Found in Translation

CHAPTER 1
Saving Lives and Protecting Rights in Translation
It is said that life and death are under the power of language.
—Hélène Cixous, French author and philosopher
Lifeline
The phone rings, jolting me to attention. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night.
I didn’t want to work the late shift, but the need for my work never sleeps. Most
of the calls I get at this late hour are from emergency dispatchers for police,
fire, and ambulance. They often consist of misdials, hang-ups, and other
nonemergencies. I’ve been working since early this morning, and I’m just not
in the mood tonight to hear someone complain about a neighbor ’s television
being turned up too loud. But someone has got to take the call. I pick up before
it rings a second time.
“Interpreter three nine four zero speaking, how may I help you?” The
dispatcher wastes no time with pleasantries. “Find out what’s wrong,” he barks
in English. He didn’t ask me to confirm the address, so I assume he must
already have police officers headed to the scene. I ask the Spanish speaker how
we can help. I wait for a response. Silence. I ask the question again. No answer,
but I can hear that there’s someone on the line. We wait, but we don’t hear any
response. It’s probably just another child playing with the phone, accidentally
dialing 911. I imagine the little guy looking curiously at the phone and
pressing the buttons, then staring at it as a voice comes out of the other end.
This happens all the time. I turn up the volume on my headset, just in case it
might help me pick up the scolding words of a parent in the background.
Then suddenly, I hear a timid female voice speaking so quietly that I can
barely make out the words. “Me va a matar,” she whispers. The tiny hairs on
my arm stand up on end. I swiftly render her words into English: “He’s going
to kill me.” Not missing a beat, the dispatcher asks, “Where is he now?”
“Outside. I saw him through the window,” I state, after listening to the Spanish

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version. I’m trying to stay calm and focused, but the fear in the caller ’s voice is
not only contagious, but essential to the meaning I have to convey.
For what seems like an eternity (but is probably just a few seconds), I hear
only the beeps of the recorded line and the dispatcher clicking away at his
keyboard. I feel impatient. He’s most likely looking to see how far the nearest
police officer is from the scene. “Interpreter, find out where she is.” The caller
whispers, even more quietly than before, “En el dormitorio,” she says. “In the
bedroom,” I interpret quickly. She adds another few words. “Under the bed,” I
tell the dispatcher. It’s impossible to prevent the image from popping into my
head. I can see her, holding the phone to her face, lying on the ground in the
dark, jammed in between the carpet and box springs. I feel her fear through the
phone line.
“Does he have weapons?” asks the dispatcher. My ears and mouth are in a
heightened state of awareness now, ready to volley each phrase into English the
instant it comes out of her mouth. “Yes, a gun,” she whispers. With a tone that’s
half authority, half reassurance, the dispatcher informs us that an officer is one
block away. As I’m repeating this in Spanish, the caller ’s voice interrupts,
barely audible now. In her faintest tone yet, she says, “I can hear him in the
hallway.” Before I can even finish interpreting the phrase, she says, “He’s at the
door.” As I repeat those words in English, we hear a click. She’s gone.
“You can disconnect now, interpreter,” the dispatcher states.
This is a true story from Nataly’s experience as an interpreter. She never
found out what happened to the caller. Thousands of such emergency calls are
placed each year, and many of them require interpreters.