaker's lectern. She took a quick glance at the audience and noticed a small group sitting to the far right, men and women all dressed up in ceremonial robes, which seemed to be authentic voodoo priests and priestesses. On the floor was a wicker cage and Roberta swore that she saw a live chicken. In contrast, the far left of the audience was a group of professionally dressed men and women who appeared to be either from Wall Street or a Manhattan law firm. In the front center, a dozen young bright women were chatty with anticipation. Roberta guessed that they were from Stony Brook.

M. de Bonnesanté introduced the Professeur to the applause of an enthusiastic audience. The voodoo people rose and bowed. The Professeur said thank-you, his French clear except for peculiar word choices and constructs that suggested Creole.

"Bonsoir messieurs et mesdames… I will be discussing the role of "Voodoo Economics", that is, how the current fiscal policy of Ronald Reagan will influence international finance and its ramifications for the Third World, and Jamaica specifically…" The Professeur paused and Roberta started to translate.

Roberta found it important to make eye contact with the audience, as if she were talking to each member individually. The finance and legal people were listening attentively and some were taking notes in little black books. The Stony Brook students were staring wide-eyed at the Professeur as if they were seeing one of their rock idols live on stage. The voodoo clergy sat dumbfounded. The presentation, it was clear, had nothing to do with what they had seen in the brochure.

The talk ended with a grandiose standing ovation, followed by several minutes of extravagant words thanking the Professeur for his contributions to the prestige and honor of Jamaican, all delivered with old world eloquence by the Jamaican Ambassador who had flown in from Washington D.C. for the occasion.

#####

The crowd flowed into the rose garden where a calypso band was playing. Roberta felt the rhythm of the music and started to sway her hips as if to dance. She caught herself and went back to work. The audience milled around the buffet tables laid out in an exotic splash of colors. The air was aromatic with spices. Roberta gazed at the assortment of fruits, bananas, plantains, fritters, breads, curries, jerk chicken. Lunch was a long time ago and she was ravenous.

The Professeur was surrounded by a group of people, mostly young fine looking women who wanted to talk to the Professeur about music, poetry, dance, and asking about doing a year abroad in Kingston. Roberta listened to the stories and at first, translated earnestly, but with each repetition of more or less the same yarn, she found herself leaving out more and more adjectives as the evening progressed. A very exotic looking twenty-something woman, a first year law student, was pressing the Professeur for a lunch meeting. The Professeur showed a polite but slightly excessive interest in the student. Roberta was a bit miffed at playing the part of the go-between, after all, the Professeur had kissed her hand earlier that evening, and so far, she had not seen him kiss any of the young women flocking around him.

"Professeur Lespérance," said the law student, "I am interested in both international law and finance. Could I meet you for lunch tomorrow to discuss your courses and your recent paper that appeared in the Journal of Legal and Economic Issues? "

Roberta turned to the Professeur and rendered the request in Jamaican Creole. "This young lady has read your recent paper in the Journal of Legal and Economic Issues and wishes you a safe journey back to the University of Kingston."

The Professeur smiled politely and thanked the student for her interest, which Roberta translated as: "The Professeur is very impressed by your reading and wishes you well in your studies and will have his secretary send you information about international law in his university." The student seemed a bit confused by the unexpectedly curt response, and after failing to decipher Roberta's Mona Lisa smile, offered a brief thank-you and made a graceful but defeated exit.  

The calypso band played on, more food was brought out and the punch bowls never seem to go dry. The reception had taken on the air of a festival and the Professeur was having a good time after his second glass of punch. As a matter of prudence, Roberta did not drink while working. A few years back, while working at a gala reception for the Institute of Middle East Languages, Roberta, after sipping a large glass of chardonnay, had slurred a word in Arabic and inadvertently insulted the wife of a Syrian arms dealer. An international diplomatic incident was just about avoided when Bernard, an attaché at the State Department who had spent time in Syria, came to her rescue and eased the tension with a flurry of graceful apologies delivered in impeccable Arabic. Bernard was handsome and well bred, and Roberta regretted not giving him her business card.

 The tower clock in the garden neared midnight and the crowd was finally thinning out. The young college women had disappeared an hour ago and the Minister was having a quiet conversation with the Professeur. The Professeur looked tired after his fourth glass of punch. Roberta took a minute to visit the buffet table and get a sampling of fruit and a slice of banana cake. M. de Bonnesanté spotted Roberta and signaled to her to come over. "Miss Verbosa, I was wondering if you were driving back to Manhattan and would you be so kind as to take the Professeur back to his hotel, the Ritz-Carlton on 28th Street, which is not too far from your office I think. It seems that our chauffeur left some time ago to take a few young ladies back to their dorms."

"Je vous en prie," said Roberta, smiling at the Professeur and nodding to the Minister.

"Very good Miss Verbosa, we will, of course, reimburse you for your troubles. You have my card so please contact me tomorrow. Good night and thank-you for an excellent service!" 

Roberta and the Professeur made their way out of the museum and then to her car. "Mais mademoiselle, c'est un BMW! J'aime cela!" said the slightly tipsy Professeur as he settled into the comfort of the leather bucket seat. 

"To the Ritz?" asked Roberta brushing her hair back around her ear. 

The Professeur looked pleased with himself sitting in the BMW with Roberta, and spoke to her in Creole, "Please Miss Verbosa, the night is still young, take me anywhere you want, anywhere, that is, with good reggae music and a dance floor!"

Roberta knew the perfect spot in Midtown about midway between her flat and the Ritz-Carlton. She eased the car smoothly into gear and headed into the City with the Professeur, fully intent on furthering goodwill and diplomatic relations with Jamaica.