The Translator’s Tale

The Translator’s Tale-2

But if the papers are hidden away—

Once we’re there, I know I can find them. It’s a small country.

And?

And—I don’t know. I want to go there and see if I can get them.

He looked at me. My husband studied me like I was a piece of land he was charged with transforming. I didn’t like the feeling it gave me. Made me see him in a new light, and not a flattering one. Also, his look made me think that maybe I was embarking on something that wasn’t right.

You aren’t proposing to go to Slothin and steal the woman’s papers, are you?

They’ve already been stolen! I said. By the Slothin government.

I don’t think they would see it that way. In any case, how would you get them out of the country?

I admit I don’t have that all worked out, I sad. Not yet. But I will.

I’ll only go if you promise you won’t do anything illegal.

Now why would I do something illegal?

I don’t know, but this is strange. You usually don’t act this way.

You haven’t read her poems.

True, he said. Are they good?

One of them is amazing. It’s about this crow that flies into her skull.

He held up his hand. No more, please. It sounds awful.

It’s not, I said. It’s a marvelous poem. It’s all about how the thoughts you have are really things other than thoughts. It should interest you, since you’re all about voices and ghosts and such.

I see your point, and I’m convinced. Under one condition.

The illegal thing, right?

Right.

Okay, I said. I promise. I knew that would convince him. And it did.

The first time my husband had a conversation with walls was on our honeymoon. He sat up in bed early in the morning and looked directly at the picture hanging on the wall next to the television set.

What is it? I asked.

They’re here, he whispered. This hotel is haunted.

I laughed. Should we cleanse the area? I asked.

I’m serious, he said. There’s spirits in the walls.

He did indeed seem completely serious. I sat with him for a while, but he was already gone in that way I would become accustomed to over the next decades. He was there, but not there.

His mental faculties had left his body and they were somewhere else. At first I was confused. I had never witnessed that phenomenon quite so strongly. It was like daydreaming on steroids.

I stayed next to him for a few moments, but it was too difficult. I felt like I was a complete intruder. A stranger.

I got out of bed and went to the balcony. Our room overlooked the Pacific ocean. It spread out from the Washington coast as far as I could see. And then even farther. Seeing the expanse of water opened out before me like that, I felt as alone as I have ever felt. Even more alone, considering that my new husband apparently had a predilection for speaking with disembodied spirits.

This particular issue had not come up at any time during our courtship, engagement, or wedding. That probably had something to do with the fact that those three events spanned approximately two weeks. I was beginning to think that deciding to marry so quickly might not have been the best thing to do.

The sun was up, but on the other side of the hotel building. The air was still cool enough to make me wrap my arms around my shoulders and wish I wasn’t there. I stood shivering for a few seconds until I felt the pressure of his hands covering mine.

I turned around and faced him. He hugged me tightly. More tightly than he ever had before.

Bad news? I asked.

No, he said. I’m just thinking maybe I should have told you about this before.

You think? I said.

I’ve done this all my life.

So to you it’s so normal that you think it would be abnormal to tell me about it?

No. Not exactly. Do you want out? We don’t have to stay married. I should have told you earlier. I won’t argue with you if you see it as a deal breaker.

I tried to look at him, but couldn’t. I looked off to the side and considered the past two weeks.

We had an instant and intense attraction. We both, within a few days, knew we wanted to get married. It was as though something bigger than us was at work. After all, he was a heavy equipment operator and I was an intellectual, a language expert. He made his living with his body, I with my mind. What could we possibly have in common? How could we possibly make a union work?

And yet. The attraction seemed almost supernatural. It seemed petty and somehow aberrant to defy it when it first appeared, and still thought so on that honeymoon morning.

I looked at him again. I don’t want out, I said.

He seemed relieved.

But maybe we should get some more information about each other?

Yeah, he said. Makes sense. We’ve only known each other for less than a month. There hasn’t been time to tell everything. Do you like asparagus?

I take your point, I said, but spirit talking is a pretty big thing to leave out. I love asparagus.

It’s been part of my life ever since I was a kid. I learned to hide it, you know, because people think you’re weird if you practice it. How about children? You want any?

I had an imaginary world when I was a kid, I said. Filled with dinosaurs. I can do without children.

Dinosaurs? Weird. Most little girls are into horses. How about pets? Dog or cat?

Oh, I liked horses too. But I liked dinosaurs more. I always imagined them like bears. Fiercely protective of their children. And themselves. Cat. Definitely cat.

Me too, he said. Here’s the thing about the spirits. I don’t hear them all the time, but I do a lot of the time. And it’s always in walls. They seem to love walls for some reason. Or maybe that’s just where I find them. Maybe that’s where my particular ability sees them. I don’t know. But walls are everywhere, so I guess you should know that a lot of them are going to be talking to me and I’m going to be talking back.

We stood on the balcony for a long time. I wanted to believe I had made the right choice and he tried to convince me I was right to try.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the walls, though. So many walls everywhere. I realized that night, I think, that part of him was always going to be separate from me because of all the walls.

Promise me one thing, I said.

Of course, he said. Whatever you want.

Promise me that I come before the spirits.

He said yes. Right away. He didn’t hesitate. But I could tell he wanted to.

We arrived in Slothin by train. The country does not have an airport. I found this charming. My husband thought it too backward to even comment on. I could feel him seething in the seat next to me as we crossed the border into Slothin. Waves of discomfort rolled off him like clouds of steam.

I patted his hand. Relax, I said. It’s not so bad, the train.

People were not meant to travel like this. If God had wanted us to travel on rails, he would have given us metal wheels.

Very funny, I said.

How many people live in this country? If it’s even a country.

Slothin has a fluctuating population, I said, remembering what I read about it in some stuff I found online. It goes up and down with the sheep flocks.

Sheep flocks?

Sheep shearers come in the fall, I said.

There are enough sheep shearers that it significantly affects the population count?

I nodded. The Slothinites number between fifty and fifty five thousand.

And five thousand of those are sheep shearers?

Honestly, you could feel the contempt drip off his words.

Something like that, I said. Though some of that number are support people for the shearers.

Of course, he said.

I turned from him and looked out the window. Green hills passed by in a stately procession. I saw flocks of sheep, of course. One of Tigo’s published works was an extended essay on the philosophical aspects of keeping sheep. She discussed the moral implications of raising animals only to take their wool for your own benefit. Didn’t I tell you she was the voice of her generation? Maybe all Slothin generations.

I also saw some of the walls. They hugged the hills like inverted furrows. I imagined all the spirits of all the Slothinites over the centuries living in those walls. How many could there be? A million? Perhaps. Maybe less. My mind couldn’t do the calculations of the estimates. I settled on a million. A million voices for my husband to ask about the future.

He tried to look past me through the window. I leaned back to give him room. The seat-back supported me in a way that felt very comforting. The landscape held his attention for a few minutes. I closed my eyes. The motion of the train soothed me. It felt like I was being rocked to sleep.

This Tigo person, he said.

I opened my eyes. Yes?

She’s a big deal?

She is in Slothin. And she’s considered quite the writer by literary experts.

Why do you want to translate her?

She’s got a unique perspective. She’s a cosmopolitan soul that came from a hidden, maybe even backward, country. Plus, if I became her translator, it would be very good for me. It would make my reputation in literary circles. I’d have more work than I could use. I would have to turn away translation jobs. I could set my own price.

This he seemed to understand.

She might be living in one of those walls, he said. Those stone walls. He gestured towards the landscape beyond the window.

It’s quite possible, I said.

Once, picking up on the theme of where spirits like to reside, I asked my husband why the walls were such a popular location for the spirits. Did they ever live in other places?

Sometimes in the hulls of boats, he said. Although that’s really just a kind of wall anyway. Also, you’ll sometimes find them in fences. Sometimes. Very very rarely, though. Fences are too flimsy for them. They slip out of them because there’s nothing to hold them. It’s like trying to catch mist with a net.

I see, I said. These spirits, they don’t get tired of hanging around?

Oh sure, he said. They come and they go. Some will stay for years and years. Others will be there for a short time, then I’ll never hear from them again.

We bought a house in Seagull Cove soon after we were married. Near the ocean, just like on our honeymoon. We both found that the ocean fed us. Its rhythms and strengths built our souls. Not to mention the house, bathed in fog most mornings, taking salt spray during the day. It didn’t take long for my husband to find the spirits.

The house was saturated with them. Every brick was haunted. My husband could hardly keep up. He was inundated with conversation. I told him that would never do. I could not have him talking to spirits every minute of every day. I would go mad.

So we sold that house and moved to another in town. It was only slightly less haunted. We moved again. And again.

I was looking for a place that had only very few spirits, or maybe none at all. Finally, after two years of searching, and after going through a good half dozen houses, we found one, on Starfish Drive, up on the bluff overlooking downtown Seagull Cove.

In this house, the spirits tended to hang back a great deal. They did not contact my husband all that much. Maybe a couple of times a week. I could live with that. I asked him if the frequency of contact was okay with him.