They can take another’s words and sentences and reshape them, on the instant, transforming my stammered-over words into sublimitiesLast modified on Wed 1 Nov 2023 16.21 CETack in 1985, the Irish government asked me to attend the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, which took place that year in Budapest. The theme was culture, hence the choice of a novelist, and a political ignoramus such as myself, to be the delegate from Ireland.
The delegate who spoke before me was a scowling middle-aged lady from Bulgaria. We had been strictly instructed to limit our addresses to 10 minutes maximum; she finally wound up after an hour. I took off my headphones and was consulting my speech, when the British delegation, at their desk beside mine, burst into loud laughter. Afterwards the delegation leader, the sleekly elegant, came to apologise.
They all have their individual wizardly methods. An Italian with whom I have frequently worked – I cannot think of any other verb that fits – sets a large notebook on her knees and as I speak rapidly sketches geometrical diagrams, which, when I pause, she converts back into words. I asked her once how this method works, but she couldn’t explain it. How had she arrived at this way of working? She couldn’t explain that, either.
Interpreting is nothing like translating from a text. The translator can operate at her leisure; she can break off to consult the dictionary, or wander away to make a cup of tea. The interpreter is trapped, held captive as the words spiral along, like a spring being stretched to the snapping point.do not snap; they sit there, between me and the interviewer, in a sort of animated trance, transforming my laboured answers into a musical recitative.